Lover, best friend, roommate, co-parent, sous chef, travel partner, chore sharer, driver (or driving companion), travel agent, accountant, general contractor, therapist, tax preparer, life coach, gym buddy, someone to go to the movies with…and anything else you can think of.
Do we really expect the same person to know how to arouse and fulfill us sexually to also cook a dinner that meets our dietary guidelines at the right spiciness level in less than 30 minutes…and fold the towels the way we want? And drive a car in a way that makes us feel safe without giving us a headache?
A friend once joked to me that couples need only two things in common: how early they like to get to the airport, and the temperature level of the thermostat.
I hadn’t realized how important those things were until he mentioned it. I had an ex who used to hate getting to the airport early and I can’t get to the airport early enough, and while that’s way down the list of reasons we are no longer together, I am glad not to have that stress anymore.
But maybe that’s where we are, those of us single by choice (or not), those of us coupled and wondering, what’s it all for? The zeitgeist feels that when it comes to relationships, we are returning to the basics.
It seems it’s getting more and more difficult to tell what, exactly, what we want out of our partners — and why we’re sticking it out with them or searching for one.
One needn’t go far to find signs of our collective relationship malaise. Each of us is taking a hard, long look at relationships — and ourselves — and wondering if we set the bar too high or too low for our significant others.
We question why we are still single — and how to change that, and whether or not it’s even possible.
Writes Morgan Parker in the piece linked above, in wondering if her life-long singledom has made her incapable of being a significant other: “To an extent, I’m incapable of imagining how I might fare or function in a couple. What if I’m too far behind, too embittered or untrusting?”
To which I say, one doesn’t need to have been perennially single to ask those questions. I’ve been in two long-term committed relationships (one marriage) and now I wonder the same thing.
Am I damaged goods? Do I have too much relationship baggage?
Or am I just bad at it?
On the flip side, we have this piece in the New York Times, arguing for relationship perseverance and togetherness despite, well, years of misery. Says Tish Harrison Warren, “The last 17 years have held long stretches when one or both of us were deeply unhappy. There have been times when contempt settled on our relationship, caked and hard as dried mud. We’ve both been unkind. We’ve both yelled curse words and stormed out the door. We both have felt we needed things that the other person simply could not give us.”
That is from a piece saying she was glad she married the wrong person and glad they stuck it out. However you feel about that decision and ethos, she rightly points out that many today don’t have that level of patience or tolerance.
To stay together despite long durations of unhappiness seems counter-intuitive, that “surrendering personal happiness to remain in an unfulfilling marriage seems somehow shameful or cowardly, perhaps even wrong.”
That line struck me hard. I remember having this argument with a former partner. We could never avoid our pitfalls, we would always return to a place of disharmony, discomfort, and angst.
I reasoned that this was normal, part of the natural swings of a relationship. She argued it was too bipolar, too difficult, that we couldn’t sustain enough of the good times to outweigh the inevitable bad. In the end, we each got tired of that cycle — and the debate over it.
Years later, I still wonder about it.
I’m single now, though I prefer not to be. At the same time, I flinch at starting over, at telling my story again, from the beginning, of going down a road that to date has only led to falling off a cliff, despite all the joys along the way.
All of this was true before the pandemic, of course.
But I wonder if the experience of the last two plus years — isolation, or being stuck at home with the same person — has forced us to take stock of what we want in all aspects of our lives.
And how another person fits into that.
For every time a single person says to themselves, ‘I wish I had someone to…’ a coupled person says, ‘I wish my partner would…’.
No one person can be all things for another. Best friend, provider, giver, and recipient of intimacy, both physical and emotional, all the other things we do in our daily lives and over the years…how much is too much to expect or want from another person?
I would wager that while our core needs as humans are essentially the same (support, care, attention, touch, companionship) how we pick and choose or identify people to fulfill different roles is unique.
And what we must all come to grips with is that there will be gaps both large and small.
Gaps that our partners won’t fulfill…gaps that no one will fulfill and that we must take care of ourselves.
Must Haves vs. Want Haves
It can take years to determine your priorities in a relationship.
And of course, none are static: our needs and desires evolve, as do our roles in life as parents, siblings, children, friends, and whatever we do professionally.
Just like we must adapt, so too must our relationships — and that is why over the long haul, so many relationships reach a breaking point.
I remember telling a former partner that what I needed most out of the relationship was security, a sense that even if we misfired, even if we failed each other, we would stick it out.
Ultimately, that security could not be provided. And that’s a key reason why we parted. We couldn’t be for each other what the other person most needed, despite the love we had for each other.
I wish I could tell you how to identify with someone else and whether they can be the partner you need and want.
And I wish I could tell you how to measure and sort out what those needs are. What are the things you can’t provide for yourself, or most want out of another person in your life? What gaps are you trying to fill…and of those gaps, which are the most important ones?
I’ve found that trying to articulate answers to those questions is as difficult as defining love in the first place. But at the same time, you know it when you feel it.
Compromise. Lower your expectations, or raise your standards. Don’t accept second best, be with someone who makes you feel the best.
A Whirlwind of Advice and Truisms
Only you can tell for yourself what your most important needs are — and where you’re willing to sacrifice and compromise.
One must be brutally honest with yourself while going through that process. Maybe sex and physical attraction is more important than you would admit to others. Maybe it’s not as important as stability, kindness and the security of routine, and liking the same TV shows.
To bring another person into your life, and for you to enter theirs, means taking in and adding on.
Think of yourself as a house. Whether you are adding on a second floor, a swimming pool, or maybe fixing the roof or remodeling the kitchen, entering into a relationship has the potential to create something wholly new, providing the room to experience so much more, to expand your life or maybe solidify your foundation.
Just remember that the rest of the house will share in the consequences of that addition. Choose and plan accordingly.
And if you keep your house as is, that is fine and lovely too. There is always more art to hang, the general needs for cleaning and freshening up, and good times to be had there.
In my own apartment, I like how it has two bedrooms and two bathrooms. I like being on the second floor and having a deck, and I generally like my neighborhood.
I wish the living room was a different shape and that the bathrooms were nicer. I wish my bedroom window didn’t face the street, I wish I had more counter space. It’s not perfect, but it meets my needs.
For now.
I mean, it does, at times, feel a little lonely in here.
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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.
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