intensity
The cause of much dismay is how people mistake intensity for love, especially after the giddiness of the first phases of a new relationship (the honeymoon after the sweet barrier of propriety and fear and hope and fantasy is finally breached).
Suddenly, metrics are applied (“How come you don’t call me as often as you did?” Or “Aren’t we seeing each other today? We used to see each other everyday.”) by one party to the other, letting insecurities run rampant - as if the lessening of obvious loving signifiers signals deterioration or disinterest.
But the fact is that every relationship evolves. It changes as time passes, as circumstances occur, as the parties involved grow or stagnate. To long for things as they were at the beginning, to impute upon those magical moments the notion of what is ideal, is to poison what you have where you’re at (although, to be fair, there is nothing wrong in wanting something as innocous as a "thank you").
Subscribing to the idea of an ideal scenario is tantamount to disregarding the reality of what you have – and by no means is it necessarily ugly or uninspired. It is simply different, a different set of moments en route to another scenario.
When you demand of your partner to make things like they were before, you’re asking that person to regress – because you’re afraid, because you want only the glitz, because you cannot handle the truth: that change is constant, that people grow, that the relationship is an entity sometimes arguably independent of what you think.
If this is how you think now, then just how will you handle a marital commitment? Ten years into your marriage, will you turn to your partner and express your longing for how things where in Year One?
A relationship is not like the corpus of your favorite author – wherein if you do not like what he written in his latest novel, you can always pick up one of the older books he wrote that you adore.
With a relationship, you are always on the current page, and when the hand, having writ, moves on, you move on to the next page or chapter as well.
Or you could decide you don’t like what you’re reading and tear up the page.
If you don't mind the sound.
The cause of much dismay is how people mistake intensity for love, especially after the giddiness of the first phases of a new relationship (the honeymoon after the sweet barrier of propriety and fear and hope and fantasy is finally breached).
Suddenly, metrics are applied (“How come you don’t call me as often as you did?” Or “Aren’t we seeing each other today? We used to see each other everyday.”) by one party to the other, letting insecurities run rampant - as if the lessening of obvious loving signifiers signals deterioration or disinterest.
But the fact is that every relationship evolves. It changes as time passes, as circumstances occur, as the parties involved grow or stagnate. To long for things as they were at the beginning, to impute upon those magical moments the notion of what is ideal, is to poison what you have where you’re at (although, to be fair, there is nothing wrong in wanting something as innocous as a "thank you").
Subscribing to the idea of an ideal scenario is tantamount to disregarding the reality of what you have – and by no means is it necessarily ugly or uninspired. It is simply different, a different set of moments en route to another scenario.
When you demand of your partner to make things like they were before, you’re asking that person to regress – because you’re afraid, because you want only the glitz, because you cannot handle the truth: that change is constant, that people grow, that the relationship is an entity sometimes arguably independent of what you think.
If this is how you think now, then just how will you handle a marital commitment? Ten years into your marriage, will you turn to your partner and express your longing for how things where in Year One?
A relationship is not like the corpus of your favorite author – wherein if you do not like what he written in his latest novel, you can always pick up one of the older books he wrote that you adore.
With a relationship, you are always on the current page, and when the hand, having writ, moves on, you move on to the next page or chapter as well.
Or you could decide you don’t like what you’re reading and tear up the page.
If you don't mind the sound.
posted by Dean at
8:22 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home