on loving
In spite of spending the majority of my life and adulthood single, I’ve always felt loved in some way or another. I’ve always had people I could share vulnerabilities with, more often than not chosen family. I’m also a deeply romantic person. Part of me bought into the myth of a romance that melts everything else away, one to get lost in and build whole life around.
That kind of affection always felt unattainable to me. It wasn’t that the opportunities didn’t present themselves (well, in high school they didn’t), more so that I was discerning. That’s a side effect of always feeling like an outsider. You learn to make peace with and enjoy your own company, maybe a little too much sometimes. You’re good to do many things alone. And it’s not that you don’t have people to ask, but sometimes you don’t want to wait to coordinate. Sometimes you need that alone space to process your thoughts, which run a fuckton of miles a minute.
For a long time, I believed I wasn’t deserving of all the things I wanted. I focused on upholding my friendships and growing into my own shell, exploring the depths of my inner life. Meanwhile, I penned romance stories and read love poems. I created intricate stories in my mind. Now, I have a level of self-awareness that means I can admit what I crave, that it’s okay to crave those things, and that it’s possible for those cravings to get met.
I’m romantically atypical in my lack of long-term relationships. I don’t make an effort to date very often because, more often than not, it feels like an energy drain. That shifted this summer; after a few years of deep self-reflection and self-honesty, I wanted to be open to the many sweetnesses that the universe has in store. Like the pleasure of enjoying someone’s company and relishing the things you have in common, like sharing new vulnerabilities, like sharing bodies. I’m experiencing those pleasures now, and it’s all quite lovely.
The problem for me is the craving. It’s hard for me to channel abundance when it comes to loving romantically. In that sweet space of getting to know someone early on, I immediately start thinking about when it’s going to fade. How something horrible within or out of our circumstances will pull us apart, and I’ll be wrecked and a mess. Last week, on the cusp of turning a year older and navigating some intense emotions, I had an epiphany: it’s possible to decenter romantic love while engaging in it. I must remember that I still enjoy my bachelorette life. I have my own business. I have my mint green floral sheets and all the art I want on my walls, and endless flowers, and friend dates, and words to write, and platonic affection and beautiful things and things that make my life deeply meaningful. Loving someone romantically, like loving anyone, is intentional labor. To do it healthily, I’m gaining a keen understanding of what my shortcomings are. I’m learning about the kinks in the way I love that need to be smoothed out. I’m finding those kinks, rather raggedly. It’s a messy and tender process, but the clarity of the other side of the aches feels so, so worth it.