White doesn’t look like it fades but it does. Things fade. Interest fades too. Adoration. Devotion. Titillation. Lust. Desire. All those things we use to measure a relationship. They break down and lose their luster. And, of course, we make decisions based on that curve of deterioration.
I wish I had a penny for every person who said to me “I love him/her. I’m just not in love with him/her.” It’s a code and I’m not sure there’s a Romance Rosetta Stone to unlock what we really mean by it. Sometimes it means “this has become hard work and drudgery.” Sometimes it might mean “I made a mistake.” Sometimes it could mean “I don’t know how to stay connected.” Sometimes it means “I’m bored because s/he’s not keeping me entertained.”
The one that intrigues me the most is “this is getting too intimate and I’m scared.” As long as we’re entranced by the excitement of it all, we can avoid the reality that we are two people with needs. We’ve fallen into each others sphere of influence and now the translation codes of what I want and what you can give has to be tested. And testing often means tolerating both failure and uncertainty. So much easier just to focus on excitement.
Closing off from the relationship is compelling because it feels safe, at least initially. The energy of self-righteous hurt powers a million ways to secure the perimeter against attack. Re-direct the blame somewhere else. Focus on all the ways I tried harder than you. Point out your unwillingness to meet me at the appointed time and place of my need.
I was talking with a friend, itemizing the basis of my rationale that the relationship I was in was oh-too-hard. And she asked, “When you’re in that room with him, mentally taking apart his every move, documenting his every negligence, listing all the reasons this is not going to work, who else is there?”
Or, in my case, it has meant in the past, that I deeply confused love with a feeling-state.
And, as we all (or most of us) know, feeling-states are inherently transient.
I’m increasingly aware over the years of how love truly is blind, romantic love, that is. Yet it is so compelling, so impossible to resist. And so I can’t help but wonder if there is wisdom in that blindness, a wisdom of letting go and opening up fully, trusting someone deeply in that love, feeling magic and alive and more connected with all of life. Yes romantic love is blind in that we ignore things about our partner that later come up to haunt us, but even that perhaps is wisdom, choosing not to put our attention on the negative. Don’t get me wrong, I’m deeply pessimistic about romantic love, but on the other hand, I’m not so sure…