Everybody has a superficial side and a deep side, but this culture doesn’t place much value on depth — we don’t have shamans or soothsayers, and depth isn’t encouraged or understood. Surrounded by this shallow, glossy society we develop a shallow side, too, and we become attracted to fluff. That’s reflected in the fact that this culture sets up an addiction to romance based on insecurity — the uncertainty of whether or not you’re truly united with the object of your obsession is the rush people get hooked on. I’ve seen this pattern so much in myself and my friends and some people never get off that line.
Joni Mitchell
But along with developing my superficial side, I always nurtured a deeper longing, so even when I was falling into the trap of that other kind of love, I was hip to what I was doing. I recently read an article in Esquire magazine called ‘The End of Sex,’ that said something that struck me as very true. It said: “If you want endless repetition, see a lot of different people. If you want infinite variety, stay with one.” What happens when you date is you run all your best moves and tell all your best stories — and in a way, that routine is a method for falling in love with yourself over and over.
You can’t do that with a longtime mate because he knows all that old material. With a long relationship, things die then are rekindled, and that shared process of rebirth deepens the love. It’s hard work, though, and a lot of people run at the first sign of trouble. You’re with this person, and suddenly you look like an asshole to them or they look like an asshole to you — it’s unpleasant, but if you can get through it you get closer and you learn a way of loving that’s different from the neurotic love enshrined in movies. It’s warmer and has more padding to it.
(from an interview in Talk to Her by Kristine McKenna)
In an interview with Oprah Winfrey, then 93 year old Betty White said her biggest regret was not marrying her husband sooner.
“I spent a whole year, wasted a whole year that Allen and I could have had together, saying, ‘No, I wouldn’t marry him. No, I won’t. No, I won’t leave California. No, I won’t move to New York,’” she says. “I wasted a whole year we could have had together.”
She did eventually give in and they were married for 18 years, until Allen Ludden died of stomach cancer in 1981. It really does seem that the abiggest regrets in life aren’t the mistakes and failures made in good faith. It’s the things we weren’t brave enough to even try.
Nothing about the Work Bestie and I has been the love story I would have chosen to write. My heart had to drag me kicking and screaming to this man. I don’t date younger. Or colleagues. Or long-distance. While I tore myself apart, running simultaneously toward and away from the Work Bestie, he stayed calm and steady. Always there when I needed him. My rock.
There’s no great meet cute. It was the second day of my work exchange scholarship at the place where he already worked. I was led into the office to sign a waiver, and he was there using the computer to access documents he’d need for a workshop he was about to teach in Spain. He was beautiful, and it’s pretty dang cool that he travels to other countries teaching people stuff I care about. Still, there was nothing in that first handshake, no chemistry, no awkwardness, no lightning bolt. There was just a very ordinary moment.
It took me a few months to go from student to volunteer to employee. It took us a few months to go from colleagues to friends. He was easy to talk to. That moment when I felt the electricity between us, sudden and so intense it could knock me off my feet, didn’t happen until the timing was terrible. He was already the person I told everything to, my bestie. That lightning strike cost me a year of his friendship. It took us nearly two years of talking, after he came back into my life single, before we finally fooled around. Then it was half a year of that before I trusted him enough to go all the way.
From that point on, it was too late for me. His life fell apart almost immediately after we got together. Important people in his life died, and he found himself trying to save a friend in a prolonged crisis. We never really got to have that honeymoon phase that relationships start with. Ish got real. Real isn’t as exciting a story, but it’s so much more solid than romance. We helped each other through our darkest days and held each other through the sweetest nights.
He teased me for being too romantic, for being the kind of person that would rather live in a cardboard box together than anywhere else without love. By the end of my time in Portugal, I was even more sure of my position. The best parts of it would have been so much better if I’d been sharing them with my person. The worst parts of it would have been so much better if he’d been there too. I don’t want to just chase adventures, I want to build memories with someone. It just took me a whole journey to understand how deeply I wanted to build my memories with him.
I have never been so insecure in a relationship. Sure, I’m not everyone’s cup of tea, but I love that. I don’t pretend to be anything I’m not and am rarely bothered for long by people who are not a good fit. The Work Bestie kept buzzing around me, but never declared any plan to land. The way he ran hot and cold, too fast or too slow, or just gone, it overwhelmed me. He would talk about forever, but not make plans for next week.
I became a serial killer of daisies, begging their petals to tell me if he loved me or loved me not. Just like with the Magic 8 Ball the results were inconclusive. Sometimes, yes. Sometimes, no. Maybe his heart was just changing that often. Or maybe I was asking the wrong source.
He did his own dubious research. He pushed me for my time and place of birth so he could get a full astrological chart on me. I even did an online quiz to find out my Myers-Briggs personality type at his urging. We were both looking anywhere but directly at each other for the answers.
I don’t believe in The One. Well, not as some preordained singular kinda magic. The One isn’t something you find, it’s something you build. Through intimacy and shared memories over the years you create a relationship that no other relationship compares to, not because fate decreed it but because you both did the work
As a writer, as a hopeless romantic, none of this was how I wanted the story to go. It’s a lousy love story, no drama, no grand gestures, just two people laughing and loving and working hard together. Maybe that is what made it work so well though. It’s not a story of hearts and flowers and moonlit walks but one of blood and sweat and tears.
We found each other at a time and place when we needed to roll up our sleeves and get the job done, and we proved to be an unstoppable team. I think that’s more important than getting some silly courtship ritual. Not as poetic, but I care more about the quality of the life I’m building than that of the story I’m telling.
In Portugal I learned just how much I would be willing to walk away from for love. I loved who he was. I loved his mischievous playful side and how easily we’d always laughed together. I loved his careful, detailed planning and his tendency to throw his plans out the window at the last minute and wing it. I loved how new possibilities set his soul ablaze, even though I often had to chase him down and make him finish the last project he’d started before he got too lost in the next one.
Smart boys are sexy, and the Work Bestie’s very, very smart. I loved how he was curious about everything and everyone. He had very high, sometimes impossible, standards for who he tried to be and very low concern for what other people thought of him. Most of the time. I also know it hit him like a punch to the gut when he let down the people he’s tried to be there for. There’s a part of him that thrived on the feeling that the people he loved were proud of him. I’ve watched him and so often been proud knowing that’s my man.
I loved the vulnerable edges of the day the most. He’d pout like a child when he had to get up early, as if morning’s existence is entirely unfair. But he’d get up anyway because that’s what a grown man who takes care of his responsibilities does. I even loved how he’d fall asleep, like falling off a cliff. Every time, I tried to catch him before he’d land, before he startled himself awake. If I’d squeeze him at just the right time, he’d stay asleep. I loved the lullaby of his snore, letting me know he was no longer falling. Once we had safely landed in each other, it was my turn to go to sleep.
I couldn’t give him everything I’d want him to have. Countless women are more beautiful, more charming, and more intelligent. I am none of those things, not enough to matter anyway. You’d be hard-pressed to find anyone kinder, harder-working, or more resilient, though.
My love is fierce. It walks through fire without flinching. My love is a verb. It gets things done. It does not waiver when confronted with distance, silence, or even on those rare occasions when I’m cross with somebody. My love is always. I don’t cheer from the sidelines. I’m right there ready to be tagged into the ring. My sleeves are rolled up, and I’m ready to work.
I loved the way we worked together. We both brought passion and cynicism to projects. Enthusiastic and ambitious about what can be accomplished, but able to anticipate the obstacles and problem-solve through anything that might get in our way. Together, we could move mountains. Our combined stubbornness alone was an immeasurable force. Taking those same skills that we’ve built working together, building something for our employer, and turning them towards building our life together could be amazing.
It is a gawdammed miracle when two people fit together so well and actually find each other at a time when they’re free to do something about it. He’s a geek, and I was his dweeb. Together, we were unstoppable. Unable to know what the future holds, I confidently chose him for my zombie apocalypse team. I didn’t just want to move to Southern California, San Diego, of all places; I wanted to build a life together with all the wonderful, terrible, and mundane experiences that life entails.
I packed my bags to leave Portugal with even grander daydreams than I had arrived with. After graduation we could move in together. Without school, I could pull off working three jobs and that would enable him to scale back to one, far less stressful, job. We could save up, buy some land, and build a house. Then we could sell that house and repeat the process until we were in a position to build our own forever home and take care of our families. We could definitely make this work.
Life is too short to let the wounds and fears from past relationships hold us back from something great. I kept telling friends and family that I was enjoying the slow burn, but honestly my glacial pace was also a bit of cowardice. As much as I wanted this relationship, a part of me had been afraid to go all in. What if it didn’t work out? I was finally ready to focus on a new possibility, what if it did work out? We had already laid a solid foundation. We’d wasted enough time. I was ready to stop playing semantics and start building our empire.
So I won’t hesitate no more, no more
Jason Mraz
It cannot wait, I’m sure
There’s no need to complicate
Our time is short
This is our fate, I’m yours
I’m Yours
Crystal, Clearly 
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