And the world spins madly on...

This week my boyfriend and I decided to end our nearly 9-month relationship. It was a mutual decision, made over one of the hardest, most real conversations I’ve ever had about who we are, what we need, and what we deserve. Despite the healthiness of this break-up, it didn’t prevent my heart from thinking someone had decided to start beating it with a baseball bat. Or that my face might completely fall off from crying for so many hours. Or that someone had just completely knocked the wind out of me. And frankly all of this has left me in a bit of an emotional blur this week. I even cried at Starbucks yesterday. The barista failed to add vanilla to my soy latte, and when I asked her to re-make it, a tear rolled down my cheek and I’m sure she thought to herself, “holy shit this lady is crying over a vanilla latte.” Oh if only we could wear t-shirts that shared what we were going through, so strangers couldn’t pass judgment.

Because I loved this man. And he loved me. But we needed different things from life, something we rarely actually acknowledge when we’re in relationships. How quickly we fall into patterns. Patterns that can be wonderful and fulfilling, but patterns nonetheless. Repetitive motions that might not be really coming from our hearts but rather from our brains, because we’re humans. We like patterns. We like waking up, making coffee, and turning on the shower. Making the same jokes about the morning news. Ironing our clothes and checking our Blackberrys for our first morning meeting. Coming home. Kissing each other on the lips and asking, “How was your day?” as if any of us could really capture what happens in 10 hours in a 30 second bit. Patterns that make us comfortable and safe. But patterns that can start to feel like chains. Like heavy burdens. Routines that make your stomach twisty and uneasy.

I’m a child of divorce. My comfort level with the topic is probably unnaturally high. I come from a true modern family, with all kinds of half-, step-, ex-step- relationships that make sense to me but baffle others. When you’re born into it, you learn to make it work. They’re all my family. They just don’t all necessarily share genes with me. But my definitions for relationships are probably a little different than most. And I think as a way to accommodate all of this chaos, I’ve become someone who is not always the most traditional person. I believe love comes in a thousand forms. I believe that marriage, albeit important and very beautiful, is entered into far too lightly. And for the most part, people do it when they’re too young to know who they are. I like to think I’m not jaded, but I guess that part is semi-unavoidable. I’m just less fascinated by the fairy tale; I’ve never known the fairy tale to exist.

And I’ve spent most of my twenties convincing myself that I’m not entirely sure I ever want to be married. That it’s an archaic institution that plays on some heteronormative Christian value that doesn’t really apply to most humans in 2011. But that’s just my liberal educated pretention talking. What little girl doesn’t at some point dream of her wedding? What angst-filled teenager doesn’t cry herself to sleep because the boy (or girl) she’s convinced herself she’ll marry takes someone else to see the new Superman movie? On some level, we all want the love and security of monogamy. Of marriage. Of family. But the questions becomes when. And where. And how.

Because if my life has taught me anything, it’s that sometimes you don’t know who you are until it’s too late. And sometimes that doesn’t end so well. And so you should really make sure you know who you are before you enter into such serious relationships. You should understand your own check-list. But we’re the worst at taking our own advice. Sometimes the things we know the best are the last to make it to our tongues.

My relationship with R. was amazing. We met online. On our first date we talked for hours. We ate food. We laughed. We had so much to talk about. And our relationship was a lot of that—laughing, eating, and talking. I ignored the timeline of his recent separation and impending divorce. I didn’t listen when people in my life suggested things we’re happening too fast, “especially for a divorced man”. Hah. Listen folks, I’m an expert on divorce. I’ll make the calls.

I was loving and being loved and it felt too good to challenge. I got to know his kids and fell in love with them almost immediately. Just one of those relationships that just happened when neither of us expected it, probably against both of our better judgment. And we had a connection that just worked. Chemistry that neither of us could quite explain. The patterns started working and before I knew it I was knee deep in the children’s section of TJMaxx and starting to enjoy washing the pizza stains out of his son’s t-shirts. One Saturday morning, not too long ago, we were all piled up in the bed. R., his 2 kids, my dog, and me. We were laughing and singing and telling stories. My heart almost stopped beating. It was one of those moments people build an entire lifetime around and here I was borrowing it. It felt so strange and yet so entirely normal. And simple. But breathtaking. And significant. And my palms got sticky with anxiety.

I’m a nurturer and a giver. He’s a protector and a provider. I think the patterns got too simple. Too easy. We both lost sight of who we were in it. The patterns spun themselves even when we didn’t want them to.

And in truth, when we’re really honest with each other and ourselves, we want very different things from our lives right now. He’s a good man. He’s a kind man. But you can’t force timing. You can’t force patterns. Which is why we’re here in this space. Sad. And confused. And spending time a part. Regrouping. Healing. Repairing. And wondering if we’ve made good decisions. And hoping to God we’ve respected each other.

And when I share that I’ve just broken up, everyone asks, “What did he do?” with an assuming tone that says, “men are assholes.” And I fight back the urge to shout. “He didn’t do anything, you assholes!” We stood up for ourselves. We asked for more. We didn’t settle. We decided not to hurt each other. We were grown ups, for once.

Last week I spent the entire week with a large portion of my family. My two older sisters and their families, my mom, my step-dad, an aunt, an uncle, some cousins. A funny combination of halfs- and steps- and ex-steps-, but somehow, a family. On the beach. Oblivious to our titles for each other. Building sandcastles with my nieces and nephews and feeling so damn lucky I could burst. And wishing R. was there to share it with me. And that his kids were there, to complete the circle. But I had this nagging suspicion from somewhere inside that it was just a dream; that there was something looming in my heart. I spent most of the week knowing things were not great with R. Anxious that I knew I was coming home to a big talk.

And I did. And we did. And here we are. And I’m thankful for the words we’ve shared with each other. For the last nine months. For the loving we’ve done. For the clarity I’ve gained. For the things I now know I want that I didn’t know before.

And I’m baffled at the way the world works sometimes. At the ways in which we’re taught our biggest lessons. And how despite a heart feeling like its never going to heal, how the world goes on without you. Life continues to happen. Expectations don’t go away. Flowers still bloom. Grass still grows.

In the time I’ve been dealing with all of this, my brother-in-law’s father has passed away; an enormous oak tree fell at my dad’s house and totaled 2 cars, damaged the horse pasture, and the roof; my childhood best friend’s great-uncle passed away. My best friend is sick and fighting a virus out of her body. My aunt is sick again and a baby has been born. I move to a new apartment in two weeks, started a new job on Friday, and am in an intensive summer class where I’m already a week behind in paper-writing and reading. Life happens. Overwhelmingly so.

As a reminder, I think. As a reality check. That we’re constantly moving, constantly evolving, and perhaps not as cut out for patterns as we think.