I introduced you to Mike last go around. Maybe that feels far away for you because that was Friday and today is Monday and you did a whole bunch of shit in between. I recognize the feasibility of that feeling. Even though weekends look different these days, I do still have many a moment where I land square on a Monday in a state of shock or maybe awe or perhaps confusion.
Let’s take this bit slow, shall we? What I’m trying to say is that I’d like us to journey back in time. You know what I’m going to say, right? Maybe not. I’m going to time jump us to that period before I met Mike. I’m going to skip over my crushes in elementary, middle, and high school, and I’m even going to hippity hop right beyond my magical camp connections. Each of those experiences was as you might imagine them to be. Puppy love in its purest form. Dramatic, big, powerful, and amounting to very little. Nothing incredibly profound happened in those moments except for the whole first kiss business. Still, nothing to write home about. Sufficed to say there was a good deal of awkwardness and many well-intended but poorly executed promises. Moments filled with friendship bracelets and love letters (actual letters, if you can believe it) and long, handwritten lists of the best songs ever made. Scribbles on the backs of envelopes.
There are certain instances that I might be able to call to mind in an attempt to weave you an adorable tale of young adoration, but I’m not sure it’s worth the time to do so. I’m not sure I approached any of those situations with a sense of self and if I did, it was so subconscious that an apt description is challenging. What I mean is that I didn’t have the wherewithal to assess my needs and then make a determination that I was moving in close to an individual who suited those needs. It was more that hormonally driven experience of ‘oh he’s cute, and nice, and it paying attention to me…cool.’
The first time I really plugged in was with Vinny. I feel like I’ve written about Vinny before but like all good wayward, fucked up love stories, this one requires a revisit. There are two profound facts that I’d like to share to shape your impression or thoughts on my relationship with Vinny, as follows:
1. My mother once characterized Vinny as filler and I couldn’t decide if she meant I was his filler, or he was mine, and I’m still not sure to this day (though I think it’s the former if we are getting real).
2. A few years ago, I was resting in a disquietingly unfamiliar bed that was plopped in the middle of a quaint hotel room situated in the middle of Switzerland (I shit you not). It was around 1 AM and I was overtired from jetlag and anxious as fuck and thus, talking to a long lost high school connection via text message and ta-da, the topic of Vinny somehow came up (I know how, I’m just being cute right this minute). When I mentioned him as a reference point for the many years of bad decision making when it comes to men, she admitted that she was surprised. No shock that I had stumbled, as she was incredibly supportive in that regard, reassuring me that we all fuck up, but genuinely jolted that Vinny and I had ever been involved.
Let’s break down each of those facts because they are overflowing with all good stuff, no?
Vinny and I were like magnets, or so I thought. I mean, in retrospect, I was more like a comfortable pair of slippers by the door. But, at the time, it felt more like a magnetic pull situation. When we were occupied with other people, we would touch base here and there but things were very sort of disconnected and chill. We were aware of each other’s orbit, but not profoundly enough to be impactful. I don’t think I once mentioned him in a serious way to others and I’m certain he did the same. We had a lot of those missed moments too. Those movie-worthy moments where I was in a relationship (if you could call it that) and he was jonesing for me and vice versa.
This is where the important information comes into the picture. Ready? I’m fairly certain that at any given moment, I would have dropped or moved away from whomever I was chit chatting with for an opportunity for something real with Vinny. I would have jumped in with two feet just to see where things would take us. But in our conversations with each other, that sentiment was never shared.
Instead, I began my infamous career as the most chill girl ever. No commitment? No problem. No public acknowledgment? No problem! No labels? Even better. I cared about nothing except that exact moment and I was ready and willing to share that fact.
I suppose when I think of a time that would be meaningful to jump back to where I set a course towards total and utter destruction, this would be it. If I could reverse to one point and do things differently (and I don’t advocate for that feeling or thought process in the slightest), it would be then.
You know what I would have done differently? I would have been honest. Really fucking honest. I would have been honest in a way that made me vulnerable and scared but then also free. Really absolutely free. I wouldn’t be bound by a construct that I had no ability to live within. I wouldn’t be trapped by my own silly promises and representations. I would have been able to look at that mostly sweet boy in the face and say ‘sorry dude, but I want more.’ I wouldn’t have even known what more looked like at that point, but it was just more. More than having a chuckle over missed timing. More than pretending that I didn’t compare myself to the girlfriends he chose. More than asking him for advice in my relationships as a ruse to get him to give a shit. More all around. Just more, more, more.
That moment in time started my journey of asking for less. Accepting less. Justifying less. Notice I didn’t say wanting less. I always wanted more and yet, I never got it. What a fucking tragedy. What a horror show. How sad to choke back tears of frustration for fear that the honesty would be more painful. Sure, yes. It is more brutal sometimes to just woman (or man) up, but you know what? That feeling is more fleeting. The shit that I did? That sticks like tar to your insides. It makes you a forevermore so—called friend of commitment phobes and cheaters and overall bags of shit.
Vinny wasn’t a shitty person. He was just fine. I just thought I was shitty, I guess.
Sad, no?
Let’s keep on this tomorrow. Gotta run.
L.
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