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When a relationship ends, no matter the reason, no matter if you wanted it to end or not, there is the natural inclination to evaluate the reason for it ended and your part in it--which pretty much boils down to “what is wrong with me?” Or maybe that’s just me.
I’ve been going through my relationships in my head to figure out what it is about me that moved these situations along. Some of them are easy to figure out--my first ex-wife was just not the person who was made to be a wife and mother, and we married too young. For some of the others, it was maybe just that there was too much difference between us. I believe that there does need to be a little bit of opposites (after all, if the other person is just like you...well, that’s just a little weird).
So I know I am anal about some stuff. I know that was a small bone of contention in my last relationship (not so much me being anal, but me being anal about her not being anal, and the trail she seemed to leave in her wake). I’ve already reestablished some of my habits that began to be dormant over the last seven years or so. I can walk into the bedroom without groaning at what it looks like (well, as long as I only look with my good eye--the side to the left was hers, and most of her stuff is still there, while I work on getting everything packed up). I’ve already reestablished the closet and bedroom.
I don’t know, really. I have to say I had somewhere I was going with this, but now I don’t really remember. I’ve spent about thirteen years on two relationships that really weren’t that good for me (I won’t lie and say there weren’t good times in both relationships, but in the case of the first, those ended fairly quickly the first time we were together and the second time we only lasted as long as we did because it was a long-distance relationship, and we dragged out to 13 months something that probably would have ended in one month if we were really near each other). And the relationships with people I probably should have had relationships with...just didn’t happen.
I told somebody the other night that I’ve never broken up with anybody, which is true. I did once manipulate a situation enough so the girl would break up with me, but I’ve never truly been the person to initiate it.
So here I am, 40 and turning 41 in little more than three weeks, and duplicating something that happened when I was 23--being the single father of a three-year-old girl and trying to figure out the romantic landscape. I gotta get it right sometime. Right?
I’ve been going through my relationships in my head to figure out what it is about me that moved these situations along. Some of them are easy to figure out--my first ex-wife was just not the person who was made to be a wife and mother, and we married too young. For some of the others, it was maybe just that there was too much difference between us. I believe that there does need to be a little bit of opposites (after all, if the other person is just like you...well, that’s just a little weird).
So I know I am anal about some stuff. I know that was a small bone of contention in my last relationship (not so much me being anal, but me being anal about her not being anal, and the trail she seemed to leave in her wake). I’ve already reestablished some of my habits that began to be dormant over the last seven years or so. I can walk into the bedroom without groaning at what it looks like (well, as long as I only look with my good eye--the side to the left was hers, and most of her stuff is still there, while I work on getting everything packed up). I’ve already reestablished the closet and bedroom.
I don’t know, really. I have to say I had somewhere I was going with this, but now I don’t really remember. I’ve spent about thirteen years on two relationships that really weren’t that good for me (I won’t lie and say there weren’t good times in both relationships, but in the case of the first, those ended fairly quickly the first time we were together and the second time we only lasted as long as we did because it was a long-distance relationship, and we dragged out to 13 months something that probably would have ended in one month if we were really near each other). And the relationships with people I probably should have had relationships with...just didn’t happen.
I told somebody the other night that I’ve never broken up with anybody, which is true. I did once manipulate a situation enough so the girl would break up with me, but I’ve never truly been the person to initiate it.
So here I am, 40 and turning 41 in little more than three weeks, and duplicating something that happened when I was 23--being the single father of a three-year-old girl and trying to figure out the romantic landscape. I gotta get it right sometime. Right?
