fragment one: love, a complaint
working through a troubled relationship with ‘the one’
Romantics say we should keep an eye out for the one. I don’t believe in the one, but even cynics are occasionally galvanized by the search. The divine promise that things work out, that our flaws and ugliness and vulnerabilities wash away when we find the missing half of our souls — well, it has a certain appeal, doesn’t it.
It promises that the lonely nights alone will be forgotten when the alone part changes. We wouldn’t wonder anymore if they’re seeing the same moon we are. We wouldn’t recoil from the blank space in bed. We could wish them a good day when we leave in the morning, then come home and talk about it. And we’d care about what they have to say and they’d care about what we’d have to say, even when it’s ordinary. We’d help each other through life. We’d share significant glances across the room when there isn’t anywhere else we’d rather look. We’d message back when we have time, because they’re waiting for us. We’d say the wrong thing, and apologize because hurting them hurts us.
Ooof — it’s all too much to put on some one, right? It’s too much to put on ourselves. See what the romantics have done to us.
We’re crushed under the gravity of expectations we never asked for. And we’ll stubbornly hold some poor soul to these astronomical dreams — even if it’s ourselves. Standard safety procedures don’t apply that far past the atmosphere, when we’re up too high and breathless. Re-entry is bound to destroy us. We’ll freeze, get vertigo, burn away, go splat.
It’s safer to stay grounded. Falling is much more manageable from here.
Better to realize early on: expectations are just premeditated resentments. I’m not sure where I heard that. Maybe it’s from the bible or AA meetings or some ex-romantic. Whoever said it, they knew the one is nothing but trouble.
In melodramatic love songs, finding the one means having someone to die for. Between us, I don’t care for that either. Reasons to die are a dime a dozen — life is suffering and all that. I’d rather find someone to live for, someone who makes it worth trudging through all this. A partner to navigate the mess and the majesty with, because unfortunately we don’t get one without the other.
See how rusty cynicism can become. But in the spirit of compromise to the romantics, I’m open to there being a few the ones. A handful if you’re lucky. And flexible, and patient. People who you can imagine living without, but don’t want to.
Whoever the ones might be, they’re bound to see us at our best and worst. We all have our beauty and our ugliness, because here too we don’t get one without the other. That’s the trade off with getting close to someone.
Poets know it: “Because I love you, I get least of you”. I think Nikki Giovanni saw that the nearer we get, the more we have the chance to disappoint the ones. She described one half of the problem — where we won’t give enough of ourselves. Maybe because we worry there’s not enough in the first place — if we give it all away, we’ll be found wanting.
Others face the mirrored dilemma. We bombard the ones with the most of us. Poets know it: “When I love you, then I love you too much”. Carly Rae might suggest that the nearer we get, the higher our chances to overflow and overwhelm. Maybe because we worry that we always have to be on, always have to be interesting. If we aren’t everything to everyone, we’ll be found wanting.
But there are some lucky Goldilocks out there. They find one who’s just right — then trick them into a lifetime together. I know if I could bamboozle someone into loving me, I’m never giving up that grift.
So how do we find a one? Count on the romantics to have an answer on hand.
“Maybe instead of trying to find the right one… you should try to become the right one.” I expect nothing less from love philosopher and scholar of the human heart, 2 Chainz. “Church.”
But I’m tired. I’m tired of trying to become the right one. I’m tired of expecting. I’m tired of not being good enough — or waiting for someone to see how good I am so I can see it too.
Some ones must be out there who will see me and want to again. I’d even settle for just one. Damn these romantics — see what they’ve done.
— Take heart, a tin man
