Tag: Relationships

Nupped up

Posted in Life & Work StuffTagged , , , , , 2 Comments

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For those of you who know a little bit about me, I can hardly believe it either. I’ve never been the kind of woman that needed to get married to prove anything to anyone. But here I am. Married. And it’s nice for many reasons.

For one, it’s just sunk in that I’m officially not alone. I’ll admit that this is the weirdest part for me. I got used to my solitary rhythm. I had it down to a science. Now, every decision requires a vote, and that can be challenging for the modern bachelorette. The upshot is that I’m no longer flying solo through turbulent times, and that’s something I can definitely get used to.

Before the husband unit and I decided to take the plunge, his father advised us to make it as special as possible, because we only get one shot at the big day. That’s when I started doing what most brides-to-be probably do: I bought a wad of bridal mags and started sifting through reams of ideas. The fact is, I haven’t spent most of my girlhood dreaming of the perfect wedding. I wasn’t a pessimist so much as an opportunist: I figured I’d think about it if the situation ever presented itself. So here I was, flipping through these magazines, trying to pull something together, and fast.

It’s not easy. Every detail comes with its own lexicon of details. Nobody gives you a discount. Everybody has an opinion on what you should do (based on what they would do on their own big day; not what you want to do on yours). And none of this changes even if you agree on a small wedding.

Nevertheless, it all came together quite beautifully. I believe I have a solid group of friends to thank for that. Seriously: I really lucked out here. Of the 48 or so guests, about 50% of them were somehow involved in the wedding. With their help, we didn’t have to worry about music, transportation, photography, graphic design, delivering and placing chairs for the ceremony, hair, makeup, the family dinner, and fashion. My father, who’s a jeweler, also made our rings, which was the cherry on top.

Was it a perfect day? Absolutely. Did everything go as planned? Absolutely not. But it’s funny how it just doesn’t matter in the end.

The Me-Me-Me syndrome

Posted in Religion & Philosophy (sorta)Tagged , , , 4 Comments

During one of this weekend’s several Easter dinners, the popular topic of relationships came up. The truth is, we’re all trying to figure it out. Reconciling relationships is more complicated than excelling at one’s career. And few will argue that.

Then my friend made a comment that struck a chord, probably because I’ve been saying something like it for a long time: we’re so bloody self-absorbed! What he means, specifically, is that there’s this idea that we can’t love others unless we love ourselves first, and he thinks that’s hogwash.

I agree with him, at least in part. To be clear, I recognize the importance of loving ourselves, but is it necessary for loving others in a healthy way? Not really. Some people live their whole lives loving others more than they love themselves. And I’m not talking about Mother Teresa types. I mean those with low self-esteem or self-sacrificing, nurturing people. To say that these folks are not fit for romantic relationships is unfair, not to mention untrue. It really depends on the kind of person their partner is. When a mothering sort ends up with the sort that likes mothering, it’s usually a match made in heaven. It might not be my idea of heaven, but it’s not my relationship either. Besides, there really is no formula for this kind of thing. Just a bunch of silly ideals.

Minus the relationship angle, I’m very interested in this “self-absorbed” business. We see it a lot in daytime television formats. In fact, Dr. Phil is its prime champion, else he wouldn’t have a show. But I have to wonder, to what extent is it beneficial to zero in our problems, at length, in the name of self-improvement? The process of self-help often involves DIY psychology, focusing on the blueprint set by our childhood, and confrontational purges that add up to unnecessarily reliving painful incidents.

It wouldn’t mean a thing to me if I didn’t see so many people getting hooked on the improvement habit, while alienating us non-addicts. Some people so easily subscribe new “growth and awareness” strategies, and a surprising number of my friends lost their common sense to The Secret. The unfortunate thing about the Church of Self is that it can validate the worst behaviour in its practitioners. When faced with genuine conflicts that require sincere resolutions, the self-afflicted respond with empty catchphrases, like, “I have to work on myself right now, or I won’t be able to follow my personal path.”

I’m all for working on oneself, but not if it’s to the detriment of facing life. More often, I’ve seen it justify unapologetic behaviour (“I am who I am and it’s not my fault if you can’t accept that”), an utter lack of responsibility (“As long as I think positive, it’ll happen”), and blaming one’s parents to the bitter end (“I’m like this because my father once insulted me when I was 5”). What if, for a moment, we stopped trying to rationalize our flaws and just learned to say “sorry.” The fact is, we seldom mean to hurt someone else’s feelings, so where’s the harm in just saying so.

More importantly, the self-help path is arrogant. The fact that we can even entertain so many self-help strategies is a direct by-product of living in such a prosperous environment. If our lives were spent struggling to eat and live, would we spend any time pondering how our parents messed up our childhood? Of course we wouldn’t, because thinking about these things is a luxury, and many people on this planet can’t afford it. So when people in my family started going on about The Secret, and claimed that if we have problems, it’s because we’re not “thinking positive,” I asked them if that’s why women were getting raped and mutilated in the Congo. Was that unfair? Perhaps, but I would argue that The Secret is unfair to those women in the Congo.

Life is complex stuff. I can understand why anyone would want to escape it and convince themselves that they’re not the ones with the problem. But we have to live here with other people, whether we like it or not. Our lives have to accommodate our own core beliefs as well as the people who share our many spaces. It’s not an easy balance to maintain. Nevertheless, that harmony is everyone’s responsibility.

We’re life-ing

Posted in Life & Work StuffTagged 7 Comments

Lately, I was describing my experience of moving in with the boyfriend unit to a colleague. In my spiel, I got to this point where I couldn’t quite find the word for what was happening. To which she contributed, “you’re life-ing.”

What a wonderful way to put it. That’s exactly what’s happening. We’re life-ing. And here are the telltale signs.

  1. You start getting new furniture and appliances after living together for, like, 5 seconds.
  2. You talk about the furniture and appliances that you can’t get right now, but plan to in the future.
  3. You also talk about the bigger place you’re going to get after living together for, like, 1 day.
  4. You’d rather cuddle up to TV on a Friday night than go out with your friends.
  5. You start tag-teaming things like housework, groceries and naps.
  6. Watch for more high-fives.

Incidentally, here’s how to know for sure you’ve just moved in with a boy.

  1. Your TV gets bigger, almost immediately.
  2. If you didn’t have cable TV, you get it. If you had cable TV, you get a satellite dish.
  3. Every plug in the wall is attached to a power bar, and the mass of electrical wires lining the floor quadruples.
  4. There’s meat in the fridge. Always.
  5. You try to work bottle caps into your interior design concept.

This is the life.

Making room

Posted in Life & Work StuffTagged , , 1 Comment

After being in a relationship with the same person for 2 years, your options are reduced to one of two potential next steps: move in, or get out. The boyfriend unit and myself took a leap and went for the former. Most women would relish the opportunity, I’m told. As for me, I’m kind of freaking out. Well, only mildly. It’s just the shift that scares me. I’ve been living alone for so long, it’s normal that the idea of sharing space makes me panic a little. Isn’t it?… Isn’t it?

Pointless fear notwithstanding, I’m still going forth and giving it a shot. And I’m going all the way with it. Today, I’m going through every room and removing things I don’t need anymore. I’m a pack-rat, so this was a long time coming. I’ve been meaning to throw out a bunch of crap to begin with, but making room for my partner is probably the best reason ever. There’s a certain level of significance to the exercise. Making room for someone is difficult for someone like me. I’m not the kind of gal who was ever in a rush to get hitched and make babies. Even when I played pretend as a young girl, my character always had an important career. Not that relationships came second. It’s just that I never felt the need to stay in a relationship for fear that I’d die a spinster. Then, two years ago, I suppose I got lucky.

So now, I’m making room for the guy. Not that he has a lot of stuff to bring with him. A backpack full of clothes. A computer that’ll fit nicely on the desk that I no longer use because i-Technicians broke my iBook. And his sense of humour.

I’m actually making more room than he needs, but I guess that’s just my way of planning ahead. I don’t think he’ll be filling up my drawers with stuff. It’s somewhat allegorical. I have to create plenty of space for the new life. I need to clean the slate as much as possible. I can’t erase anything, but I guess this is just me keeping only what I need to move ahead. It’s not a new life, necessarily, it’s more like a new way of moving through it.

In other news, David Caruso over-exaggerates a pause tonight at 10pm (9pm central).