Are you exceedingly and overly romantic?
I am hopelessly romantic. Like all romantics who have live a goodly number of years I have also been seriously bruised by love… just as I have undoubtedly disappointed others in that department.
I was seriously involved for a number of years with a woman who told me early on that I was the love of her life (a phrase I came to mistrust) and then subsequently revealed that she had said the same thing to many other men. I became rather alienated after this revelation, largely because I thought it both tacky and destructive. It also was one of several reasons why I eventually headed out the door. As I remarked at a point when things started to fall apart: ‘Making such an absolute pronouncement, though seemingly romantic, is also something of trap for all involved. Especially if it is later revealed that such statements
are a cornerstone of one’s romantic repertoire’.
Then again what would romance be without big pronouncements and the opening of the heart to the essential notion of great possibilities and the hope of a profound connection. When it comes to love the majority of us are aspirational. We have to travel hopefully when in love. Just as we also have to understand that love evolves, changes, and often falls apart. There is no permanence is a world where everyone is mortal. Accepting that was, for me, a way in which I began to negotiate with the contradictions inherent in the human heart. I am deeply suspicious of anyone who shows certitude. Or perhaps I should phrase it this way: I run from people who have the answers; who know it all. In my experience those who pronounce themselves possessing the truth, or knowing how this all works (and we really must embrace their worldview) are to
be avoided at all costs. By and large their Manichean perspective belies a lack of imagination, an absence of nuance and a deep insecurity. There is often an entrenched provincialism lurking behind certitude. Just as there is a need to control the narrative... or, more tellingly, those around them. And what is fascinating are those individuals who choose to build a life with such a person, subconsciously knowing that they are going to end up being so controlled. It’s a bit akin the way that the masses often flock towards a seemingly strong autocrat (think Hitler, Mussolini, Pol Pot, Trump) because they want to be led, want to believe that there is an all-present Poppa who will look after them. And when the totalitarian impulse is fulfilled and everyone loses their basic human rights, can anyone but ourselves be
blamed for buying into the dictator’s certainty?
Certitude is to be avoided at all costs. Walk away from it the moment you hear it being expressed. I had a long conversation with someone I met in an airport lounge (we were both awaiting transatlantic flights) who told me that his twenty year marriage was coming asunder. I could see he was torn. There were children. There was a sense of a long, shared history. There was the realization that they had grown apart; that he didn’t want the third act of his life to be played out as a long-married couple still together but living semi-separate lives with an ambience of ongoing disaffection underscoring
everything. I am twice divorced. I have lived variations on this man’s story (who was one of the more cerebral and clever people I’ve met in a while). I told him that I never hand out advice on other people’s relationships – because the outsider never knows what goes on within its intimate contours. But what I did say was: in my two instances there was a moment when I thought: ‘this is no longer tenable… I have to go’. And though in both instances I stayed on longer than I should have when I finally did step through the door marked ‘exit’ I never regretted it.
But stepping through that door… it is often a vertiginous move, and one which is going to cause much
pain. As I said to this man:
“Leaving is hell. But if staying is even more hell…" Staying/going/wanting change/fearing change… the ongoing conundrum. And one never with easy answers.
I was seriously involved for a number of years with a woman who told me early on that I was the love of her life (a phrase I came to mistrust) and then subsequently revealed that she had said the same thing to many other men. I became rather alienated after this revelation, largely because I thought it both tacky and destructive. It also was one of several reasons why I eventually headed out the door. As I remarked at a point when things started to fall apart: ‘Making such an absolute pronouncement, though seemingly romantic, is also something of trap for all involved. Especially if it is later revealed that such statements
are a cornerstone of one’s romantic repertoire’.
Then again what would romance be without big pronouncements and the opening of the heart to the essential notion of great possibilities and the hope of a profound connection. When it comes to love the majority of us are aspirational. We have to travel hopefully when in love. Just as we also have to understand that love evolves, changes, and often falls apart. There is no permanence is a world where everyone is mortal. Accepting that was, for me, a way in which I began to negotiate with the contradictions inherent in the human heart. I am deeply suspicious of anyone who shows certitude. Or perhaps I should phrase it this way: I run from people who have the answers; who know it all. In my experience those who pronounce themselves possessing the truth, or knowing how this all works (and we really must embrace their worldview) are to
be avoided at all costs. By and large their Manichean perspective belies a lack of imagination, an absence of nuance and a deep insecurity. There is often an entrenched provincialism lurking behind certitude. Just as there is a need to control the narrative... or, more tellingly, those around them. And what is fascinating are those individuals who choose to build a life with such a person, subconsciously knowing that they are going to end up being so controlled. It’s a bit akin the way that the masses often flock towards a seemingly strong autocrat (think Hitler, Mussolini, Pol Pot, Trump) because they want to be led, want to believe that there is an all-present Poppa who will look after them. And when the totalitarian impulse is fulfilled and everyone loses their basic human rights, can anyone but ourselves be
blamed for buying into the dictator’s certainty?
Certitude is to be avoided at all costs. Walk away from it the moment you hear it being expressed. I had a long conversation with someone I met in an airport lounge (we were both awaiting transatlantic flights) who told me that his twenty year marriage was coming asunder. I could see he was torn. There were children. There was a sense of a long, shared history. There was the realization that they had grown apart; that he didn’t want the third act of his life to be played out as a long-married couple still together but living semi-separate lives with an ambience of ongoing disaffection underscoring
everything. I am twice divorced. I have lived variations on this man’s story (who was one of the more cerebral and clever people I’ve met in a while). I told him that I never hand out advice on other people’s relationships – because the outsider never knows what goes on within its intimate contours. But what I did say was: in my two instances there was a moment when I thought: ‘this is no longer tenable… I have to go’. And though in both instances I stayed on longer than I should have when I finally did step through the door marked ‘exit’ I never regretted it.
But stepping through that door… it is often a vertiginous move, and one which is going to cause much
pain. As I said to this man:
“Leaving is hell. But if staying is even more hell…" Staying/going/wanting change/fearing change… the ongoing conundrum. And one never with easy answers.
