Learning From Mistakes, Or: A Guide To Relationships In 10 Easy Years

Even though I’m late to the party, I knew I had to respond to this the moment I started reading…

I’ve always fancied myself a Knower Of Love, A Romantic Beyond All Other Romantics. I knew how to act with whom and why relationships never worked out for others but why they would work out for me—because I was that damn good at it.

In fact, apparently I thought that I was so good at it that I decided to marry the first real girlfriend I had straight out of college. The first girl that liked me back even though I knew that there was an expiration date on the package. Yes, I was going to prove to the world that love is strong enough to fit a diamond peg into a round hole.

But you know what they say about Idealists, right? I don’t either, but I’ll say this about myself: I’m an idiot because every day that I woke up next to this woman I knew that I was missing out on all the things that I espoused love should be. The lowest point of my life was day four of our honeymoon when I looked across the table and was struck with a heavy blow: when I looked into her eyes, I felt nothing, yet I “knew” that I couldn’t admit defeat so quickly, and so irresponsibly.

What’s worse is that near that point, I could feel that she felt empty for me also.

And still, we did the song and dance about marriage because, at the very least, we liked each other enough. We’d laugh at parties and family gatherings, take cute pictures when instructed to, and then argue in private about the same things over and over again without ever acknowledging that they were deal-breakers, and as such, should break the deal.

Every day I would think about how I was married to someone that was “good enough,” even though I know deep in my soul’s soul that when you’ve decided to share a life with someone, “good enough” shouldn’t be an option. I wanted to be inspired by what I know love should be, and this wasn’t it.

However, as luck would have it, I was given such an opportunity when my wife was on the other side of the country partaking in an internship program through her schooling. (“Internship”? “Schooling”? God, I was too young to get married.)

While she was gone I was invited to my high school English teacher’s wedding in November. This is the woman who set me on a path to teaching because she saw something in me that I only tepidly believed in and wasn’t sure I wanted to embrace. But she wouldn’t stop hounding me about it and made sure that I didn’t quit in college after the first day scared me more than Poe ever had his contemporaries. (A pattern is forming: I had a hard time quitting good ideas from others.)

My teacher was always equally persistent in hounding me about a girl I had gone to high school with that she just knew would be “perfect” for me. (See also: stubborn.) It’s not that she disagreed with the sanctity of marriage (obviously?), it’s just that instead of sitting me down and telling me what I needed to hear—that I shouldn’t have gotten married in the first place, let alone still be married—she continually provoked me by muddling my mind further. (Healthy!)

That being said, even though my relationship was splintered, I was still a Protector Of Passion, and as such I felt that meant that I had to continue my ruse. I wasn’t yet ready to admit to the world that I had failed, so I politely shook off her adamancy with half-hearted smiles and sideways looks that playfully told her to let it go. Well, she didn’t let it go. No instead she held onto it tighter than the wedding ring she was there to accept, and when I arrived at the reception, I saw that she had sat (in her mind) my future wife right next to me. At this point she wasn’t so much tempting me to break my bonds, (because she knew I would never do that) as much as she was proving to me that waiting might’ve been an OK idea, too. Tough love, I suppose.

When I noticed this, I bowed my head to the master of persistence because I knew that this was her last great stand on the subject—until the next one, that is. “OK,” I thought, “I’d always wanted to get to know this girl better anyway, so I’ll be polite but also be extremely married so as not to create confusion.” Good plan, right? Right. Except then she walked in and I felt myself trembling instantly as the mistake of my marriage soon became undeniably clear. This woman was the most beautiful woman I had seen walk into a room before. And when she spoke, she was even more beautiful.

We each sat at a table with a few other former students that my teacher had kept in touch with throughout the years. None of which, to my knowledge, were also strategically placed by one another. We exchanged pleasantries during the evening with them but somehow always found each other more interesting, so we eventually let the table fend for themselves in the arena of conversation. In fact, by the end of the night it was as if the rest of the table didn’t exist. Instead, I was listening to her and wondering how I was going to maneuver my diet in order to fit her mealtime intricacies into my life after the inevitable demise of my blessed union.

When my teacher and her husband walked by the table to greet all the guests, she shot both of us a look individually, yet simultaneously. She believed she knew what she was doing

She did.

That night ended with my mind a-fluttering but never fully believing a girl like her would like a guy like me because I had become so encapsulated in my world that I forgot to look out for what I needed. Instead I lied to myself for another year or so before my wife and I split; then I tried to fill my life with ideas of other girls, all the while thinking about the one that somewhere I knew I was meant to be with… We were, after all, making each other laugh on Twitter this whole time.

(And through those interactions I found out that she was all the things I had believed in my whole life but had yet to find in a partner: she believes in herself and me. She is funny, courageous, tender, beautiful, and (again) fearless in who she wants to be. All whilst treating others with an enormous amount of respect and compassion.)

As we continued to impress in 140 characters, this past June we had made plans to get together for a drink and really see what type of people one another were. The first hour was spent coyly maneuvering around each other like kittens with a ball of yarn. We were at once completely aloof and totally interested in one another. That “let’s meet for a drink” ended up being a multiple-hour hangout that manifested two more consecutive nights of drinks and company—the last night of which was capped by an adorably aggressive text on her end asking for a ride home even though she came there with plenty of other people that knew her better, and, you know, drove her there to begin with.

I seized this opportunity and became the most debonair version of myself that I knew how and whisked her away for a nightcap that turned into spending five extra hours with her that felt like five fleeting minutes. That night encapsulated our entire week—unplanned bliss that ended up growing us closer together.

Then, she went back home. To another state. (Grew together,  flew apart.)

She exited as quickly as she entered, and just as lovingly. Since that encounter though, (not to mention the consequential times since) we’ve realized that our lives are better with one another in them, and, as a result, have been stupidly struggling through the inevitable downside of a long distance relationship: distance.

(Seriously, I love her, but this shit is hard and deserves its own post.)

I’ve only officially been with her a short time now—and at the very least my first marriage has shown me that I don’t know anything about what is going to happen—but I do know that I’m happier with her than I’ve ever been with anyone else. I’m motivated by her to be the best version of myself, but not for her. For me. She’s reminded me that while it’s OK to show vulnerability, having strength in yourself is the best way help others.

Also, and most importantly, I’ve realized that I like her because I like her. Not because I should like her… The More You Know.

So instead of ending this with a “happily ever after,” I’m going to take the much more practical approach of, “happily-est right now.” Which, as a Nostradamus Of Nurture, I can assure you is all anyone can really ever ask for: to be continually inspired by the person that makes you happiest.