Steppity Step Step

I don’t know how it works for everyone else, but if you were to graph my maturity level over time, it wouldn’t be a straight line, rising to the right; it would look like a flight of stairs. I seem to undergo relatively little growth for long periods of time, until some large event happens that prompts me to change the way I conduct my life.

The conclusions to romantic relationships in my life have always acted as catalysts for growth. The relationship ends, I cry about it and blame everyone else for my problems, then I finally calm down and look at the situation logically, which is usually when I find something about myself I wish to change.

My first so-called “relationship” was with a girl named Jennifer, which began when I was fourteen. The relationship (at least on my end) was mostly about emulating couples from television shows and movies. I was melodramatic because that’s the way couples were supposed to act, right? It became a game, of sorts, in which I would make big deals out of small things to get us as close as possible to breaking up without actually getting there, because, as media had taught me, drama was a necessary ingredient for a relationship. After she finally dumped me, I realized that it wasn’t a game. Drama wasn’t a necessary ingredient, and all I’d actually done for the entire relationship was go out of my way to hurt her feelings.

When I was seventeen, I met Jaclyn. She became the first girl I really loved (as much as is possible for a teenage boy). Things were generally pretty good between us; armed with what I had learned from my previous breakup, I was able to actually be a decent boyfriend. Where I ran into trouble was in feeling that—since we SOOO in love, after all—we needed to be together all of the time, and never hang out with and/or talk to anyone else. I didn’t understand why she’d ever want to do anything without me, or why she’d want to hang out with anyone else. Ultimately, as I was leaving high school to go off to film school, she broke up with me. It was never explicitly stated, but I think she was afraid of having to deal with my jealous behavior from afar, while trying to live her life back home. Reflecting on the relationship, I began to see the value in personal space. I also abandoned the notion that two people can “complete” each other, instead realizing that for a relationship to work, both people involved needed to be mostly complete already. I had a lot of work to do before I could consider myself anywhere near complete.

A few years into college, I dated a girl named Jessica. During our relationship, I had a really hard time dealing with her past; she had a lot of really dark skeletons in her closet. It wasn’t something that I did consciously, but after our relationship had ended, I realized that I had made her feel really guilty for things that she could never change. A person is made of their present thoughts and actions, not those of their past; their past only helped them get to where they are now.

In 2008, I had a short-lived relationship with a girl named Kelsey that, upon its conclusion, taught me a very important thing: you can’t ignore the fact that you don’t get along well with someone just because they’re jaw-droppingly attractive.

Later that same year, I met Kasey. At the onset of our relationship, I was motivated by something I had heard a pastor say at a wedding once: “Some people like to say that you shouldn’t keep score in a relationship, but I say you should. You should keep score, and make sure you’re losing.” I was moved be the selflessness of this idea, and I wanted to put it into action.

I poured untold resources into my relationship with Kasey, and made a lot of sacrifices. There were times that I prioritized my relationship with Kasey over my bedridden, dying mother, and I’d justify it by saying that it’s what my mom would have wanted me to do, which, while true, didn’t make it right. Roughly eighteen months into our relationship, I realized that I was feeling angry and upset and jealous. I had been “keeping score, and making sure that I was losing,” and it was driving me insane. I was getting bitter because I was putting so much into the relationship, but not getting much back. And it wasn’t all her fault; she was in college, without a car, without any money, so it was impossible for her to reciprocate. Later, after she had moved in with me, my pent-up resentment allowed me to be content with having her do most of the work around the house; I felt like I had earned it somehow. This, of course, only helped her to feel resentment toward me, feeling like she was my maid/babysitter.

After coming to a mutual decision with Kasey to take our lives in separate directions, I fully realized the importance of equality. I don’t believe in “Make Sure You’re Losing” anymore, but rather “Make Sure You’re Tied”. Even if you’re doing it for the other person’s benefit, tipping the scales too far in one direction will, in my experience, inevitably cause resentment. If we’re talking idealistically, it shouldn’t, but in reality, it does. And tipping the scales in one direction now to counteract something in the past doesn’t work either. It doesn’t matter what the balance was like a year ago, a month ago, or five minutes ago; always aim for perfect equilibrium.

Each of my past romantic relationships has its own distinct step on my staircase-shaped maturity graph. I kind of wonder what will happen after I get married. I don’t want to stop growing—ever—so, clearly, these steps will have to get built on something else. Maybe someday, rather than from old girlfriends, I’ll start learning from my kids.

Love and Romance, Philosophy, Ponderings