Even When There's Not a Problem

This is just to say that I'm alive, and in a very happy time -- which is why I'm not blogging. It's got everything to do with feeling like I've got it all worked out for a time, at least enough of it to be cocky. Knock on wood.

Nine months ago, when I took the current job I hold, I was invited to take an Instinctive Drives test (along the lines of a Meyers-Briggs), and it revealed something pretty surprising (and true!) about me...namely that I am constantly, vigilantly, consciously and unconsciously looking for problems.

The report says I'm part of 2% of the population that is driven solely to identify and solve problems. No other drive in me, so says the report. The drive to build harmony among people? -- I do not possess it unless chaos is presenting a problem. The drive to complete a task? -- only if not completing it is a problem. You get what I mean.

Apparently a lot of people like me (all 2%) who can't immediately identify a problem in whatever they are dealing with will just create a problem to work on, as an exercise. Oh, the ring of truth.

George, my therapist at the time, God love him, helped me understand some of this information and I've been chewing on it ever since. It's been a huge insight for me in the area of relationships.

Here's the truth. At virtually no time have I ever been totally relaxed in a relationship. I am constantly weighing issues to determine whether they may be a problem now, in the near future, or in the ultimate future.

This is why some men get rejected immediately. I have rejected totally hot guys for having stubby fingers (not artistic, probably a small penis), for falling asleep in a cab with his mouth open (self-centered, slack-jaw), for calling me shortly before our second date to postpone since he had to work (probably a player). You name it. I think I've pushed more men away for flimsy reasons than all the men in Greenland. It's irresponsible, looking back, since I've always wanted a companion in my life.

But here's what I believe about that. Looking back on growing up, I have this feeling that the unspoken message from BOTH my parents was to please leave them alone, they've been at work, they're tired, and somebody already gave them a problem today, namely one or the other of my brothers.

Back then, I needed things to just kind of work out. I learned to be extremely resourceful, but moreover, I learned to be hyper-vigilant. Constantly on the lookout for the possibility of fuckupedness. Careful to proceed when I have calculated the chance of success and I know the gamble's worth it. This explains why I ski, but I would never bungee jump or sky dive. I like to have some control.

But this hyper-vigilance makes it tough to get a relationship off the ground. This problem-minding never stops.

Being constantly on the lookout for the possibility that a little fledgling relationship might end up being extremely fucked up means a lot of relationships don't even get a chance to play out. It only gets worse when, six months into a relationship, something happens, and the stakes are so much higher. There comes a point that I can't manage the risk. This need to identify problems has got anxiety all over it, so said George, my therapist, and it explains why I battle so hard with intimacy.

All along I have been thinking, "Getting into a relationship is not safe! There are so many problems that could happen, there's no possible way to be vigilant enough!" And all seemingly so very threatening to my very survival.

But then. Deep breath.

Somebody told me that relationships are inherently not safe. Just like that. As if everybody knew that, but nobody told me, and I didn't know. People you love can hurt you. But problems (and how we deal with them) are critically important to the development of intimacy.

Here I've been going along my ENTIRE LIFE trying to quietly avoid and fix problems in my relationships, before they are noticed by my lover. And when I couldn't avoid or fix problems, I tried to cover them up. When my lover mentioned a problem in the relationship, I faked to the left and then ran for the hills. And when I had some pesky problem that wouldn't stay under wraps, no matter how hard I tried, and I had to tell it to my lover, it was accompanied by near hysterics on my part, and he would recoil in horror. All of this problem avoidance made it really hard to keep something going.

Sorry, let me rephrase. All of this made it impossible to keep something going.

But then. Awareness. A personality test at work reveals this interesting fact, and it is a door to change.

OK, I get it that relationships are not safe. I'm willing to take a chance. I'm even practicing that kind of mindfulness they showed me at the Zen Center, so that when I'm with Michael, and I hear my mind running away with all of those potential problems, I realize what I'm doing. And if I truly have a problem at that moment, I let him know about it, and nothing's actually ever been a real problem once we talked about it.

What's honestly more shocking is that since my anxiety has loosened its hold on me, I'm actually more relaxed (duh, I know!), and things that might have been huge problems at one time don't matter in the least.

I think of all the time I spent agonizing over the cartoon noises that Brian made, or the fact that I was broke trying to pay my student loans and I couldn't afford to pick up the check with what's-his-name (the stubby fingers guy), or that Alan came from a rich old Southern family and I was ashamed of mine. There are literally hundreds of problems I have come across, large and small, that have contributed to the demise of my relationships. Things I wouldn't, or couldn't talk about.

Michael makes cartoon noises sometimes, and I told him about the thing I had back then, because it really was a problem for me. I couldn't stand those cartoon noises. Now it's a joke between us and a cartoon noise executed at the right time can be freaking hilarious.

More importantly, lately I had the courage in the moment to tell him he hurt my feelings when I really could have skipped it.

I was even able to tell him again, hours later, and even after his apology, when my feelings were still hurt. I was lying there beside him, trying to fall asleep, having turned away from him without making love. He had brought up the incident, and I couldn't talk about it, so I changed the subject and said I was tired and turned away. I was hurt, and scared, and wretched. Hot tears rolled, and I felt so utterly alone trying to solve this problem. But the awareness kicked in, and I got the courage to turn back to him and tell him I was still feeling hurt. (What a novel idea!) He held me, and said again he was sorry. I told him how hard it was, to tell him. And he understood that too. And then I got some good lovin'. The end.