Potential Girlfriend, Round 2
Love is a weird thing. A complicated, wriggling, twisting, gnarly thing. It doesn't have one shape or one dimension -- just when you think you've begun to understand it and its way, suddenly it morphs, suddenly it assumes a brand new appearance and you find yourself having to start from square one.
This is the position I've found myself in. I was always used to love working one way, in one particular linear order, and I always expected it would have to stay that way. That order is: you see some cute girl and half-fall in love, you get to know her and full-fall in love, and then you try to figure out some way to worm your way into her life, get her to notice you, get her to love you. This is what I'm used to. This is what TV shows. This is what the books show. This is what the movies show. In fact, even as I write this and I have very good reason to believe it doesn't have to be this way, I still kind of believe it.
I've seen a new order. There's a girl that I've written about on here before who is beginning to become important to me in a way that she hadn't been before. In fact, I had written on here that I don't love her; she had caused me to write a few too many times on the distinctions between love and sex. The girl I lost my virginity to on one drunken night in an empty flat, in my absent flatmate's room. I've been physically, sexually attracted to her for a while now and somehow managed to begin having sex with her -- a wonderful, excellent, joyous decision; the flowering of my sexual self, the discovery of a new aspect of life -- however, I never was attracted to her in that electric way. You know what I'm talking about, the kind of attraction when you half fall in love because of appearance alone: that first stage in the linear order of falling in love so depicted in all our culture. Her style -- the clothes she dressed in, the way she wore her hair -- didn't hook me. I assumed this meant we weren't meant for love, that sex was our only point of intimate contact, that otherwise we should just be friends. I thought that's how it had to be.
But recently, not seriously, just as an aside in a conversation we were having, I mentioned how I could probably really like her if her style were a little different, but it's a shame that it wasn't. I wasn't suggesting anything; I was just musing aloud. But she bit. She saw it as an opportunity. She figured, why not? She had moved on from the reasons that dictated her old style; those weren't relevant to her any more. She had a vague understanding of what I liked and suggested she would be willing to try that out if it would mean something between us would work.
This all sounds very strange doesn't it? Very backwards. That electric spark at the beginning of relationships, here we are attempting in some romantic experiment to artfully induce it. We both know we really like each other as people, as friends, and we have a great sex life. If, we thought, we can induce the spark, we could have a relationship too -- complete the package. And that's what we've been doing.
And I think it might be working? We're presently far away from each other because I'm pseudo-exiled in Italy, but we speak by messenger every single day, and she occasionally sends me pictures of this steady transformation she's making into this new person, and I think the shock might be coming. Or, it's a different kind of shock -- a slow, steady feed of energy to get that romantic faculty within me jogging, not the same explosive shock, but I still think it might be working all the same. I'm beginning to feel different.
In any case, I'm breaking my exile and going back to Edinburgh on Friday to visit her. I'll experience the changes in person to see how I feel. But I want it to have worked; I'm hoping it will have worked. And, to be honest, I think it will have. I certainly feel the swirling of some new emotion within me when I think about her. What's more, it makes so much sense to be with her. We really like each other and we have an excellent sex life. I just need to want to be with her. But even if I don't feel a radical, paradigmatic shift in emotion this weekend when I visit her, perhaps that doesn't matter. Perhaps I can myself usher in the emotion, learn to love her, as opposed to naturally being hooked by her looks and style. After all, love is a weird and unpredictable thing.
I'm anxious, nervous, scared to announce our relationship to all our friends, so I want to wait a little longer; I want to hang around with her and feel that I want to try all the way. I don't doubt I will want to try, but I want a little test-run of trying before accepting that I will big, capital-T Try. I suppose that's what this weekend is for, to act as a test-run.
Love, I suppose, doesn't have to be all natural magnetism and instantly "knowing". Sometimes, perhaps, you have to try. Sometimes you have to work for something you realise will be good. And she has done her part by changing her style -- perhaps now it's my turn to adjust my feelings?
I think I'm ready.
This is the position I've found myself in. I was always used to love working one way, in one particular linear order, and I always expected it would have to stay that way. That order is: you see some cute girl and half-fall in love, you get to know her and full-fall in love, and then you try to figure out some way to worm your way into her life, get her to notice you, get her to love you. This is what I'm used to. This is what TV shows. This is what the books show. This is what the movies show. In fact, even as I write this and I have very good reason to believe it doesn't have to be this way, I still kind of believe it.
I've seen a new order. There's a girl that I've written about on here before who is beginning to become important to me in a way that she hadn't been before. In fact, I had written on here that I don't love her; she had caused me to write a few too many times on the distinctions between love and sex. The girl I lost my virginity to on one drunken night in an empty flat, in my absent flatmate's room. I've been physically, sexually attracted to her for a while now and somehow managed to begin having sex with her -- a wonderful, excellent, joyous decision; the flowering of my sexual self, the discovery of a new aspect of life -- however, I never was attracted to her in that electric way. You know what I'm talking about, the kind of attraction when you half fall in love because of appearance alone: that first stage in the linear order of falling in love so depicted in all our culture. Her style -- the clothes she dressed in, the way she wore her hair -- didn't hook me. I assumed this meant we weren't meant for love, that sex was our only point of intimate contact, that otherwise we should just be friends. I thought that's how it had to be.
But recently, not seriously, just as an aside in a conversation we were having, I mentioned how I could probably really like her if her style were a little different, but it's a shame that it wasn't. I wasn't suggesting anything; I was just musing aloud. But she bit. She saw it as an opportunity. She figured, why not? She had moved on from the reasons that dictated her old style; those weren't relevant to her any more. She had a vague understanding of what I liked and suggested she would be willing to try that out if it would mean something between us would work.
This all sounds very strange doesn't it? Very backwards. That electric spark at the beginning of relationships, here we are attempting in some romantic experiment to artfully induce it. We both know we really like each other as people, as friends, and we have a great sex life. If, we thought, we can induce the spark, we could have a relationship too -- complete the package. And that's what we've been doing.
And I think it might be working? We're presently far away from each other because I'm pseudo-exiled in Italy, but we speak by messenger every single day, and she occasionally sends me pictures of this steady transformation she's making into this new person, and I think the shock might be coming. Or, it's a different kind of shock -- a slow, steady feed of energy to get that romantic faculty within me jogging, not the same explosive shock, but I still think it might be working all the same. I'm beginning to feel different.
In any case, I'm breaking my exile and going back to Edinburgh on Friday to visit her. I'll experience the changes in person to see how I feel. But I want it to have worked; I'm hoping it will have worked. And, to be honest, I think it will have. I certainly feel the swirling of some new emotion within me when I think about her. What's more, it makes so much sense to be with her. We really like each other and we have an excellent sex life. I just need to want to be with her. But even if I don't feel a radical, paradigmatic shift in emotion this weekend when I visit her, perhaps that doesn't matter. Perhaps I can myself usher in the emotion, learn to love her, as opposed to naturally being hooked by her looks and style. After all, love is a weird and unpredictable thing.
I'm anxious, nervous, scared to announce our relationship to all our friends, so I want to wait a little longer; I want to hang around with her and feel that I want to try all the way. I don't doubt I will want to try, but I want a little test-run of trying before accepting that I will big, capital-T Try. I suppose that's what this weekend is for, to act as a test-run.
Love, I suppose, doesn't have to be all natural magnetism and instantly "knowing". Sometimes, perhaps, you have to try. Sometimes you have to work for something you realise will be good. And she has done her part by changing her style -- perhaps now it's my turn to adjust my feelings?
I think I'm ready.
Comments
Post a Comment