Aye Aye Captain

 My daughter and I had a conversation yesterday that paralleled a train of thought I had been having about personal identity and how it relates to activities, events, and plans. And how really unhealthy I have been sometimes about it.

I have been dating.  And as is required during the first few dates, there are the required interview questions.  Where do you work? What college did you go to?  Tell me about your favorite vacation? All good enough questions to help paint the landscape.  But the answers were sometimes awkward in my head because of the pronouns I assigned.

See, if I talked about graduation, or jobs, that was pretty easy most of the time. *I* went to college in Sacramento. *I* have worked for the government for the last 16 years. *I* write a blog that let's my innermost thoughts be critiqued by the random public. *I* have a pretty fucked up sense of self that is wrapped around approval and permission from others. But when I talk about events, or travels, or activities, it always defaulted to *we*.

It is as if I had not gone to the White House.  That was a We Went.  I must not have gone on the ferry to Alcatraz, because WE went on the boat together. I couldn't have seen a Broadway play because WE sat next to each other.  We rode the cable car. We saw the band.  We sat in the box seats. We saw the world's largest knitting needles. We ate the fresh baked french bread. We. We. We.  As if I had no memory of doing them myself without that identifier.  Fuck, really?  This was MY story wasn't it?  The person I was telling the story would only get the details I wanted, and yet, here I was still giving credit to my journey to a couplehood that no longer existed, and that I was specifically trying to have not be part of my moving forward love life.

Turns out, my daughter does this, too.  And she and I together thought it was both funny and sad that we did this for not just major events like vacations, but for everyday things as well, like taking public transportation or grocery shopping.  Were we really so involved in our significant others that we had legit lost ourselves into the identity being as a couple? Apparently, yes. The partners in our lives (or formerly in our lives) had no problems with the word *I*, even if it was a couple event. They could easily say "I went to a really great steak place", or "I bought some really great fresh blueberries", even if both events only happened because either she or I were that responsible party.

She and I decided this was pathetic, and something women do more than men, and realized that changing it was going to be harder than it sounded.  There would need to be events we owned, and activities we participated in, and conversations about them after that we would describe to others using individual pronouns on purpose.  *I* went to the museum in Kansas City to see the Caravaggio.  *I* went to the Cirque du Soleil show in Vegas right before the shutdown. I bought this really pretty poster. I saw my favorite band. I climbed the Lyon Street street stairs to find the hidden SF Heart. 

She validated for me that I had, in fact, done lots of stuff. That I was both capable of doing them, and had experienced them with my own memory without that need for others to always be in the same memory bubble conversation.  I validated to her that I had probably modeled that for her, and she was doing the same memory building for herself, with her own activities and life, even if they happened to have someone else along for the experience.  They could own it, too, without either of our acknowledgment, and it took nothing away from anyone's experience to have it belong to ourselves. Especially in personal pronoun format when telling our stories to someone else.  We did not have to be beholden, or even share in the joy.  Each of us could be *I*, and anyone else that sailed in our ocean could be an *I* as well.

I truly hope to become part of an US and a WE again. I actually like couplehood, and  I am holding interviews right now for the position.  But I also need to see how MY identity and memories are completely separate from that, and how that is actually a much more healthy way to be.  Maybe I could model it for my daughter, and she won't get lost to it either. Our *I* identities are counting on it and there is too much stuff for she and I to do!

Unbound

 Last night I had a dinner with an old lover.

I hadn't seen him in a bit under five years.  Technically I hadn't talked to him in over five years either since he is terrible on the phone, though great over text, and we had texted a few times a year just to say hello even while I was with my ex.

Technically I don't think my ex knew this. See, early on in our relationship, my ex had a kind of meltdown involving a ridiculously long text message, a subsequent phone call,  and a weird kind of compromise because of his belief he was not on a level playing field with other men I had in my life. (He was completely wrong about this, as I already had feelings for him that made the others, including the old lover, not even on the field.) The text and conversation happened at like 3am on April 1st 2017.  I remember it because I laughed that is was April's Fools Day,  but having made another type of obligation for my three days off just after that, I rolled with it, hoping I wasn't being punked.  But the conversation also meant that while he was becoming the primary person I would commit to, I legit could not tell him I was not willing to let myself be swallowed into that confinement.  I was pretty sure, even then, that he would only feel safe inside of what he could control, and he would ignore or avoid the rest. The very very brief conversation we had when I got back was about the commitment I was making to him in the way he understood it and I would honor.  I never strayed from that. Bound to those commitments in a truly willing way. Attached.

I had done that kind of dedicated oneness before. My ex husband, my children's father, several boyfriends and a girlfriend along the way.  All became my entire world and I was lost inside of it.  I relied heavily on their love and company to fill my affection and physical needs, and often they were the only ones there.  I didn't talk to seriously, or go out for any activities with anyone but them. My therapist called this codependency. He was right.

So during that three days in April 2017, I went on a roadtrip at the suggestion (more like a command, but that is a different blog) of someone I had complete trust in, and had it suggested (again, told, but more about that part of my life some other time) that if my feelings for this man who would become my ex were legit, I better figure out what the other people in my life's roles were, and just how much or how little I wanted to keep, and what that looked like.

So I went.  I all but ignored my now-ex for those three days.  A couple texts and maybe a photo, but this was about me, and how I wanted, or didn't want to connect with others. I ended up seeing several people.  Old lovers, friends I rarely connected with, a couple people I barely knew, all in a whirl wind of drinks, and meals, and activities, and sex, and driving a total of about 1500 miles over several parts of the state with almost no sleep.  I made choices, and welcomed connections, and said good bye.  It may have been the most adult thing I have ever done.  And I own every minute.

The lover I met last night was one of the people I saw during that time (the last time as a matter of fact before last night)  He was always good for my body, never judgey or preachy, or in anyway demeaning to my choices.  I could tell him what was going on, but in the way you might write in a journal, or tell in a confessional, without having him try to fix it.  And the sex was always good, with him being more giving than I was most of the time, and I was satisfied physically without any of the emotional baggage that sometimes comes with that.  He was one of the people I did not say goodbye to even with the parameters changing.  He didn't have to know my heart; he never really had, and we both liked it that way.  His heart was often elsewhere as well. We had an understanding that we could, and would, always know the difference between sex and love, and sex could be what we did when it was uncomplicated by our own commitments. I always knew what that meant.

So when I came back from the three days of self service (and it truly was all about me), I made some decisions.  I was heading towards making an exclusive emotional and physical commitment with James, if he and I could get through some other obstacles I was sure we could figure out.  I have never cheated on a relationship. I am not built that way. I know the boundaries. And like I said before, I completely honored them with my ex, verbally, emotionally, physically,  But I also know, having done a lot of self discovery and healing my own trauma since my relationship with my children's father ended, that I could never stop having other things in my life.  People, experiences, thoughts of my own. Values and excitement, and new adventures, even if they slowed to meet a partner's pace.  I didn't want to get lost, again, to the expectations and needs of someone who did not want to go there. 

And to be fair, for the last five years, I truly thought my ex was heading there with me. I wrote in another blog about how I had lost myself into him in some ways, but also recognize that a person can only give to the level of love they give themselves. He did not love himself very much, measuring his worth by money and titles mostly, neglecting his body, heart, and mind needs almost completely, and having that spill over into our sex life, or activities, and most prevalently into him dodging any talk of emotions, including love.  His go to emotion was anger, an easy enough emotion to live in if you have no other skills. I pushed, and tried patience, and even did some ignoring, all for the sake of the love I was giving by choice. And I did love him, do love him, I am just not sure he knew, or knew how to understand it.

But, I didn't completely lose myself this time.  I know exactly where I need to go to heal the grief I still feel, and be okay with others playing their roles. Friends. Lovers. Confidants. I am not alone. I am sad he never knew that, either.

So last night I had dinner with an old lover, and all the euphemisms that implies.  And our rules had stayed the same. I didn't lose myself to him in anyway I didn't want to.  I am pretty sure I never will,  even as I open up all the possibilities. I am going to be okay with the strings untied.

Scarred

Did you know that you can Google "how to get rid of a wedding ring indent?" and there will be dozens of articles and advice tips in less than a nanosecond.  I learned that today.

I was sitting on my porch, sipping tea, reading, sun just high enough to not be in my eyes, but still warm on my legs. and I look down at my left hand to see the dent on my third finger.  To be honest, it took me a second to realize what it was, then another second to be mad, then sad, then frustrated that it was there.

I wore a ring there for a little over four and a half years. I took it off to shower sometimes, or to sleep if it was hot.  I would take it off when my hands would swell if I was walking, or had eaten too much salt the day before. But for the most part, I wore it daily since the day in June it was given to me.

It was his grandmother's ring. A lovely wedding band type, set with channel diamonds in antique cushion cut.  Not expensive; the engagement ring to the set would have cost more.  He didn't have the engagement ring, he said, because the jewelry had been divided up when the grandmother died, and this was what he got.  He had never let anyone else wear the ring before, and had pulled it from a plastic film container he had retrieved from his junk drawer.

It never came with a question, and I liked it that way.  He had been married before, and so had I, and while we planned a future, the idea of matrimony never came up for longer than to work out if a certificate once we retired would make finances better.  It would be a transaction.

But as I looked at the dent on my finger today, and thought about the memory of the day he gifted it to me, all I could think was that the word transactional was actually the best word for most of our relationship.  

I gave him a ring later that year, just before Christmas.  At first he didn't want to wear it.  I asked him about jewelry, and he said that was not the issue, he had worn rings before.  I ask him about comfort, and he said that he was okay with wearing rings that fit him.  So I asked the elephant in the room question, and wondered how he felt about outward physical signs that our relationship was more than casual. 

This is where he balked. He wanted me to wear a ring, but he didn't want to.  He wanted the casual freedom of not having to be asked about his "wife" (the reason men wear rings on their third finger on their left hand) and then either have to explain that I was his girlfriend (that got some looks a few times), or cringe at the word. It was okay for me to have to explain, but he didn't want that. Because almost invariably the questions would become about why we weren't married, when we would get married, how long had we been married if we chose not to talk about girlfriend status.  Fielding them when we were together was easy, I had more language for the ways to answer.  And after a couple times when he had just rolled his eyes, or said something truly vile like "Oh God no she's not my wife!" my responsibility was clear. If he was going to wear a ring, I was to protect him from looking like a flake.  Men whose opinion he valued, and women whose attention he desired, needed to think he was shiny.

So on the day I gave him his ring, and he didn't wear it, I put mine in a bowl on the nightstand and didn't wear mine either.  This bothered him.  He didn't have my undivided adoration right then. Manipulative, maybe, but more than anything, I wanted us to be equal.  Partners without the paper.  If rings meant something to him if I wore one, I needed for him to have that same kind of faith.

He broke the first ring.  It was black hematite and shattered completely one day, without a good reason.  The next ring I got him was titanium. 

The day we ended, we had been out for a walk.  As I said before, my hands swell and, like had dozens of times before, I took the ring off and put it in the inside zipper pocket with my wallet of the jacket I was wearing.  It was his jacket, and I loved it almost specifically for the pocket that held my wallet and ring so perfectly.  When I left that night, I took my wallet, but not the jacket, and hadn't put the ring back on after coming home. When I left that night, I didn't take the ring with me.  When I left that night, he still had his ring on.

He told me two days later that he wanted the ring back. Another day went by before I told him he already had the ring, and where to look.  He informed me it wasn't there.  The ring is gone.  Maybe still in the lining of the jacket. Maybe on his floor near his dining table from it coming out of the pocket when I took my wallet.  Maybe on Market Street somewhere. I don't know.  I only slightly care.

When I returned his keys, dropping them with his concierge without seeing him, he texted later and asked about the ring again. I told him again that I didn't have it, but asked if he was willing to talk about something other than possessions.  He wasn't willing, and honestly, I am glad he was just as transactional this time as he had been with most everything else. He didn't give back his ring, so maybe it lives in the film canister now. No matter, I didn't ask for it or want it back. 

But what I have is this dent where the ring used to be. I took a photo to see if it was truly noticeable to anyone but me. It is, but barely.  Google says the only thing that truly gets rid of it is time.  I added lotion just in case.  I am hoping it just stops being there, and I don't notice when. Apparently, not yet.

I semi-wonder how long his dent will be there, but not really.

Levelup

Today I started my earnest effort to not bother trying to date (or even talk to for that matter) any person who simply does not meet my basic criteria.

You would think this is a no brainer.  Like hey, Elise, maybe don't date people with giant ass red flags, or creepy first impressions.  Legit, maybe pay attention to all of them, because if you are lucky enough to have them show up as who they will be eventually, you really should believe them.  

But something changed in my level of initial acceptance.  Maybe it has to do with the left over remnants of the 2016 election.  Maybe it has to do with the trials against racist slugs currently in the headlines.  Maybe it is just my extrovert tendencies that got all thwarted during a pandemic while watching selfish people cause it to feel prolonged and isolating.  Maybe it is because I am just tired of rudeness.

Don't get me wrong, this blog is not the most polite thing you will ever read.  I fucking cuss.  I call out crap behavior that has me angry or sad ,and I don't really worry much about that person's feeling when doing it. I talk bad about myself with both pity and self righteousness, and am sure I hit plenty of nerves by pointing out the obvious as I see it in the world.  My blog.  I can do that.

What I don't do, though, is try to convince potential romantic partners that they need to see things my way, and then expect them to still like me when they don't. Because I don't and I won't. I promise not to  like you, and I don't want you to like me, either.

Case in point, since I am on dating apps, is having someone tell me that I am too sensitive when I am told that I would be so much prettier if I just stopped having (the wrong) opinion about politics and I tell them (politely as I could manage) to fuck off.  Seems that does not go over well, and I end up having to block them.  Today that happened with one person wanting me to be *an intellectual sparring partner*, then showing me a TikTok of Biden getting hit with a baseball bat and a caption saying that explains everything, while laughing. It happened a second time with someone else I dated like 7 years ago who wondered why I had unfriended him on Facebook. So I accepted the new friend request, only to have his cover photo be a Let's Go Brandon logo over an American flag.  I not only unfriended him again, but also blocked him this time.  A third person (I had to assume was actually a scammer because of all the personal questions), was angry when I wouldn't answer.  I told them I would be happy to answer all of their questions over coffee tomorrow morning, just pick the place since we are local.  They couldn't, of course, because they are currently out of the country on a contract in Syria for an oil company, but will be back in the Americans (yes, that is how they spelled it) in a few months, but for me to please wait for them by talking to them on WhatApp.  I said no, told them I would be happy to help them stay faithful to me by having their profile blocked, and then laughed.  I got called a bitch right before I reported them.

Because, it turns out, I didn't like them. And that is fine. Next.

But this isn't the worst part to me.  The worst part is recognizing that I have, in the past, not had these kinds of boundaries when the person is real, but is really just a not a good match for me, or worse, an actual douchebag. I have believed that certain traits are things I can just adjust to, because people are just different, and I need to be open minded.  But really, why? Why do I have to accept bad behavior, or things that are just kinda gross to me.? Do I have to be okay with someone who justifies why they voted for Trump twice?  Do I have to be okay with people who think the men who murdered Ahmaud Arbery should not have been put on trial for hate crimes?  Do I need to just feel pity for the people cheering for the likes of Marjorie Taylor Green as she talks about her like for Putin, or can I just fucking punch them in the face and be done with it?

Apparently I don't have the patience to date people anymore who complain about the state of the world (and by world, they always mean *'Merica*) but do no work to help, make no effort to educate themselves on multiple views and solutions, and don't vote. My ex was that, by the way, and all I can think now is how gross, arrogant, and repulsively stagnant he was about this.  I am actually grateful today because it helped me see a whole bunch of crap I might have overlooked before for the sake of romance.  I am not desperate, and I don't need to spend another five years figuring out just how useless someone was in my life before it ends.  It can end before date one, and I can be just fine without them in a truly never kind of way.

I wonder what kinds of people will show up tomorrow.  I am sure my list of requirements will just get more defined all the time. Time to Level Up.