This might sound a little dramatic but when did our generation become so unavailable? Yes, yes, I realize that this is a gross generalization but since I began writing this column three years ago it has become clear that the notion of availability has been my underlying theme. And maybe that is simply a comment about me; yet, it seems ironic too. We have every possible means of communication available to us and with one five word sentence in a text message, we can throw off our entire day analyzing every possible meaning it could hold (or is that just me?!).
Since January, I have been seeing one guy who at times has provided me with the greatest of satisfactions and other times has left me bewildered. We have had a lot of fun together—I guess you could say we clicked. But what has baffled me about the entire relationship has been the number of times I assumed the fling was up (my evidence being the fact that he has a terrible habit of disappearing) and then out of no where he would suddenly appear again—sweet, endearing, affectionate, and seemingly sincere.
But maybe I’ve read too much into it. What if all I have been in his eyes is the 23-year old woman who is just out for a good time and didn’t need any follow-up. In a lot of ways I have played that role beautifully: I never asked anything from him; I wasn’t dramatic, incessant, or demanding. I did everything I could to just play it cool. And I would have been more than willing to walk away at anytime. Maybe that’s where I haven’t been smart and why he felt as if he could wander away whenever he felt like it. I was seemingly indifferent to the relationship, and he, happily uncommitted.
To my own defense this is the only way I know how to act when I really start to like someone. My fear of vulnerability and getting hurt overwhelms my ability to act myself completely. This inevitably leads to game-playing—calculated game playing even. In the beginning the games were fun to play because they made everything exciting. If he wouldn’t call me for a week then I would wait a few days before calling him back; if I hadn’t seen him for a while I would work extra hard to make sure I looked stunning. He was never slow to compliment me and I got to act like I had barely thought about what I was wearing.
My own attempts at intimacy usually left me a little scared and running for the door. For instance, there was one morning when I could have spent the entire day in bed with him—I had no place to go all day. Instead, I woke up, a little overwhelmed at the idea that I could stay there all day and after two unsuccessful attempts at falling back asleep, I quietly got out of bed, got dressed, and whispered good bye. I spent the rest of the afternoon alone in my apartment wondering what was wrong me. However, I don’t think I have been the only one afraid of where we were headed. He always seemed to partake in his disappearing act after we would spend a really great night together. It is hard not to trivialize those moments because of that very fact. But how do you deal with the intensity of a moment you are not sure even happened or had as much significance as you felt it had?
The worst moment was, however, the night he added the final touches to the canvas he had created of me—that I had let him create. We were discussing “us”, which I should add he brought up, when he told me that he loved telling his friends about me because I wasn’t dramatic. I seemed to get him and the fact that he needed his space and I didn’t make a big deal out of it. I was frozen by that comment. In some ways it was flattering. I had succeeded at being completely unavailable. I appeared not to be looking for anything in particular, and as he said, I might just be doing the college thing. I am still not sure what that even meant but I guess he assumed I was just having fun. That left me very little room for expressing what it was I really wanted. And instead of breaking the mold, I kept all my thoughts to myself, too afraid to hear the truth because if he told me what I wanted to hear then I finally got what I wanted and if he didn’t, well, then I would have to walk away from the situation altogether.
Since not seeing him for a few weeks—this perhaps being the longest we haven’t seen one another but one of the times we have been in the most contact with one another (that being relative), I am starting to feel hurt by the situation. There are so many questions I want to ask him and so many things I need to say for myself. But I am afraid to make those demands because I might have to experience heartache for the very first time.
So maybe not much has changed in three years but I think I am finally ready to start exploring what it is I really want.
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