This post was going to start with “I’ve been through two failed relationships…”
It’s something I have wanted to write about for some time now so I was planning this blog post in my head, whist making vetkoek that turned out like flapjacks, and the opening sentence came to mind.
But hang on a sec, I said to myself, exactly what constitutes success in a relationship? Staying together forever maybe? I have one colleague at work who has been married to his wife for thirty years this year; another will have been married to her husband for thirty-eight years come May. Does one measure success by the number of anniversaries you celebrate?
Years ago I had a friend who was not in the best of relationships. Both were to blame for the state of their relationship and it was a very unhealthy state of affairs. When I suggested she leave she said to me (on many occassions, we had this coversation often) “but we’ve been together for ten years”. To which I would reply, “do you want the next ten years to be like the last ten?”
But something else happened as I started to write this post. It struck me that when I wrote “relationship” I actually meant marriage. And yes I’ve had two of those. But by no means were they my only romantic relationships. I did date a few other fellows seriously, if not for very long. And I don’t regard those relationships as failures because they ended.
Strange then that I consider my two tries at the marriage-go-round as a) the failures and b) the only two that count.
The post title refers to the fact that one month ago today he moved in with me – without the benefit of clergy. And should this relationship end I can’t pretend it doesn’t count because I didn’t needed a judge to say it’s okay for us to part ways.
It has been a bigger adjustment than I thought it would be. Part of the reason is that it didn’t happen how we planned it or when. The plan had been for me to move in with him. I’d had a hard time trying to imagine my stuff and myself in his house. It never crossed my mind to think of him and his in mine.
I have a comfortable two bedroom place that I am renting. When it was just me and the cat it was perfect, a place for everything (and if I wasn’t being too lazy) everything in it’s place. Now the place is full to the brim (even though more than half currently lives in the garage) and it’s starting to feel crowded and cluttered and claustrophobic.
And I don’t know how to deal with it.
So I’ve created this category, playing nice together, as a space for me to talk about it because talk about it I must.
This is the start of the conversation.