Brave New Kitty

Many people have the idea that when they find the right person they will feel whole. This idea is foisted on us in novels, movies and songs, and was expressed most directly in the movie Jerry Maguire when Tom Cruise tells Renee Zellweger, “You complete me.” And of course, she melts, and all her anger at this otherwise childish, self-absorbed person evaporates and they live happily ever.

Pardon my crudeness, but, gag me.

In the world of romantic relationships, two halves do not make a whole. No matter what the popular notions about this are, no matter how much people want to believe that the “right person” will complete them, no matter how many songs, stories, novels, poems, tv shows, movies, and advertisements tell us otherwise, it is simply not the case. When two half-people hook up and try to have a romantic relationship, the result can only be disastrous.

If a person is only “half-developed” in the sense of not having undertaken the difficult work of healing from emotional wounds, what will the relationship look like? The most common pattern is for a person whose lack of healing causes her to be insecure to hook up with someone whose lack of healing causes him (or her) to be emotionally aloof. Both are acting out of neediness, one externalizing and one internalizing (although this is somewhat of a simplification), and when they first meet there is indeed a sense of completion, which can be extremely powerful when you are operating from a place of deficit. In fact, this is often what causes that intoxicating feeling of early “love.” But what happens in the day-to-day grind of being present for a partner when you haven’t yet learned to be present for yourself? We all know, because we’ve all been there at least once: a feeling of loneliness far more unbearable than the loneliness of being by yourself. And it goes downhill from there.

This sense of completion common in early romantic relationships has almost nothing to do with love. Yet sadly, this feeling is exactly what most people are looking for. They’re fooled into believing it is love by popular sentiment and their own longing. The truth is, in the world of romantic partnerships, there is no such thing as a white knight, as being rescued, as being completed by another person. These are all highly skewed notions of what a good relationship is all about.

In The Power of Myth series, Joseph Campbell described romantic love more accurately than anything else I’ve heard. He called it “an ordeal.” It is not for the faint-hearted or needy, who simply do not have the fortitude to stay present with another human being in the trenches, which, as one of the most difficult, stressful, exhausting, frustrating undertakings imaginable, is what romantic love demands. Of course, it is also one of the most rewarding ones, which is why it gets so much attention. The rewards just tend to not be what most people think they are. In fact, if most people understood the true nature of a love relationship and the emotional demands it would make on them, they would probably run as fast as they could in the opposite direction! (The same goes for parenthood, but that is another topic.)

Romantic love is, at its best, a partnership of two equals whose melding creates a whole greater than its parts, a connection and a synergy that didn’t exist before. But this is not a wholeness that can develop between two people operating from a place of deficit and neediness, which, when put together, only makes a greater deficit and more neediness. No, this is a wholeness borne of strength. And also fortitude, willingness, patience, empathy, kindness, tenderness, forgiveness, and so much more. If you view love as a way to fill an emptiness inside yourself, it is unlikely you’ll have many of these necessary traits. Better to forego romance for awhile and work on developing them in yourself; the long-term results will be vastly more satisfying.

This is not to say that a person must be “cured” of all her humanness before being capable of real romance. If that were true, romantic love would be nonexistent. But for a relationship to work, both people ought to have a few things figured out: you don’t have to be completely free of emotional baggage, but you do have to know how to deal with it on your own, and take responsibility for it when it rears its ugly head in the relationship. And ideally, you’ll have dispelled all your notions about romantic love whisking you away from yourself and curing all your pain and problems because, in reality, it merely provides another avenue to confront all that messy, uncomfortable, scary stuff that you were hoping to avoid. (Which kind of explains a lot if you think about it, doesn’t it?)

Ironically, when needy people seek completion in another person, their impulse is correct; they just get the execution wrong. The wholeness they intuitively seek can only be found by looking inside themselves. Looking for it externally is largely an avoidance tactic, and will keep them stuck in that place of deficit they’re so unwilling to face. Sadly, sometimes for a lifetime.

The desire for completion is a natural human drive and nothing to be ashamed of, but if you don’t understand that what you’re looking for can only be found within, then your thinking about love will be forever skewed, and you will never find it or yourself, and that is truly a tragedy.

First, you can tell a person’s maturity level by how well they listen in general. Are they usually available for you? Do you feel comfortable talking to them, and know this is a person you can count on for good counsel and feedback? If so, then this person probably has some stuff figured out.

My partner Jim and I were far from experts when we started this thing. We both had some dismal experiences in our past and a lot of baggage, childhood and otherwise. But we had some things going for us, and probably just as important, we got lucky. We stumbled onto some ideas early on that we both recognized as crucial elements to the success of the relationship.

Between what we had going in and what we figured out together in the first month or so of our relationship, we came up with a few solid ways to create and maintain intimacy that have really worked. I’ve boiled them down to three main ideas that I’m going to share here.

Before I do that, here’s a quick definition of intimacy so we’re all on the same page. Intimacy is feeling safe and comfortable being yourself with another person. This is a broad definition, but intentionally so. What’s more important than feeling safe and comfortable when you’re with a person day in and day out? I can’t think of a thing.

I don’t know if this will be helpful to anybody; a lot of it is simple, common sense. But until I figured it out, intimacy was like an impossible fantasy that didn’t exist in the “real world.” I felt hopeless that I could ever feel that way with another person; probably because of the family I grew up in (but that is another topic). In any case, if a caring, loving, supportive relationship seems like an impossibility to you, read on. Maybe you’ll find something to spark a new thought or awareness; I sure hope so.

1. Prerequisites
First of all, we both had some necessary prerequisites for a relationship; we were good raw material for each other. Simply put, we had a lot in common. But the really important things we had in common were maybe not what most people might think.

Jim and I had known each other for years, and it was only when he taught me how to ride a motorcycle, now six years ago, that we grew closer. From the outside, I know it looks like motorcycles brought us together, that they were something we had in common. But that’s not how it was. Motorcycles were merely a catalyst, an opportunity for us to get closer and discover the traits we liked and respected in each other. Without these traits, these prerequisites, there would have been nothing to build a relationship on.

What we realized as we got to know each other was that we had a lot of shared values. There were obvious things, like we both loved the same things about motorcycling and neither of us wanted to have kids. But we also had very similar spiritual beliefs, and we both considered spirituality an important aspect of life. We both valued honesty over kindness, meaning that we would rather be told the truth than have our feelings spared. We both valued critical thinking. Above all, I think, we were both avid seekers of truth, and we both sought that truth in a very similar way, on a very similar path. (We also shared other important values such as openness, willingness, and kindness, but these are kind of bottom-line essentials, and, I hope, too obvious to discuss here.)

Because of our shared values, we also shared a common language. We’d read a lot of the same books and thought about a lot of the same things, so we had a kind of shorthand with each other. He could say something about the Pre-Trans Fallacy, for example, and he didn’t have to explain what it was. Or I could talk about how Spiral Dynamics has helped me understand some particular behavior, and he would know instantly what I meant. In this common language, there was a tremendous sense of connection. There was a tremendous sense of understanding each other. Conversations about important stuff came easily, and we didn’t have to struggle to be heard. It was a fantastic feeling.

Shared values, I believe, are the most necessary prerequisite for compatibility. Jim and I also had a lot of superficial interests in common—motorcycling, taste in film, ethnic restaurants—but these alone are not a strong enough glue to hold a long-term relationship together. There has to be a deeper level of connection.

2. Honesty
Honesty was certainly a value we shared, but when you care about someone’s feelings (or want to avoid conflict), it’s easy to slip into saying what you think a person wants to hear. Since both Jim and I are “people pleasers” by nature, we really struggled with this. We hated to hurt each other’s feelings or disagree. But hurt feelings and disagreements are inevitable in a close relationship. So one day, when I suspected he was taking care of my feelings rather than saying what he really wanted, I called him on it. He resisted at first, and it would have been easy to drop it at that. But something bubbled up from somewhere, and I found myself saying how crucial it was for us to be honest with each other, no matter what. I don’t know where it came from or why it came to me at that particular time, but a look of dawning comprehension came over Jim’s face, and at that moment, I think we both internalized, in a conscious and deliberate way, how necessary it was to be honest with each other. And to this day, this assumption underlies all of our communication.

Honesty—and I’m speaking here of emotional honesty, sharing feelings and desires candidly—is sooo important. If you fall into the trap—and it’s very, very easy to do—of telling your partner what he or she wants to hear, you end up not getting what you really want. If you do this repeatedly, then you end up never getting what you want. Then you end up resentful, distant, and emotionally shut down. As does your partner, who is doing the same thing with you. The result is a sad, disconnected, un-intimate partnership, a superficial connection that neither person is happy with.

If you’re not able to be emotionally honest with your partner, you will also never feel fully safe or fully comfortable. How can you, when you aren’t able to speak your truth? How ironic that what begins as a gentle way to spare the feelings of someone you love turns into such a destructive monster. But it does. And until you decide you’re going to be honest and deal with whatever consequences occur, you’re never going to feel truly intimate with your partner.

Honesty is the kindest way, as well. It may not seem like it at the time, but it always, always is. Honesty is the only way a person can know and understand you; it is the only way to help a person better know and understand himself. Without these two things, we go through life oblivious about the areas of our lives we should know the best. How sad! I can think of no greater kindness than the truth, gently told, to a person we love.

This is not to say you must tell your partner every single thing on your mind all the time, or expect it in return. (That’s just bad boundaries.) But you must develop the willingness to not shirk from honesty just to avoid conflict or hurt feelings. Doing so is a death knell to intimacy.

3. Playfulness
Successful relationships take a lot of work. Being emotionally honest requires effort and fortitude. As do kindness, tolerance, and forgiveness. But if a relationship is all work, forever talking about feelings and working through issues and striving, striving, striving to do it better, what good is that? The whole point of being with someone is for the enjoyment of it. If you’re not spending at least as much time having fun as you are working through your problems, then you’re kind of missing the whole point.

In the early stages, it’s easy to have fun. Everything is new and magical and exciting. But when that wears off, and you’ve started to notice your partner’s shortcomings, and it begins to take some effort, is it still fun? Can you do the tough work of building real intimacy and still enjoy being together?

Not only enjoy being together, but have fun. Play. Laugh. Be good friends. Ideally, best friends.

Jim and I have gone through our ups and downs, times where it was harder than others to appreciate and enjoy each other. But at our core, we like each other. And because we like each other, we have fun together.

It helps that we’re both playful people. We have a whole assortment of silly games we play with each other. There’s the Homograph game, the Cliché game, 20 Questions, Cool but Dumb, Is It Anything; I could go on and on. I won’t explain the games because in themselves, they’re not important. The point is that we’re playful with each other, frequently laughing, looking for the quirky view or the most interesting idea about whatever we happen to be doing. Such playfulness makes mundane tasks like driving, grocery shopping, and doing housework fun.

Adults in the modern world have a tendency to treat life with morose seriousness. I suppose because there is so much to be serious about: bills, career, health, mortality, politics. Raising kids. Global warming. The Middle East. All true. But there is another way to see things. Alan Watts (one of the authors Jim and I have in common) talks about the “fundamentally playful nature of the Universe.” It has been my experience that when I’m fully present in the moments of my life, it’s impossible to worry about the future or fret about the past. They simply don’t exist. There is only the eternal now, and when we are living in it, there can be only joy.

I don’t succeed in living there all the time (far from it!), but I have experienced it enough to realize the truth of it. And Jim and I aren’t always happy-go-lucky (far from it!), but we are playful with each other a great deal of the time. This makes our connection really special, and really vital, and, I think, really healthy.

When two people share values, language, and are able to be honest with each other, they have the tools to create real intimacy. But playfulness is what makes it all worthwhile.

Summary
A healthy relationship is not exemplified by the absence of conflict, but by the ability to work through it. Ours is no exception. Because of our shared values, our willingness to be honest with each other, and a fundamentally playful attitude towards life, we are able to not only work through conflict, but to create new levels of intimacy as we do so. Some times take longer than others, but we always manage to get there. And with the tools we have, I expect this most exciting of all adventures to continue indefinitely.