When I think about dating, I’m really excited by the idea of the beginning, that chapter or two when you spend time solely with each other, not yet required to take your infatuation to the outside world. Who wouldn’t be? I like the idea of exclusivity, without the distractions and ensuing judgment and expectations that come once we’re out from under the covers. I worry about what will happen when we’re forced to assimilate into each other’s worlds, and he’s suddenly not just for me anymore.
Anne Morrow Lindbergh offers an interesting perspective on this in her 1955 book “Gift from the Sea”. Yes, I did say 1955. I, too, was wondering how this could possibly be relevant today, but it really is. She says we all desire to be loved alone, meaning we all crave the 1:1 experience; the time spent as just the two of us. She goes on to describe that this isn’t just romantic love. Our children crave this mutuality from us, somehow subconsciously wistful and yearning for the nascent mother-child connection that has faded over time. And even a close friend or a direct report at work basks in the time devoted solely to her.
Lindbergh asserts there’s nothing inherently wrong with desiring this unqualified attention, it all goes awry; however, when we believe our relationships can sustain this on a continuous basis.
When you think about it, this makes a lot of sense. At the beginning we’re creating a bond: Wife to husband, mother to child, friend to friend. We deliberately and selfishly filter out all of the distractions. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. We haven’t entered each other’s worlds yet, we’re in a temporary space, almost like a suspense account or a holding tank, a fleeting utopia that gives us time to cement our connection. Sooner or later, life breaks through.
As new people enter our formerly secluded space, whether we create them together in the form of children, or blend our work lives, friends, family, hobbies, and passions, the relationship can’t help but change. And we can’t get back, ever, to what it was before. Because now we’re trading that exclusivity for everything else that makes up our lives. Clearly, those scales don’t balance. Maybe this isn’t a startling revelation, but for me, it helps me see that relationships don’t have to be especially demanding to be fulfilling. It’s our belief that anything less than the steady drip of exclusivity we started with means the relationship is not what it should be that trips us up.
It also means there is room to follow our own personal dreams.
Women, especially back in 1955, thought they needed permission to even think about hopes and desires outside the home, let alone act on them. So when they joined forces with a husband and he retained work and other creative outlets, women felt lost, disillusioned and empty without really knowing why. While society and even our partners have come a long way in the 57 years since Lindbergh wrote her love letter to herself, still today we aren’t unequivocally giving ourselves permission to make our dreams a reality.
The epiphany for me in all of this is that the impossibility of sustaining the exclusive attention that brings us together is not a problem, it’s a relief! It doesn’t mean we don’t love each other anymore. It doesn’t mean we’ve lost interest. It doesn’t mean there’s someone else. It just means we need to come to a new understanding around how much 1:1 time each partner needs to nourish the bond and what is possible in our busy lives. The amount of time we spend alone together ebbs and flows alongside, not to the detriment of, the other priorities in our lives. We need to make a commitment to find pockets of time to be alone together in order to break the vicious cycle of disappointment that comes with expecting a steady stream. What needs to be continuous is the calibration of time we spend in all corners of our lives.
We spend those early days anchored together, learning how to wear each other well, so that when we’re ready to set sail in different directions, we can always find our way back to each other. We’re supposed to want to be our own people, to have lives and interests outside of each other. Women do themselves a disservice by trying to shoe-horn personal pursuits like careers in around the relationship. Each deserves equal importance and consideration when striking a balance.
I’m intrigued by the idea that we all crave this absolute attention, even in non-romantic relationships. Now I’m thinking about what I can be doing to covertly infuse myself into life with my boys in this new and different way. With Nate going out of town with his dad next week, I have Nick all to myself. I’ve been expecting that we’ll be two ships that pass in the night. I need to find a way to give him more of me this week to feed the need for my undivided attention he’s probably not even aware of. And I bet I could help myself in dealing with the letting go that is part of adolescence, by accepting that right now I likely need more alone time with them then they want from me. The balance will surely shift as we move through time.
A few years ago I shared with a friend my angst over what would happen to the relationships I’ve carefully cultivated with my boys if I fall in love with someone and want to let him out of our secret space. He assured me that the new guy may seem alien at first, but he’ll see how I am with my boys and want to be part of it. That idea makes me smile.
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