Shakespearian Comedy

I just spent about three hours talking on the phone with someone. To call her an “ex” would make our relationship seem too insignificant. To call her a friend wouldn’t give you the full picture of our comedic past. We’ve known each other since high school, were friends, toyed with the idea of dating, dated other people, toyed with the idea of dating, dated other people, “dated”, etc. You get the picture.

Well, in the summer of 2000 we decided to give it a much more serious try. We were both frightened because we knew what this meant. Our previous decisions about dating never had anything to do with how we felt, only about distance, timing, and a simultaneous belief that we weren’t good enough for the other person (which I didn’t know until tonight!). Things happened and we didn’t talk for several months. Of course, I’m leaving out many details here. haha. Well, she’s been married since 2002. We’ve talked sporadically since then and tonight, for the first time, we laughed and talked about why it didn’t work out. Tonight we had one of those beautiful conversations, so hilarious, so tragic, so wonderfully human. And we wouldn’t want it any other way.

I could have chosen bitterness, hatred, or distrust. I guess this gets me to the issue of openness, the kind of person I want to become. After a relationship fails, and obviously all of mine have, it’s easier to take the road of self-preservation. To take the road that could ensure that we never get hurt again. To distance ourselves so much from others that failure (in our next relationship) becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy. We become so closed-off that we become blind to our shriveled state, believing that it’s others who’ve changed, not ourselves. In order to maintain the illusion of normalcy, we convince ourselves of personal consistency. But we all change, we grow, we heal, we become. The question is, what is it that we become?

I guess many of the thoughts along my way focus on the past as it relates to my present and the possibility of my future. While I haven’t written about relationships, and oh do I have things to write, I constantly think about the perpetual disappointment yet my constant hope. Between disappointment and hope I stand, yet am I standing with an attitude of openness or self-preservation? This is the choice with which I find myself continually confronted.

We, and by “we” I mean “me”, convince ourselves that we don’t want to hurt this much again and, obviously, the next person will be merely a continuation of the last. Our present self is unrecognizable and we repeat the mantra that we’re better off this way. Self-preservation is a powerful motivation to never allow anyone to know us. Self-preservation doesn’t allow us to take risks (relationships, hopes & dreams, etc.), to become the person we want to be, rather than the person that we are. We convince ourselves that we’ve taken the smart road, the safe road, the obvious road.

But I just don’t care. I don’t care if I get hurt again. I don’t care if I change direction. I just want to live. I want to figure out what it means to live in a world so comedic that tragedy is always lurking around the corner, so beautifully human. Because that’s life. We muddle through and do our best with what is in front of us. We make decisions, then other decisions, with the hope that our lives can have some resemblance to the reconciling work of Christ. Without risk, without uncertainty, all we have left is the kind of predicable life that leads to the apathetic attitude of eventual regret. This gets me to something I’ve been thinking about for a few years: our desire for immediate permanence.

With my uncle’s recent diagnosis, you could say that I’m in a rather reflective mood. And tonight I was reminded about yet another part of my life that has shaped me into the person that I am today, comedic and tragic, beautifully broken, mercifully redeemed.

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