Are Wives Really Nagging Shrews Or Do Husbands Just Think They Are?

This post was inspired by Lisa Hickey's recent piece, "Are Husbands Really Assholes? Or Do Wives Just Think They Are?" on the website The Good Men Project. There has also been a great deal of chatter on the interwebs about gender stereotypes in romantic, hetero relationships, most of which would make me tear out my hair by the fistful if I didn't spend so much money making it pretty .

When I see articles about the dynamics of male/female relationships, I initially find them provocative and insightful. When I delve deeper, however, I sometimes cringe at generalizations presented by authors as facts, rather than what they really are: opinions based on limited anecdotal evidence. They may be informed opinions by smart professionals who do some research, but what I've seen recently reveals that many "sample groups" are too small to be taken seriously. Ultimately, I object to the black and white approach inevitably taken by many of these arguments.

I understand why stereotypes take root; historically, the behavior of some in a group (a particular race, gender, or sexual orientation) has been mistakenly accepted as representative of all members of that group. I believe this is a function of ignorance and/or fear, but whether or not we admit it, we all have biases. Perhaps we were raised in an environment of bigotry and, as much as we would like to believe otherwise, those hateful words and images linger in our subconscious minds. Maybe life experiences lead some to form their own brand spanking new prejudices, and they are fine with that. Those are two extremes on a continuum—a large gray area of bias that we aren't generally comfortable talking about.

So how do we discuss gender stereotypes in romantic relationships in a way that is honest and helpful? First, I think we need to admit they exist. No matter how emotionally evolved we are we perpetuate certain narratives that make navigating relationships less scary. If we depend too frequently on these emotional crutches, however, we end up stuck in a place that may feel safe but actually leads us to believe that yes, all husbands are assholes and all wives are nagging shrews. Does this seem like a good strategy for making a relationship work?

Let's hear from the experts. From Lisa Hickey's piece:

The refrain heard over and over is some variation of "I want to have a good marriage. I love my wife. But sometimes, all I feel is resentment—from my wife, toward my wife, toward the marriage. I believe my wife thinks I am an asshole, and she treats me as such."

In Ms. Hickey's defense, she does her best to give a balanced portrayal of both men's and women's thoughts on the subject, but she doesn't have enough to work with. The above quote refers to a conversation that took place—in person, by phone, and via email—between a handful of contributers to The Good Men Project. Later in the article, Ms. Hickey presents a list of comments described as "a quick, non-scientific survey of self-appointed experts in the perception of husbands as assholes".

Most of the article follows a similar "he said, she said" vein, with Ms. Hickey trying to make sense of it all by drawing a few tentative conclusions. But then there's this:

It still bothers me that there’s no real dialogue around this issue. Men feel resentment, women appear oblivious, and conversation around the topic seems nil.

This is exactly the kind of sweeping generalization that causes a stabbing pain behind my left eye. Women are oblivious? I take exception to this, mostly because it's bullshit, but also because it makes all women sound like witless dolts who don't care about their husbands' feelings. Furthermore, my opinion (based on my own limited anecdotal evidence) is that most couples have plenty of conversations around this topic. They probably don't do it out in the open for everyone to see (I hope), but anyone seriously interested in making a relationship succeed realizes they occasionally need to talk about the relationship. These little chats may not be fun and they may not always be as productive as we'd like, but they do happen.

My biggest problem with this piece is that while dissecting and debunking the "Husbands Are Assholes" myth, Ms. Hickey implicitly perpetuates another stereotype, and this one's a doozy: husbands are hen-pecked into a life of quiet desperation by their nagging, shrewish wives. This sort of thinking makes me want to pick up the nearest object and hurl it at the wall. I'm sure many marriages do fit into this hellish category, and I'm sorry for both the husbands and wives who choose to live this way. But it is a choice, and I sure as hell wouldn't choose to be in a relationship where I'm some doormat's ball and chain.

If all stereotypes are a result of ignorance and/or fear, as I opine above, those involving gender are no exception. Maybe a good place to start a real conversation would be to ask: of what are men and women ignorant concerning real intimacy? What do men and women fear in relationships?

NOTE: See Hugo Schwyzer's follow-up article, "Poor, Poor, Pitiful Men: The Martyr Complex of the American Husband" for a radically different perspective.

An excerpt:

The Guy Code teaches men how to pursue women, how to court, and how to charm; it teaches us nothing about how to be in an actual relationship with a woman once we’ve succeeded in catching her. (If you’re getting an image of a dog who looks bewildered and helpless when he’s finally managed to catch the cat he’s been chasing, you’re not far off the mark.)

There's that stabbing pain again, although I have to admit I enjoyed most of this piece. While Hugo is also prone to generalizations, he never claims his contributions to The Good Men Project are anything but his own informed opinions, and he has academic credentials to back them up. Still, maybe I'll tackle this another day...

Why Remarry?

I am divorced, and I live with my boyfriend, also divorced. I have quite a few divorced friends, women and men. Some are happily remarried; a couple are planning to wed new partners; several are looking for love and, I assume, another shot at marriage; at least one is recently divorced and probably not ready to even think about dating; a handful are ambivalent about remarrying; and some insist they will never again take the matrimonial plunge.

According to a study published in the American Law and Economics Review, women initiate more than two-thirds of divorces. There is variation among states, and the numbers have changed over time, with over 70% of filings by women in some states just after no-fault divorce was introduced. Also, a new report from the U.S. census bureau shows that, for those 25 and older, 52% of men and 44% of women were remarried. Statistics indicate that 50% of all first marriages fail; the divorce rates of second marriages are estimated to be over 70%.

These numbers are surprising considering the conventional wisdom that men are generally coerced into first marriages by women hell-bent on snagging a husband. Don't take my word for it; check out the number of books and websites devoted to coaching women on how to trick their man into committing. (I challenge you to find similar advice for men.) And much of the information out there is absurd. For example:

From Your Tango’s Top 10 Surprising Ways To Get A Guy To Commit: “2. Don't be exclusive until you're engaged. Once you've become exclusive and have your eye on marriage, a man can sense that you're thinking about the relationship, wondering where things are going, hoping he loves you as much as you love him—all of which are totally normal feelings, but they make men withdraw emotionally.”

Is this 1950? Keep that man on his toes until he puts a ring on your finger! And while you're at it, date a bunch of other guys who don't realize you "have your eye" on marrying someone else! Sorry, Your Tango, but engagement is not the carrot women should be chasing, and marriage is not a prize that guarantees commitment. Marriage is the result of commitment.

From Love is No Guarantee author Peter Hector: “It is men’s nature to delay anything that can cause drastic changes to their lives. And although men have always been aware of the changes that marriage brings, they accepted them as part of the territory; ‘when a man marries his troubles begin.’ But whether or not today’s men are aware of this old saying, one thing is certain. They are not ready to be plucked from their comfort zones and thrown into a life of responsibility, compromise and sacrifice. And by their own admissions this is the life they believe awaits them whenever they decide to take what they consider the final plunge.”

Barf. Thanks for this sweeping generalization that makes all men sound like pathetic assholes, Mr. Hector. I can't imagine who comprised your sample group, but perhaps you could publish a list of like-minded men so single women everywhere won't waste their time trying to pluck them from their comfort zones and plunge them into a lifetime of trouble.

I came across another revolting factoid around marital disharmony: rather than acknowledge they are unhappy and leave the marriage or, better yet, work on the underlying causes of their and/or their spouse’s unhappiness, many men cheat. (I believe this is referred to as Passive Aggressive Dick Behavior, or PADB.) So who knows if women are ending their marriages because they are unhappy or because hubby needed a little variety to make it through the “long haul” of married life?

My summary, based on the above: men resist marriage the first time around; women are more likely to leave their marriages; men are more likely to remarry (possibly their mistresses!); and second marriages are more likely to fail. In other words, divorced women, more often than men, get what they want and then decide they don’t want it anymore. Men, more often than women, get what they thought they didn’t want, lose it, then realize they want it again. And both men and women are unrealistically optimistic about the chances of a second—or third, or fourth—marriage lasting.

Statistics are numbers crunched to reflect trends. Just that—trends. While some people may have a genetic predisposition for violence, not all of them act on it. Similarly, not all single, married, divorced, or remarried men and women act in accordance with statistical probabilities. While I see some of these trends playing out in my friends’ relationships, the behavior of the majority of people I know does not fit so neatly into these molds. Good for them, I say, because these statistics are freakin’ depressing.

I believe marriages most often succeed or fail due to the reasons people decide to marry, and how committed they are to working their asses off for the rest of their lives to make the marriage work for both of them. So, I offer my unsolicited thoughts on good and bad reasons to remarry:

Top Five Reasons Not To Remarry:

1. It’s the logical next step. There are no logical next steps in any relationship.

2. Marriage will strengthen the relationship. I don’t think so. Being married makes it more logistically difficult to split up, but if your relationship is weak now, toughen it up before heading to the altar.

3. Marriage will decrease the chance of infidelity. Um, no. (See above.) If you and your partner are already committed, fidelity should not be an issue—yet. And if infidelity is a deal-breaker for you, make sure you address it before getting married, because there's a damn good chance you'll be addressing it later on.

4. My parents expect me to be married. Good for them. They probably also want you to give them grandkids (if you haven’t already), floss regularly, and take care of them in their old age. But you’re a grown up now, and it’s time to make major life decisions all on your own.

5. Marriage will provide financial stability. Hahahah! Remember that divorce? How stable were your finances, then? On the other hand, if you’ve made a conscious decision to marry for money rather than love, go get ‘em! But prepare for a life of insecurity once you sacrifice your independence.

Top Five Reasons To Remarry:

1. You and your partner are truly committed and equally enthusiastic about tying the knot. Enough said. Preface each reason below with this one.

2. You want to start a family (or add to the one you have). Fair enough. It’s fun to be married when you have kids. You get to argue over whose last name they’ll take.

3. Your religious beliefs encourage marriage over living in sin. While I obviously don’t subscribe to this, many people do. Go with God (or whoever).

4. You’ve recently come out of the closet, ended that icky hetero marriage, and now you’ve found someone special with whom you want to share your life. Congratulations! If you live in a state that recognizes same-sex marriage, hurry up and get hitched, because religious-fanatic-right-wingnut lunatics all over the country are fighting like rabid, feral cats to take away that hard-won right.

5. You simply can’t imagine growing old without your partner. Smart cookie, because when you're really, really old, you want her/him to have legal standing to make end-of-life medical decisions for you. Also, it just sounds so friggin’ sweet.

The other night, a friend remarked that she and her husband considered my boyfriend and me the "perfect couple". I burst out laughing, then explained I don't believe perfect couples exist. (She joked that they do on Facebook. True, that.) Every couple has their share of struggles, depending on their history, emotional maturity, and—most important—their commitment to each other. This left me wondering, however, what commitment really means. If two people claim to be committed to each other but their definitions of commitment differ significantly, does that commitment benefit the relationship? I don't have an answer, but I imagine that conversation would be an excellent place to start for any couple considering marriage.

What do you think?

Oops! I forgot to blog for eight months.

Where to begin? Last we chatted, I was embracing the chaos of living in The Cave. I had resolved to get back to writing. I was experimenting with a "no expectations" relationship. That seems like ages ago, as almost everything in my life has changed. To whit: I failed, on all three fronts.

The live-in-the-moment relationship seemed like a good idea at the time, and it was fun while it lasted. Then the unthinkable happened: love. I won't say we "fell in love," because that makes it sound so easy, or even romantic. No, we fought it, clawing as we were dragged into what we both claimed we didn't want — a serious relationship. It wasn't pretty and it sure as hell wasn't the stuff romantic comedies are made of. (Or was it?) But once we realized there was nothing to be done about it, there we were. I let him into Grace's world, finally, and they began to create their own relationship. Grace adored him immediately. And his patience, kindness, and willingness to work with us through what was a particularly challenging phase in Gigi's life sealed the deal.

My stint in The Cave came to an abrupt end when we experienced the fifth flood in less than a year. My resolve, and quite a few of my beloved books, were unsalvageable. The timing seemed right, so boyfriend and I found a lovely house together and took another giant, scary leap. We crammed all our stuff — belongings, humans, the dog, emotions, fears — into what has become not just a home, but a sanctuary. Grace loves living here with both of us, and is thriving under this new blanket of security and ordinary... family-ness. She can finally have friends over without feeling self-conscious about living in a basement. WE can have friends over and sit comfortably around the dining room table, or hang out in the huge kitchen. Oh — how can I forget this? — we have a dishwasher!

The third failure doesn't have a happy ending. I haven't made as much progress on my novel as I hoped. Despite the encouragement of my writing group, and the luxury of several writing retreats, I remain stuck somewhere between chapters six and seven. I expected to be finished with Mommune by the end of 2010, but I now realize I will be lucky to complete it by the end of this year. Happiness in life, love and family has brought a certain complacency which allows me to neglect what I always counted on to make me happy, regardless of what was going on around me: writing. Since boyfriend is also a writer, we both struggle with the self-discipline needed to get shit done. So we have made a pact: structure our days to accommodate three (maybe four?) hours dedicated to writing.

If that piece of the puzzle falls into place, I will have little left to complain about. Plenty of other things have happened during the last eight months, however. If I choose to continue blogging, what should I talk about? Suggestions welcome!

At the beach during our latest writing retreat.

Communication? What?

I read my last post, and decided that if they exist, The New Rules of dating can bite me. Sure, there is that brief window of optimism when you meet someone new and really enjoy spending time with him. Due to my finely-tuned radar, however, I am now able to see red flags the minute they appear. No matter how charming Mr. Wonderful is on the first few dates, I pay attention to those red flags as they pile up. Because of that, I'm more likely to pull my head out of my ass and realize, "Huh. This guy's kind of a tool." This is a good thing; in the past, I've ignored all the signs pointing me in that direction until I was in way too deep, and one or both of us ended up getting hurt. Waste. Of. Time.

The words that really jumped out at me from that last post were, "I'm not up for a real relationship." What? Really? Yes, really, and not because of any wounds from past relationships. The time and emotional energy involved in maintaining a serious relationship are not luxuries I can afford right now. I've set up this sort of... unusual life that I'm leading so that I can focus on Grace and writing without constantly having to worry about money. These living arrangements are temporary. So why complicate things with a distraction I can deliberately choose to avoid? I didn't anticipate, however, that even casual dating would bring out the same jealousy, insecurity and uncertainty of a longer-term relationship, minus the shared history, friendship and real connection that almost make the unpleasantness worth it.

There seems to be a pervasive belief that, like a shark, if a relationship stops moving forward, it will die. I know I've fallen prey to this misconception in the past. As I said in a previous post, I believe more women than men focus on where a relationship is going, and maybe even tend to rush things. Most men seem to prefer not to think about it; maybe they want to simply enjoy what they have without worrying about the future, or maybe men believe that ALL CHANGE IS BAD. Could there be a middle ground?

My last relationship ended (prior to my foray into casual dating) because of what appeared to be a widening chasm in our expectations for The Future. He assumed I wanted a more serious relationship, whereas he did not. My knee-jerk reaction to this resistance was predictable: I felt rejected, hurt and a little (!) angry. We talked about it, but that's where the communication breakdown began. Neither one of us actually heard what the other was saying. BIG part of communication: listening. My weak protests of not wanting anything more may have seemed disingenuous, because I never thought about our future; it was too difficult to imagine incorporating him into my life, and Grace's. I hadn't yet decided what I wanted or didn't want.

Now I have. So, long story long, we're giving it another try, albeit in a very different way. We're enjoying the parts of our relationship that were fun (most of them), and not obsessing over where it's headed. I'll focus on my issues instead of worrying about him freaking out, and he won't assume I want more from him than I do. My issues have a lot to do with insecurity and jealousy, and I can't really work on those without first feeling them. I'd just as soon work on them with someone I know and trust. (What? Trust? Then why the insecurity and jealousy? I know, I know. I guess that's why they're called issues.) His issues are his problem. This is new territory. Far from choosing the path of least resistance, I've chosen to do something rather difficult: make my own feelings my first priority. I'd like to sit with those feelings of insecurity and jealousy and try to figure out where they come from.

So far, so good. We're having fun again, and there's no cloud hanging over us about what's going on in the other's head. No reading between the lines or making assumptions based on fear. I can appreciate the good between us, without expending so much emotional energy that my time and focus are taken away from Grace and writing.

What could possibly go wrong?

Dating, Part III: Rules?

WARNING: Skip this one, Mom and Dad. Really.

I've taken to blogging about dating faster than I expected. Part of it is out of sheer necessity, because after being with John for eighteen years, then experiencing two sort of doomed relationships, I'm dating again. Casually, because I'm not up for a real relationship; I'm still licking my wounds from the last one. But when opportunity knocks, who am I to say no? The problem is, I don't know the new dating rules. I'm lost in a sea of confusion over how to best navigate these murky waters. Full of questions, and short on answers. So, you singles out there, I ask you: what are The New Rules?

I've had a few good experiences, but admittedly, I'm interacting with the male of the species with my guard up. I'm wearing my wounded heart on my sleeve, whether I realize it or not. Maybe it's because I tend to put the whole divorced-and-recently-out-of-a-relationship bit out there so everyone knows what's what. Decent, perceptive men sense my skittishness surprisingly quickly, and don't seem too crazy about the odds. I can't force myself to be vulnerable again, though. Should I fake it?

Communicating with men these days is like trying to learn a foreign language on the fly. No one seems to use the phone anymore. Email is rife with the possibility of misunderstanding. And texting? Please. It can take me forever to send one simple sentence. And what is the etiquette surrounding texting? If I have not asked a direct question, should I expect a reply? (And vice versa.) Should we take turns? If I want to share a random thought, but have yet to hear back from him after my last couple of random thoughts, am I text-stalking?

Not to put too fine a point on it, but when do we have sex these days? I'm forty-three. My basic philosophy is that I can have sex whenever I feel ready, as long as I'm safe. But are we still playing the waiting game? Am I supposed to ignore my own instincts so he doesn't think I'm some sort of slut, even when he's giving me the full-court-press? (That ship has already sailed, to keep the water metaphor going, but I'm still curious.) I can't help but feel that old fear: once we've had sex, is he going to disappear? I'm not talking about casual sex, mind you; that's not how I roll (ha ha). But let's face it: even casual dating can lead pretty quickly to physical attraction if there's any sort of chemistry involved. And making out on the couch seems so... high school. What's a girl to do?

Finally — and you can file this under TMI if need be — what's the protocol around farting? One boyfriend handled this beautifully. We were hanging out not too long after we met, and he looked up and asked, "Are you ready for a real relationship?" Every muscle in my body clenched in fear as I stared at him. Then he just let one rip. It was hilarious, and perfect. But not too many men have that particular sense of humor, and I can't walk around with a stomach ache simply because I'm afraid to rock the boat (ha!) with a little wind. If there are going to be overnights, is farting allowed?

I have many more questions, of course. But some advice on these burning issues would help steer me in the right direction, for the time being.

Dating, Part II

My last post was a bit of a downer. I was in a mood. (No way. A mood?) In my haste to revile all things dating-related, I forgot to mention the fun parts, which is what keeps us all going back for more, right? I'm in a list-making kind of place at the moment, so I offer the following, in no particular order.

Cool things about dating:
- Talking on a first date (with no drinking involved) and feeling perfectly comfortable
- Getting to know someone you feel as if you already know (see also: connection)
- First physical contact? Holding hands.
- Having him say he'll call, then getting that call before you expect it
- "When can I see you again?"
- Anticipating the next date, and the next
- Realizing you have way more in common with him than you ever suspected
- That first kiss. Wait, let me repeat that: THAT FIRST KISS
- Being able to sit quietly together, without the need to fill dead air with mindless babbling
- Missing him when he's out of town
- New Guy Smell
- Not worrying about introducing him to Grace, because IT'S NEVER GOING TO HAPPEN. Unless it does.
- Being in a place in my life where I'm not overly concerned with what it all means and where it's going
- Feeling good about myself, not because of him, but for all the right reasons

That's it for now. Like I said, I'll never kiss and tell. Not the juicy details, anyway.

Dating, schmating.

A while back, an anonymous commenter on my blog asked why I don't write about dating. Apparently, the dating trials of a divorced mom are of some interest to those who love a train wreck—namely, my entire readership. I've always told myself that I don't blog about dating because I want to respect the privacy of certain people in my life. But since my divorce, none of my romantic partners have appreciated this courtesy. One wondered why I never blogged about him. Another (jokingly) suggested I write a blog post consisting entirely of his name, repeated over and over again. (I thought that was pretty funny, actually.)

My rationalization for omitting such a large part of my life turns out to be complete bullshit, fueled by fear. I confess: I don't blog about it because I find dating to be really, really difficult. It is rife with uncertainty, conflict, disappointment and, ultimately, failure. Failed relationships hurt. And in my little pea-sized brain, a failed relationship translates into a failure on my part. What was I thinking? What could I have done differently? And, worst of all, what's wrong with me?

I don't actually believe there's anything wrong with me. I haven't had any serious self-esteem issues for a while, at least where men are concerned. (Okay, maybe a little recently.) Were this not the case, I would be a whimpering, quivering, helpless puddle of despair at this point. But I'm not, because I know who I am, what I want and what I deserve. I lose track of that sometimes. I cling to relationships that have clearly played themselves out, because I have thrown my whole reckless, idiotic, hopelessly hopeful heart into them, and I am loathe to admit defeat. My heart doesn't always agree with my brain. My brain might see red flags all over the place, but my heart is color blind.

My other weakness is that I tend to focus on whether or not the object of my affection finds me worthy, rather than letting myself decide, over time, if he's really someone I want to be with. I think women do this more than men. I also suspect that most men spend a lot less time worrying about where a relationship is headed, unless it seems to be moving too fast. I actually envy this about men; it makes really good sense. Living in the moment and letting things unfold naturally is healthy, and doesn't involve keeping track of who called who last, or waiting to see if he'll call if you don't, or trying to read between the lines of completely innocuous remarks. All of that is exhausting, and fruitless. I'm not going to do it anymore. Really.

Then there's Grace. She seems to believe that a family must comprise at least three people. It's what she remembers up until February when we moved into The Cave, and she knows that most of her friends have a man and a woman in one house. So I wait until I'm overcome with optimism to introduce her to anyone I'm dating, and then it's on a very casual level. But it doesn't matter. She can meet someone once, someone I've told her is just a friend, yet she reads more into it than I ever imagine she will. Soon, she'll start peppering me with questions. "Is so-and-so coming over again?" I don't know, baby. "Will I ever see so-and-so again?" I'm sure you will, honey. It's heartbreaking, and I can't help but wonder if she asks her father the same thing, or if she senses in me some need to have a man in the house. I don't consciously feel that need, but she's an old soul, and often surprises, no shocks, me by talking about things she just shouldn't know about.

So a few new rules as I move forward: listen to my head at least as much as my heart; focus more on how I feel about someone and less on how they feel about me; don't worry so much about where a relationship is headed; and most important, NEVER INTRODUCE A MAN TO GRACE unless he and I are both goddamn sure we're in it for the long haul.

Oh, and I will never blog about the specifics of my dating life. I'll try to throw in vague generalities from time to time, but when it comes right down to it, it's my own privacy and sanity I'm trying to protect.

Cave dweller.

I suppose I shouldn't be surprised that not too many people get what I'm doing right now. Most family and friends are, after all, under the impression that I had everything I wanted, and lost it all through a series of mishaps and bad decisions. I went through that self-pity party myself. I now, however, feel the need to clear up something important to me: I am doing exactly what I want. Yes, I live in a basement; no, I don't have a job; yes, it's a challenge being a divorced, downwardly mobile single mother. But I've arranged my life very deliberately so that I can focus on endeavors other than dinner parties and buying shit I don't need. I have created this window of time in my life where I can be a mom and a writer, in that order. I'm also a friend, a sister, a daughter, a lover and, most of the time, a card-carrying whack job.

I've spent too much of my life trying to fit in. To blend, to not draw attention to myself, to be appropriate. Problem with that is that I was so good at it, I ended up feeling invisible, and wondering why nobody really knew me. Growing up in rural Washington as an east coast transplant gave me a very tangible goal: DON'T BE WEIRD. Learn the country lingo, dress the part and don't let on that my family was at all different than everyone else's. (In that we hadn't lived there for generations, among other things.)

This was fantastic practice for when I went off to college in St. Louis, and found myself surrounded by kids from the east coast. Rather than feeling reunited with my people, I was so thoroughly countrified that, once again, I was a fish out of water. College, for me, was a giant game to which everyone else knew the rules. I was lost, and terrified of being considered weird. So I switched gears and did the best I could to emulate my peers, but I'm not sure I ever really fooled anyone. I certainly didn't enjoy those four years of putting up walls and then waiting for at least one person to tear them down. (One did make the effort; all I can say to him is, "I'm sorry.")

When I moved to Chicago, I felt at home. Something about the anonymity of a large city made it easier for me to move about undetected. Perfect. But then I made a bunch of friends, and had to go through the process of trying to be close without anyone figuring out how weird I really was. I got really good at this; some of my neuroses I was able to pass off as quirky, which provided a release valve. A few toxic friendships torpedoed my self esteem, though, and I still carry around parts of that scared, twenty-something girl who was never pretty enough, successful enough or cool enough. At least I was funny; funny was my thing. But the rest of it eluded me, until...

...I moved to Portland. Here, I finally got comfortable with myself. Not so comfortable that I didn't hate visits to Chicago, but I found my niche pursuing the American Dream with a vengeance. (This blog is about how that didn't work out so well for me, however, as both of my readers will attest.)

I'm more comfortable with myself than I ever have been. Getting in touch with my inner weirdo has proved much more enjoyable than I expected. Much the way I've always imagined a schizophrenic feels when they go off their meds and just listen to the voices in their heads for a change, it's a huge relief. For me, it's been a healthy relief. It's allowed me to write without worrying about what people/readers will think. (Let's face it, most writers are anything but normal.) It's brought friendships that are real and messy and intimate and all that other stuff I avoided for so long, because I've surrounded myself with people I find interesting, and who don't think I'm all that weird. I now find that for me, normal = B-O-R-I-N-G.

I live in a cave. I'm a little weird. And it's okay.

Misc. drivel...

Things I like to do alone:
- go to a movie in the theatre
- write
- eat breakfast or lunch at a greasy spoon
- clean
- do laundry
- look at art
- nap
- go to the dog park with Brady
- take road trips
- shop for necessities
- sleep

Things I like to do with someone else:
- jog
- read in bed
- travel
- talk about miscellaneous drivel
- garden
- cook
- make big decisions
- shop for recreation (almost never happens)
- go out for drinks/dinner
- take Grace somewhere fun
- sleep

Mirror, mirror.

Smart. Funny. Sarcastic. Kind. Generous. Moody. Strong. Needy. Bitchy. Loving. Argumentative. Independent. Short-tempered. Capable. Lazy. Always right. I could go on, but you get the point. Who am I describing? Me, of course, or at least a combination of who I believe I am and what I've been told I am — not always consistent, clearly. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I'm also describing Michael (who I will continue to ambiguously refer to as my "roommate" because I like to keep things interesting). I always subscribed to the notion that opposites attract, but that hasn't worked out so well for me in the past. But put two people together in the same house who share so many strengths AND weaknesses, and stand back. When we're on the same page? Bliss. When we're not? Let's just say we both fight to win, like pit bulls, and it can get ugly.

My mom recently sent me an email to the effect that God doesn't send you the people you want in your life; he sends you the people you need. I'm not sure God had much to do with plunking Michael and me in each other's lives, but the last few months have been illuminating. The things about him that drive me the most crazy are things that I easily see in myself, but wish weren't there. So our arguments usually end up going something like this:

"God, I hate it when you do that."
"You do the same thing ALL THE TIME!"
"I don't do anything ALL THE TIME. Why do you always generalize? And we were talking about you, not me."
"Of course we were. Again."
"Oh, so I'm the one who's always complaining? Please."
"I didn't say that."
"But that's what you meant."
"Now you can read my mind?"

And so on. It's not much fun (or very original, I know) when it's happening, but afterwards I'm struck by the humor in it, and the fact that it presents a very real opportunity for personal growth. Already, I feel myself tempering those nasty tendencies I have, because now I know how they make people feel. My tone is a bit softer; I'm less defensive; I stop and ask myself if something is worth getting angry about. I don't know that Michael will notice, but I hope Grace does, because she's such a sponge right now and HOLY CRAP I don't want her growing up like me! We're all working on using our friendly voices even when we're upset, which sounds totally goofy but is more difficult than I expected. Name calling is verboten. Saying "I love you" is mandatory. Going to bed angry? We're still working on that one.

Bite me, 2008. I win.

According to a list I found online, the top ten stressors are:
- death of spouse
√ divorce
√ marital separation
- jail term
- death of a close family member
√ personal injury or illness
- marriage
√ being fired at work
√ marital reconciliation
- retirement

I experienced half of these (checked), spread nicely over the last six months. (I was surprised to not find moving on the list, because we all know how exciting it was to sell and/or buy a home last year.) Also, I watched one of my best friends suffer the loss of a parent; I went through the delightful process of kicking a Vicodin habit, courtesy of my gastroenterologist's (the Sadistic Prick) decision to treat my symptoms rather than figure out what was going on with my body (cold turkey, three days of hell); I faced some financial setbacks; I watched the Perfect Roommate become the Perfect Nut Job; I raised parenting anxiety to an art form; and I spent the holidays away from my parents for the first time since moving to Portland. It sucked.

So why am I so happy? I've never dealt well with chaos and uncertainty, but all the recent drama seems to have perfectly illuminated the good in my life. I'm making positive changes; I finally feel healthier now than I have in years; Grace seems to be adjusting remarkably well to her new living arrangements and is gradually transforming from a giant energy drain into a little person who makes me howl with laughter; and, of course, the people in my life continue to amaze me with their support, generosity, patience and compassion. Family, friends (old and new), and even cheerful strangers make me smile every day and appreciate what a fantastic little community I am part of.

I am optimistic about the new administration and the direction our country could take; I look forward to discovering the nuances of Grace's emerging personality; and I remain absurdly hopeful about publishing my novel and making a living as a writer. And as far as this is concerned? Time will tell.

I seem to have lost my pluck.

Yesterday was our 14th wedding anniversary, and I chose to write about what I hope to find, rather than dwell on what I'm losing. I made that decision because the two aren't very similar, not because John isn't a great guy, but because I pushed too hard for something that just wasn't in the cards, I think. Also, I'm trying hard to look forward, stay positive and focus on what's important. Tonight my brother Ed, Grace and I will drive to visit my parents at the coast, and Monday I will start my job. This will be my last chance to be with family (the people who HAVE TO love me), and lick my wounds before my new life starts. So I'm sort of bugging out and I feel like crying. Should be an interesting car ride for Ed.

Someone to watch over me.

This shot of Brady pretty much captures my mood today: kinda forlorn but hopeful, in need of a hug, tail at half mast, down but definitely not out. I've noticed that when Brady and Boo lie together, they always position themselves butt-to-butt. That's a pretty trusting behavior for dogs, I think; it's as if they're looking out for each other. I'll always believe that it's better to be alone than to be with someone and be lonely, but I don't really want to be alone, either. Maybe that's what all my recent blogginess has been about — when something happens to me, I don't feel I've fully experienced it until I've shared it with someone. But it has to be with someone who cares. I crave that feeling right now. I'm not yet alone and not particularly lonely, but I imagine how beautiful it must be to have one person in your life whom you can trust to care about you and watch out for you. I don't need a man to put me on a pedestal or put my needs before his own, but I long for the security that comes with knowing that someone's got my back. One person, always. How could I ask for more? I suppose integrity is crucial. Intelligence and a sense of humor would be nice. And if he happened to look like George Clooney...

Of course, let's not forget that crazy something two people do when they're feeling especially fond of each other. Maybe I'm reading too much into the dogs' body language. Maybe Brady just likes to rub her butt against Boo's balls. And who can blame him for not resisting? She's a hottie, even at four times his age.