With some couples, it just doesn’t work out. That’s the sad and unfortunate tale, my darling boys ‘n’ girls — a tale as old as civilization itself — that some relationships never reach their Happily Ever After. Scratch that: Some loves don’t even have a remote chance to reach their mid-way potential. They’re just never meant to.
Because unless a love is on its very first round for both participants who are completely innocent and unscathed, someone steps into it while carrying a load or two of baggage. Someone’s father didn’t love them enough. Someone’s mother was a fuck-up. Someone’s ex mistreated them. Someone else had a history of settling for less than what they deserved. She got cheated on. He ended up not trusting humanity and fearing the vulnerability of love. Oh, the reasons for the baggage are endless, my darlings! I had seen enough of them to start believing that that very baggage is pretty much a permanent part of the process; and if not that, it’s an unexpected third character.
I mean: Look at Romeo and Juliet.
Those two kiddos were lucky enough to experience the rare coincidence when both parties love each other equally and, what’s utterly amazing, for the very first time. But even in the case of these two “star-crossed lovers,” they did not start-up their famed affair without a couple of issues in tow. Even though their baggage didn’t originate from previously failed affairs, these two teenage lovers had inherited plenty of it from their families. And once there is baggage — the affair cannot remain light. Sooner or later someone’s gotta start reshuffling their shit, impose some transference upon their new lover, repeat a pattern or freak-out entirely.
And sometimes, a love affair is predetermined to not work out. Back to our unfortunate kiddos in Verona, their Happy Ending was doomed from the get-go. As for the rest of us who have lived — and loved — enough, we can’t even figure out if we’ve chosen our future beloveds to fit the pattern or to escape it. Because when it comes to one’s history and one’s future — they are two codependent aspects.
“Damn, V! That’s a grim outlook,” you may say.
Well, there is hope in it yet, my dear comrades. With the help of some therapy and mutual communication, a love has a chance of surviving being bashed by egos. But it takes hard work, of course. However, I never said that the hopefulness came at a reasonable price.
But today’s rant blog is not even about love: It’s about the loss of it.
Allow me to ask you this poignant question, my dear comrades (for such is my destiny — to be poignant; and “yourr velkom”!): Why must we insist on making each break-up messy? What’s with all the finger pointing, and the issue having, and the claims of righteousness, and the entitlement to justice? Besides the reshuffle of things and bodies that must naturally occur when a Happily Ever After doesn’t work out, most failed lovers refuse to walk away without pulling some final punches. Whatever happened to calling it quits without losing the grasp on grace; if not for the sake of the two people that the lovers have grown to become, then for the sake of the initial more smitten and kinder players they were in the beginning of the affair?
This has been puzzling me lately, I must confess, my comrades. In the light of my recent willingness to make my new love story work out while simultaneously seeking my forgiveness of the previously failed ones, I’ve been rewinding some of my past break-ups. (So, okay: I’m masochistic a lil’!) It’s like a bloody home movie marathon in my head these days!
And what I’ve discovered was that regardless the promises of kindness and the vows “to love and to hold,” in the final chapter of my every love story, shit got messy. Even after I’ve wised-up enough to stop confusing screaming phone calls and slammed doors as an expressions of that same love, the drama (for the lack of a better word) didn’t stop. Because even if I’ve decided to walk away without losing my graces, the other — often poorly chosen from the start partner — made it messy.
In the end, my darling boys ‘n’ girls, it all worked out, of course. The broken hearts healed. New loves eventually arrived. In some cases, there even blossomed a lovely friendship between my exes and I. But the residual guilt or the overall heaviness from an ungraceful break-up hung around for a bit; slowing down the process of healing and imposing itself onto the next affair.
So, why, I must repeat, this “much ado about nothing”? Why can’t we, lovers, agree to depart without leaving each other undamaged?
Isn’t there a way to call it quits without the two prizefighters trying to pull those final punches that would knock the wind out of their opponent? And instead of utilizing the energy of all that anger and mourning toward inflicting pain, may I dare suggest redirecting it toward summoning some gratitude for the obvious privilege of having loved at all? And if a Happy Ending is just not meant to be, can an affair’s ending happen with some contentment, at least?