The Talk

I’ve recently entered a new relationship – for lack of a better term – and things are going well. The attraction is strong, we laugh a lot, and simply have a good time with each other. Because things are going so smoothly, I have been reluctant to change anything, and am doing my best to avoid any grandiose conversations of what we are and where this is going. However, even in our mutual attempt at keeping things light, at times we’ve stumbled into the familiar territory of the all too familiar “definitive” conversation.

For example, the other night we had a talk about our relational histories. It wasn’t excessively heavy, mostly focusing on what had made our past relationships work or fail, and how that changed the way we look at ourselves and our relationships now. For example, having recently come off a pretty rough heart break episode myself, I tried to explain how my once rosy eyed, idyllic perception of love and relationships had been tainted. I had replaced idealism with cynicism; romance with realism; and essentially shut down the part of myself that hoped for a good, healthy, complete sort of love.
I admitted that this once openhearted lover was now buried beneath the rubble of a broken relationship, and that I was unsure when I’d feel ready to access it again. However, as shockingly well as that went over, and as pleasant as the whole conversation was, it did get me thinking about the potential benefits and/or harm of discussing one’s relational history; and trying, in a sense, to define who you in terms of that history. Is this sort of conversation really necessary? Does it do any good? Maybe, maybe not – but I think one can argue both sides.
On one hand, it seems that this conversation is inevitable and necessary. We want our partner to understand us, and we want to understand them, too. So, such discussions can help reduce the unease that can accompany a new relationship. I know I feel more at ease when I at least feel like I have a handle on who my partner is. So in a way, allowing a partner to explain themselves honestly and openly – their relational strong suits and weak points; hopes, fears; all that jazz – can be a great way to feel more connected to that person, and help to assert some reassurance in a restless heart and mind.
However, whenever I have this conversation, I can’t help but feel like I’m trying to define or justify myself to my partner (and vice versa), and that we may unknowingly be limiting ourselves greatly in this new relationship. This talk was no different. In trying to get to know her, and help her get to know me, I felt like I was trying (and likely failing) to offer her a blue print of who I am. Revealing how I’m built from the ground up, warts and all, in hopes of granting her some sort of clarity or assurance, while simultaneously easing my own mind and vindicating myself because now she knows me. I’ve laid it all out there, and now she can take it or leave it. It seems practical, and in a way it is – but there’s a fatal flaw with this model.
Once I’ve provided this self-archetype, I’m tied to it because she will likely expect me to behave accordingly, and if I don’t, she may infer that I was dishonest, or worse, that I don’t know myself at all. What was once an act of lightness, a way of setting myself free, transforms into more of an anchor that weighs me down, and I can feel trapped in a cage of my own design. What if I’m not entirely happy with the me I’ve portrayed? What if I misspoke or she misinterpreted something I said? What if I want to change who I am?
I realize these thoughts are rather irrational, but they still cross my mind. I have a tendency to over analyze, and my set of tools for doing so is no where near complete (nor will it ever be). Thus, when she opened up to me I was careful to take it all with a grain of salt; not because I didn’t believe her or questioned her motives, but because I wanted to leave some margin for error in my interpretation of what she told me. By nature, my filters are dense and have often lead to misunderstandings. This is something I’ve learned to (try to) keep in check – to be more the faucet than the filter.
I suppose what I’ve learned over time is that I shouldn’t take these conversations so literally, because the truth is that when it comes to myself there is no real truth. I am always growing and changing. I am in a constant state of internal evolution – for better or worse – so whatever I lay out in one conversation may no longer be true in a week, month, or a year. And I believe the same goes for any person I date.
So, that’s my general issue with these self-declarative conversations: if I am always changing, I will never know myself as well as I think I do… so why should I try to explain this volatile person to someone else?
But, as with all my posts on The Pure Blog, this is just me, and I don’t think there is some sort of generalizable right or wrong answer here. Moving forward, all I can do is leave the door open for growth within myself, and between my partner and I. We will never really know each other, and while I can hope for understanding, who knows if it will ever come. Instead, all I'll do for now do is embrace the unexpected turns of this relationship with an open mind. Never stop learning, growing , and changing, and continue to do what I was put here to do… Evolve.