There’s nothing quite like little spats low-key rallying their way to full-blown chaos.
Fighting sucks. Especially with someone you love.
My partner and I are both hyper-communicative and generally agreeable so we don’t spat all that often. But we’re human — sometimes we take things personally.
We have tempers and we’re vulnerable to impermanent feelings turning into bursts of anger. When people say they’ve had their “ups and downs” this is the downs.
I often wonder why of all the things we’re born knowing how to do — from catching feelings to breathing — responding to conflict effectively isn’t one…
The immediate vicinity is nothing out of the ordinary. A crumpled up plastic water bottle, flip flops, and hand sanitizer. My Kindle. Some other beach essentials. Rays of sun blaze my skin, edging one-day wrinkles.
Beside me, the waves crash one after another. I listen as the freshly rinsed shoreline comes undone.
I’m seated, using my knees as a lectern. I carry the cursor across the page, highlighting yet another excerpt from Chanel Miller’s Know My Name. I savour her words and take a look around. A couple of meters away, my boyfriend is pacing. His head is tilted towards…
Considerably taller than me, grey on top, with one of those polished British accents that make you feel inferior for simply existing, he asked me for directions.
This was a ploy.
He told me it was his birthday, fifty-something, and how this one is particularly brutal because he can’t help but feel like everything is getting worse. It’s not just COVID, he said, it’s everything.
“We’ll be gone in a couple of generations,” he said, “Maybe less.”
In other words, we’re doomed.
I have this theory about idols, mentors, role models — whatever you want to call them. There are the ones who dazzle us endlessly and then there are the ones we learn from and let go.
I thought Elizabeth Gilbert was the latter. I was wrong.
Before listening to Tim Ferriss’s recent interview with her, Gilbert was one of those writers whose name I nodded along to. When people ask me (they always ask me) if I’ve read Eat, Pray, Love or Big Magic my chin tilts up and down, accented with a half-smile. I tell them that she also…
If you’re reading this, it’s *not* too late.
With a magnified face, my mom somehow still managed to press her mouth closer to the screen, “Remind me how you two met again?”
My boyfriend put his hand on my thigh. Buckled in, I relaxed. It was his turn to tell the story.
Maybe I got it from my momma: I love asking couples how they met.
Despite gruesome details and drawn-out exchanges, I’m usually never satiated. More often than not (even after some of the most romantic and I-don’t-believe-in-destiny-but-this-is-making-me-think-twice stories) I usually feel desperate for more.
For me, the beginning…
I struggle with this big time. Maybe you do too.
You can’t get over your ex or your intense-fling-that-could-have-been-something-more-but-they-moved-to-another-country out of your head…
It’s painful. It hurts.
Some people will tell you “it just takes time” but trying to accept that makes it worse. It denies your responsibility in the matter. It makes you fixate on the passage of time as something that can provide healing… when really it can’t. And hey, I’m no scientist, but I’m not even sure the flow of time is real.
“People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present…