Why It’s Good to Date Your Ex

Whitney Head
Sep 6, 2018 · 3 min read

I’ve always prided myself on developing cordial relationships with exes where applicable. Not to say there haven’t been the “I’m going to pretend you’re a ghost as I walk right past you on campus” occasions, but after the fallout, I’ve worked tirelessly on cultivating stable friendships with these folks for the better part of the last four years. This isn’t because I’m some pure goody-goody whose heart is warmed by the thought that even after verbal altercations, slammed doors, thrown objects (this was all me, by the way), we can still act “civilized” and give Pocahontas in the second animated installment a run for her money. I cultivate these platonic relationships because I’m a self-absorbed Libra who can’t stand for people to be cross with her.

In a relationship, I’m like a new puppy: I’ll destroy everything around us to test the limits of your love. The friendship that follows is my chance to make nice. I’ve always been a better friend than partner because commitment always starts to feel like a small corner with a view of a window I can’t get to. The delicate necklaces they adorn me with begin to take on the weight of a 1989 phone book. Not only is the friendship an opportunity to be on my best (okay, better) behavior, but it helps to look back with fondness on the good and scrutiny on the bad. Hindsight really is 20/20, and I’ve always looked at befriending exes as a learning opportunity for both parties. Gone is the pressure to walk on eggshells. Gone is the avoidance of anything that may remotely rock the boat, because who cares if this boat rocks? This ship has been sunk.

This brings me back to a learning opportunity that I had fairly recently. An ex of mine and I went out for dinner at one of our old haunts: a Cajun chain restaurant where I was once the absolute worst server (is that really more politically correct than “waitress?”) in history. The ex and I decided to split a fish bowl of liquor and juice. Because it’s a Cajun joint, everything is festive and colorful, and all of the specialty drinks are dressed with Mardi Gras beaded necklaces. As someone who enjoys drinking, eating, and tacky jewelry, this place is my dream. Our drink is delivered to the table and I immediately pull the set of beads off of my straw and put them around my neck. I notice, then, that he doesn’t take the beads off of his comically large straw. His beads just sit there and sit there and sit there. He’s just content to confine them to a cruel fate of gathering dust while we eat. And I realize in this moment that the reason we aren’t still together is because he didn’t wear the beads.

I’m not being literal here — it wasn’t like the nearly two years of our relationship were rife with opportunities to decorate ourselves with plastic jewelry. I say all this to express that it was always the very, very little things with us that didn’t match up. Sure, all of the big things clicked: we grew up in the same area, we were both progressing either in school or employment, we weren’t doing hard drugs, our parents approved of us together. But it was in those microscopic things, those little moments of seemingly small lifestyle options that we didn’t quite gel. Our coordination was always just slightly askew; as though we were in a tango and either one of us was always just one beat off of the rhythm.

Lately, I think it’s tougher and tougher to justify the abrupt ending of any commitment. We’re all so desperate for companionship, platonic and otherwise, that we’ll put a square peg in a round hole just to have something there. We can’t deal with the emptiness of the romantic counterpart cubby, so we wait for (or create) some truly insurmountable obstacle. I remember the first time I saw a footage of a tidal wave on television and the way that my jaw hitting the oriental rug in our family den. In relationships, even when the small signs of inconsistency are present, we’re delaying the inevitable to sustain some false idea of a true pairing. We’re waiting on Mother Nature-scale events before we’re able to cut the ties to avoid what we perceive to be a pit of loneliness.

I’m here to say that the pit is really more akin to a sandbox if you have the right mindset, and that if you wear the beads, I hope you find someone who does, too. In fact, if you wear the beads, go ahead and call me.

Whitney Head

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