Tag. You’re It.
That moment when you realize your entire dating life has just been an extended game of Tag
Do you remember playing Tag when you were a kid? Somehow, I’ve forgotten the rules, but what I remember is a bunch of kids running away from one kid — the kid who was “it” and had cooties. When you were it, who did you go after? The ones closest to you? The boy or girl you liked?
I remember this kid named Hippolito (how do you forget a name like that?) that I had a crush on. He, of course, paid zero attention to me. I was the Black Plague to him and he was Prince Charming to me. Whenever I was it, I always wanted to tag him, but I didn’t want him to know that of course, so I ran around chasing whoever was near me with varying degrees on intensity depending on how much I liked or disliked them. Eventually, I tagged someone who was worn out enough, like a playground lion tackling a tired gazelle ready to accept its fate. And then that kid started the circle of life all over again, chasing his or her prey, ad infinitum.
It occurred to me recently that this is all we’re ever doing in relationships.
We are the object of someone’s affection, and we run, looking back flirtatiously if we want them to catch us. If we get tagged, we feel secretly elated. A brief moment develops between the two players, and just as quickly as it began, it ends, and we move on to tag someone else. As we grow up, the space and time between these moments stretch and distort like some feverish dream.
When we were kids, it was so simple; you either liked someone or you didn’t. You either went after them or you didn’t. Then we grew up, and we assumed that complicated things are better because simple things are for children. We’re adults! We must needless complexity. And nothing is more complicated than love and relationships; except, does it really have to be so damn hard?
When I hear about people who can’t be together because of circumstances (distance, religion, age, too short, has a cat, etc.), I think it’s sad that we limit ourselves on love. Limit your consumptions but never limit the ways you (truly) love and honor each other.
I don’t know yet if I believe in the idea of twin flames, I do believe that there are people in this world who fit us like a bespoke suit. They compliment us where we are weak, and help us become the best person we can be. Relationships are never easy, but the good ones push our limits because they see and believe in our potential, and we see theirs too. We sacrifice and we negotiate, and we become better and stronger together as a result, individually, and as a unit. Those are the ones worth fighting for, the ones that make you grow.
Love is not neat. Love doesn’t come knocking on your door, presenting itself well groomed and tidy. Love is raw and red like the blood pouring out of your nose after a fight. Love is running through the woods on a cold night listening to the sticks crack beneath your feet because fuck it. Love is agreeing to open up and maybe getting pummeled into a quivering mass, but finding the strength in yourself to lift your head up and say it’s okay… I fought back. Love is trying, over and over again until you find there’s someone standing next to you, hand extended… and you, pushing through the pain of all your past experiences, reaching up to put your hand in theirs for one more try.
“There’s no design, the flaws are fine.”
— Young Pilgrims, The Shins
In every relationship, you give something of yourself that you can never get back, and you get something of equal value in return. More often than not, what you get is not what you would have ever asked for, and often, you won’t see the full value of the exchange until time bestows to you the gift of perspective; but it’s always there, waiting to be recognized when you’re ready and far away — like the splendor of mountains you can only take in from afar.
I’ve been lifted and worshipped, and beaten and broken. And each time I tell myself, hunched over breathless at the sidelines, that I will never do it again. But we always make our way back into the dizzying crowd, the swirl of blurry faces full of glee and playful fear, flashing before us for the briefest of moments that we wish we could hold onto for eternity.
