A Great Relationship isn’t Dramatic or Sexy. It’s Better.
Trading the Highs and Lows of Passion for The Gentle Swells of Something Better
I have been blessed in my life with strong, platonic male relationships. In a world of decaying masculinity, where deep male bonds are about as common as the ivory billed woodpecker, I’ve forged with one particular male a connection that has saved me from loneliness on many a desperate afternoon, when the mysteries of the fairer sex have plagued my heart. We’ve talked ourselves through years of triumph and heartache, across numerous crushes and partners and flings. No matter how imminently I felt was tragedy, he was there to laugh about it, or struggle through it with me.
We talked on the phone the other day. The weather. Our kids. Work. How our significant others are fairing. I asked him if he was going to marry this one. They’ve been serious for a while. It seems different this time. I’ve been hopeful, figuring a steady marriage would do him good.
He hesitated.
“It’d be a no brainer for me, except for one thing,” he said.
A pang hit me. I was hoping for a yes, but without really knowing why. We blindly accept marriage as the right and true path, the inevitable next step. It’s as sure as retirement, as sure as selling off your peg children at the end of the game of Life. School. Marriage. Kids. Boat. Decrepitude.
“What’s that?” I asked.
“She can be… mean,” he said.
I wasn’t expecting this. Any of the shortcomings parodied in Seinfeld would have come to mind first, but not this. She has man hands. She farts all the time. Her hair falls out all over the place and clogs the drain. She snorts when she laughs. She can’t boil water. She doesn’t like dogs. Her nose whistles in her sleep. She has a clown fetish.
“Mean?” I asked in astonishment.
“Yeah.”
He then told me about their passionate disagreements. Yelling and name calling. Violent outbursts. No physical harm, mind you, but — furniture and fashion accessories perished in the fires of their tempestuous wraths.
“Damn,” I said, lamely.
“Yeah. If it wasn’t for that, it’d be perfect.”
— x —
My mind leapt through the fog of years to my longest and most difficult relationship. Before I met my wife, I spent over five years in a topsy turvy courtship with a girl that — depending on the day you asked me — was either the love of my life or the scourge of it.
We were hot and cold, and very seldom lukewarm.
I called her nasty names. She slapped me. I threw things. We fought viciously. She confused me. I hated her. I adored her. She made me furious. I made her cry. We had unparalleled passion and chemistry. When we were on, we were incredible. When we were off, I wanted to run away to Europe.
At the time, I thought this was how good relationships worked. Passion was a key ingredient. Disagreements were inevitable. Peaks and valleys were preferable to a monotonous flatline of sameness.
Throughout those five years, though, a cloud of doubt hung about me. I couldn’t shake it. Something wasn’t right.
When that relationship ended, I thought I had made a terrible mistake. It plagued me for a long time.
And then I met my wife.
For the longest time, we never argued. It came to be a joke with us. Our disagreements were so mild that we started to ask, “Are we fighting?” We’ve never raised our voices to each other. We resolve our differences within minutes, not hours or days. I’ve never called my wife names, or thrown or hit anything in a rage because of something she said or did.
Just as importantly, she never escalated an argument when she could have. When I said something irrational or thoughtless, her cool head prevailed.
Our relationship is seldom hot or cold.
Compared to my earlier relationship, there is little passion. There is also little heartache, little confusion, and little anger. There are no peaks and valleys, only gentle swells.
I haven’t missed the dramatic shifts. I’ve enjoyed, instead, a constant warmth. A confidence in each other. Surety and security and freedom from doubt and—above all else — love.
I would not trade these calm seas for the unpredictable ebbs and flows of passion I once endured.
— x —
I whisked through all of these thoughts in a moment, and my mind returned to the phone call.
“Do you guys ever fight like that?” he asked me.
“Uh… no,” I said, wishing I could give him the answer he wanted to hear.
I knew then that my wife and I have a great relationship. It’s the kind you will never read about in a magazine or watch on TV because it’s so… ho hum. Great relationships aren’t built on passionate ups and downs. If it’d make great TV, it’s time to get the hell out.
A great relationship isn’t dramatic or sexy. It’s not entertainment. It’s better.
