Dating in My 40’s — #22 The Vase and the Faces
I’m 47 years old. You would think after that many years on this planet I would know a thing or two about the human condition and about what makes people tick. You would think that I would see the signs that he’s “just not that into you”. Why is it that I feel so incompetent at navigating a real relationship? Why is dating so hard?
In Search of “The One”
I’ve been divorced for a little over a year. I am ready for a real and fulfilling relationship. I like being in a committed and monogamous relationship. Companionship is what I need, and love is what I desire. At this age, I’m pretty sure of what I’m looking for in a man and what my expectations are in a relationship. I just don’t feel like I’m very good at this thing called love.
The guy I was dating for the last four months, let’s call him Joe, just broke up with me last week by text message. He didn’t even bother to call me to end it. I had convinced myself I was in love with him. As with my previous couple short term relationships, I got to the point where I was way more into him than he was into me. I was the one trying to make plans with him to carve out time that fit both our schedules. I was the one planning dates and asking to see him. I was the one that bought him a special gift for Christmas even though we had only been dating three months. When all of that was not reciprocated in the same way, you would think that I would have caught the hint. But no, I just kept on trucking along telling myself he was just at a slower pace at falling in love. I thought that because the sex was great, and he looked at me in that way men do in bed that makes you think he loves you, that it was all moving in the right direction. I turned my head the other direction when all the signs presented themselves to me that he didn’t really care about me.
Joe tried to tell me very early on when I asked why he seemed to be losing interest that I was reading too much into things. When I told him that I was sad that I couldn’t see him the week of Christmas, he called me needy. He said, “It’s not like we’ve been together two years; it has been two months”. When I tried to talk to him about planning a weekend getaway to the beach, he told me to take it slow and we’ll get there.
All along I was writing in my journal about how fabulous he was and how much I was falling in love with him because…. because… well now I don’t really know why I thought I was falling in love with him. Did he ask me about my day? No. Did he ask questions about my past, my family, my experiences in life? No. Did he talk about missing me when we would go a week without seeing each other or say he couldn’t wait to see me next? No. Did he call me on the phone to talk? No. I can’t think of much of anything he did that made me feel special, appreciated or cared for other than the way he acted in bed. And let’s face it, that was just need and desire and not love and caring.
Blinded from the Truth
I ask myself now at 47, how did I get to a place where I was blinded from the truth? How did I get to a place where my boyfriend was telling me he can’t seem to fall in love with me, saying, “it’s not you, it’s me”?
The only thing I can think of right now is a scene from the movie ‘Blindspotting’. In the movie, there is a discussion between the main character and his ex-girlfriend about a black and white picture of a vase from her psychology book. If you look at it with one perspective, you see a vase. If you look at it differently you will see two faces in the shadow of the vase. You can see both pictures once you know they are there. But you can’t see them both at the same time. In the scene towards the end of the movie, the ex-girlfriend talks about how when you see the vase, you have a blind spot for the faces. You don’t know they are there. But when you finally see the faces, you can’t not see them anymore. Even when you try to see the vase, you see the faces. I was blind to who Joe was and how superficial our relationship was. I saw the relationship I wanted to see. I saw what was on the surface between us when we went out and grabbed a drink, saw a show and had a good time. Or when we went out with friends and had a nice dinner and went back to his place to fool around. On the very surface it was great.
I couldn’t see the faces back then. I didn’t want to see them or know they were there. But when he forced me to see them (it’s not you, it’s me — who says that anyway?) I couldn’t turn away and not see them anymore. I was sad at first that he was ending it so abruptly when I thought we had something good together. Thankfully, now I can see the true nature of what we had and who we were together. It wasn’t working. I just wanted it to work. I liked the idea of who he was and what I thought we had in common. I liked the idea of being in a relationship that seemed like it would be normal and without drama. However, I didn’t love him, and he didn’t love me. I’m better off now knowing I can move on and not waste more time hoping that the vase is really just a vase.
