The Opposite of a Comet
I want to be a destination, a soft place for partners to land
There are a lot of different ways to have relationships, and a lot of names for the kinds of relationships we have; this is especially so in the land of ethical nonmonogamy. One of my favorite non-monogamous relationship designators has long been “comet.”
A comet is someone who isn’t a regular part of your orbit, but who appears intermittently to light up your sky before continuing merrily on their way back into the black. There’s some unique benefits to having comets in your life: in essence, they’re pre-vetted people you can trust but are also infrequent and novel enough that they can top you up on New Relationship Energy with every visit.
A comet is someone who isn’t a regular part of your orbit, but who appears intermittently to light up your sky before continuing merrily on their way back into the black.
When I first learned about comets, it felt a bit like coming home. I knew then that that — being an occasional source of joy and comfort and pleasure without being a source of stress or obligation — was what I wanted to be for people.
But I was wrong. It was the best fit that I could find, but it wasn’t quite right. Because while I’m open to it, I don’t specifically want to be an intermittent presence in my partners' lives. I want to provide that infusion of joy and energy, sure, but I also want to be someone with whom they can be quiet or sad or just tired.
To put this another way: I don’t want to be the one who moves towards and away from you. I want to be the one who stays exactly where he is, who sends you off with a pack of provisions when you leave and who welcomes you back whenever you return with a fire in the hearth and the kettle nearing a boil.
As far as I know, there’s no existing name for this in the extensive glossary of ethical nonmonogamy, so I’m going to coin one. What I want to be isn’t a comet — what I really want to be is an innkeeper.
I want my parting words after a visit to be not “Well, I’ll see you when I see you,” but “You know where to find me.”
I want a big sign out front that says VACANCY. I want you to know that you are always welcome, whether you’re in from out of town or your house is being fumigated or you’re treating yourself to a little staycation. I want you to know that there’s a whole menu — a warm common room, a warm drink, a warm meal, a warm bed — and everything is always a la carte. I want to offer you a space where you can enjoy yourself, but also one where you can rest if you’re tired, can cry if you’re sad, can yell if you’re angry. I want you to feel free to arrive in the middle of the night, drenched from a sudden downpour. I want you to feel free to sleep in and check out late.
I want you to look back on your visit fondly, too, whether I’m just a pit-stop on a longer journey or a regular vacation spot or your weekend haunt. I want my parting words after a visit to be not “Well, I’ll see you when I see you,” but “You know where to find me.”
So here’s my contribution to the nonmonogamist lexicon:
inn·keep·er /ˈinˌkēpər/ (noun)
A partner who makes space for you without making demands, and who leaves you free to decide the frequency and character of your visits. A partner who offers warmth, welcome, and freedom from expectations.
