79 Days
35. No this number is not some shining mark of sobriety; that goal would be far more difficult to attain than my current quest. I have not kissed another human being, male or female in 35 days. Sexuality is remarkably fluid when you open yourself up to this possibility. For most people this paltry form of abstinence might not serve as an accomplishment. However, as a super single almost twenty-eight year old, I am proud. The true goal is to hold out until September 1st, avoiding the sensual wine-induced temptation that often characterizes summers in Charlottesville. This season is simultaneously magical and electrifying in a way that induces constant physical contact.
Why intentionally evade any type of romantic interaction for 79 days? No, I am not a masochist, but realized at day 17 that this two and half week stretch was the longest I had gone without kissing someone since June of 2014. Granted, almost two of the three years were consumed by a monogamous relationship (at least on my end). This moment of enlightenment quickly ushered in an unequivocal disappointment in myself, an all-encompassing form of self-loathing. As the initial chagrin abated, a new combative internal dialogue evolved, one wherein I questioned my ability to consistently be alone, to love myself, to decipher what I want and more importantly need from a relationship. Essentially, I struggled to explain my behavior over the past year, why I let toxicity float freely in out of my life, and why the paradoxical prospect of “having” someone seemed so terrifying yet precisely what I yearned for, what I thought would fill me.
The majority of my romantic history has been monopolized by three types of attachment: the fleeting make-out (known to occur on the dance floor during my finer years), two to three month flings (my sweet spot), and committed relationships, ones that eventually come to an end. I have met people in both traditional and nontraditional ways: pools in Las Vegas, walking tours in Mexico and Colombia, overnight buses, blind dates, breweries, strolling down the street, ferries, coffee shops, etc etc. These encounters have led to some pretty phenomenal stories and the occasional longer lasting connection. For the most part, I love life and strive to live mine as a series of adventures. My somewhat free spirited nature tends to consistently cultivate unexpected romantic relationships. As a result, truly being alone has not happened for any extended length of time, even in a town the size of Charlottesville.
The surface level entanglements, the meet cutes (watch The Holiday for reference) come fairly easily. While I may feign that this type of encounter satiates me, a deeper connection is lacking. Intimacy terrifies me. Sure I can list the all of the baggage, but the conversations that follow shock me into silence. I was sexually assaulted the summer before I left for college. This experience fostered an innate inability to open up, impacting every relationship in my life. That being said, I am not a victim. I neither want pity nor need sympathy. What happened to me, and millions of other women was horrific, but it does not define me. Over the past decade I have attempted (both successfully and unsuccessfully) to forge physical relationships that allow me to escape, to enjoy and to find comfort in another person. At the end of the day, life is constructed of the moments we choose to create for ourselves, the ones we embrace, acknowledge and actively remember.
What does this stream of consciousness have to do with 79 days? Following a recent trip to Colombia, I peeled back a few layers. I realized I do not actually enjoy the extremes of being alone and making out with random people on rooftops, in bars, on beaches or at weddings (New Years being the exception, everyone wants a midnight kiss. If you don’t, you’re lying to yourself). I used these experiences to fill a void, the part of me someone took ten years ago. However, eleven days in Colombia and specifically four days in the mountainous jungle, fundamentally changed me (and I do not believe people have the capacity to change easily). The next part of this monologue might seem counter-intuitive, but it’s the truth.
I had three beers on very little water and signed up for a trek through the Sierra Nevada mountains to reach the La Cuidad Perdida, “The Lost City” in Northern Colombia. I did not shower; I jumped off cliffs, became prey for mosquitoes and met someone who widened my perspective, who impacted me in the most essential and unexpected way. No, nothing happened physically between us, nor do I think he was remotely attracted to me on a romantic level. Despite, the lack of amorous attention on his end (I’m pretty sure I was a bro) I found myself drawn to him, wanting to sit near him at meals, to learn more, to know him. There have been very few people who have captivated me in a comparable capacity. He is hilarious, heartfelt, adventurous and comfortable being weird. He owns the weirdness in a way most people choose not to. Sure, he is tall, athletic has dark hair and light eyes. I’m human and not exempt or blind to physically attractive people.
Why did this English kid have such a substantial and surprisingly lasting impact after only four days? What does he have to do with a self-imposed spinsterhood? For so many years, I have settled, chosen people who did not want all of me, who opted to pick and choose the parts that would serve them in the early hours of the morning or over breakfast tacos mid afternoon. And I allowed them to do so. I am equally guilty for letting people into my life who did not want all of me. I am culpable for staying in relationships well beyond the expiration date. What I learned from a few days knowing him is that people exist who make you want to be better, who naturally opt for a five hour hike, who find a similar euphoria in being outside, all the time. I did not feel the need or desire to impress him. I told him not to talk to me while walking uphill as I needed to conserve oxygen. I smelled atrocious and did not hide my tendency to swear abundantly, especially when itching bites and bitching about the rain. After four days in the jungle, I unearthed the confident, self-assured parts of me that had been dormant for entirely too long. What do these unrequited feelings, this unattainable person, have to do with being acutely and intentionally alone until September 1st?
The last time I realized I loved someone, I jumped out of bed and literally ran away, sixish miles, until I knew he wouldn’t be there. I did not fall in love with Ryan, not that crazy. However, I do not wish to replicate this behavior or waste time with attachment type #1 the fleeting make-out.
I live a very independent life; going to breweries, movies, concerts, and countries sometimes on my own, sometimes with someone else. All of this is fine and dandy, but there are still moments where I hesitate to go somewhere alone. I want to eradicate the hesitation. Company should not dictate whether or not we choose to have an experience. I need to neither seek out nor stumble upon yet another surface level romantic connection (at least for now, to know that I can) The most conducive solution seemed to be a 79 day break from any semblance of romance. I don’t think the next 44 days are going to be easy, but after having met Ryan, I have a fuller understanding of the type of person, of the feelings I want and deserve to have for another individual and about myself. More importantly, I have gained insight into the types of the moments I want to actively create, ones that consist of feeling whole, independent of anyone else.
