The Car of our Future

I never realized how much emotional baggage a vehicle could hold until we traded one in last weekend.

Growing up with a mother who avoided the most necessary of tasks in order to function in her anxiety-filled state of being, I have overcompensated to a fault. I'm the person who is likely to put that beloved t-shirt you haven't donned since last September in the discard pile and get it to the Goodwill before you can spot in missing in your bottom drawer. The second something pops up that causes me an ounce of anxiety, I am on a mission to resolve it as quickly as possible, even if it means a trip to the dentist or the gynecologist or, worst of all, the DMV.

At the same time, I am an incredibly cautious when it comes to financial decisions that have long-term implications. Truth be told, I haven't been in that situation much in my adult life. I've had to sign leases for pricey apartments in Connecticut and DC, but that's about the extent of it. Thanks to the generosity of my aforementioned anxious mother, I've been driving the same clunker since college, which suits me just fine. It takes a lot of energy to enter a car dealership, don't you think?

What's funny is that we weren't even replacing my car. We were out to trader in MT's functioning, yet rapidly deteriorating Saturn Vue. Let me tell you, finding a part for a car from a manufacturer that no longer exists is about as easy as scouring Ebay for a pair of gently used silver size 10 Jimmy Choo pumps. Sure, they might be out there, but how much of your time and energy do you want to spend on your search?

While the Vue was running just fine, minus a few brake pad replacements here and there, it had some cosmetic things that were starting to become problematic. For instance, the passenger side door developed a leak between the window and the door, so that after a hard rainstorm, which is basically a daily afternoon occurrence in the summer, when MT made his first hard left turn, I'd end up with a bunch of stinky brown rain water dumped in my lap. So, we'd still get where we were going, but not in the most pleasant way imaginable.

Ultimately my desire to remain dry on the way to a restaurant on date night overrode my desire to put off a huge financial decision and we ended up at the dealership looking at a slightly used SUV that had features that pretty much made us start salivating, although we tried not to let on to the salesman that we were desperate. When he'd leave us alone for a minute to check on numbers, we'd squeal, "The Bluetooth is AWESOME! We can listen to Pandora while we drive. Omg, Santigold station!" "Don't you love the wooden finish on the inner console? It looks so classy! And there are FOUR cup holders in the front. We can have two drinks each!"

Of course, by the time you actually purchase the car and fill out the dozens of required forms, it's nearly impossible to even remember what the car you've bought even looks like. There were moments of serious impatience, mostly due to my not having eaten anything since breakfast other than the complimentary popcorn the dealership had for its customers. "I didn't even know we were buying a car today," I snapped at one point.  Somehow we managed to push through the five hour purchase process and made our way home in our new ride, playing with all of the buttons and calling everyone we could via Bluetooth (obviously).

But, it did something deeper than I was expecting. Trading in theVue for a car that we both have equal ownership of was yet another step towards solidifying our new life together as a married couple, putting behind the cars and memories and decisions of the past and looking toward our future of road trips and kids in car seats and joint decision-making. I love our car because it adds to the narrative of us. It means new adventures and memories that we'll make together, singing to the Beatles and Maroon 5 and James Taylor the whole way. The keyless entry ain't so bad either.

A Point of Personal Privilege

It has been a heartbreaking week to be a North Carolinian. As I've been making bridal gown appointments and chatting with perky wedding gown consultants, I've been thinking about how my state has not only added another layer of discrimination against gay and lesbian couples who want to marry or otherwise have their relationship recognized by the state, but also it's added a new discriminatory precedent for those couples who, for whatever reason, have decided not to marry.

A few weeks ago I watched the denomination that baptized me uphold its stance that homosexuality is "incompatible with Christian teaching." In the debates, I heard over and over that "we love everyone." But if someone were to say to me that they loved me, that they loved Carolina Man, but yet they believed in all seriousness that God condemned our relationship, our love, our being together? That is not love, at least not the kind I want. The kind that judges what only my partner and I can know--the way that we honor, respect, and love one another when nobody else is around.

I feel torn. Ought we to marry at all, knowing that in so doing we are buying into a political and in our case, religious reality that says no to our gay and lesbian brothers and sisters? I used to question if I'd ever marry, but only because I thought I'd never find someone, not because I legally couldn't. I've taken my freedom to marry for granted.

Perhaps it all is too easy for us straight folks to get married. Because honestly, if there really is a threat to the institution of marriage as we know it (and honestly, I have no idea if it's truly worth saving in its current state), the threat is how lightly it's portrayed publicly and how nonchalantly it's entered into privately by us straight folks. And no, I'm not saying divorce is evil or anything like that. God knows, it was best for my parents to get the hell away from each other.

But, in my eyes, nothing could be better for the "institution of marriage" than for more committed couples--in whatever form they take--to be part of it.

Don't Wait to Say the Good Stuff

In very weird form, Andrew Cohen, legal analyst for Politics Daily, decided to write an open letter of sorts to his ex-girlfriend...on her wedding day. That's right, on her WEDDING DAY! If you think you can stomach this saccharine and inappropriate display of regret, you can read the whole article entitled "On Her Wedding Day, Saying the Things Left Unsaid" if you'd like. Or I can sum up for you what I think about it.

Basically, it's a passive-aggressive note of regret, articulating all of the ways that he loved this woman, and then "wishing her the best" in her decision to marry someone else. Now if he really meant all of this, wouldn't he have written her a private note rather than post his feelings online? It seems like it's more about him than about her.

But, the question still remains for me: why does it sometimes take something monumentally life-changing, like a death or a marriage, to say the things that should've been said a long time ago? 


The book I'm reading is focused primarily on living in the present moment, having a clear awareness of what we feel and holding whatever it is we are feeling with an open, kind, and warm heart. For me, this is seriously complex because at any given time I feel like I am feeling layer upon layer of feelings, thoughts upon thoughts, and various judgments and criticisms. It can be tricky to hold all of that at once and clearly get a sense of what is going on inside. I can tell this is going to take some practice.

But shifting from living in the present--rather than reliving the past or leaning into the future--necessitates an authenticity that I think I lack a lot of the time. It's really easy for me, like Cohen, to reflect on the past and see it as much simpler and more beautiful. In his proclamation of love, what I hear is "These were the best times in my life, and now they are coming to an end." How sad to be stuck in love.

I hope I never find myself in a situation like this--SCL marrying another woman, and me left feeling like he didn't know much I cared about it. And even worse, not being able to let go of the past and live in the present. In the meantime, I want him to know how much I appreciate him--how he fixed my bike yesterday, how he is patient with my ranting and getting upset, and how he is working to uncover what's going on in his own heart and mind.

And I will spare you all my declaration of love.

Think Again Thursday: On Compromise

Writing from the lovely Acela train up to attend my beautiful friend L's wedding this weekend. Very exciting! 


I want to spend some time deconstructing and unpacking the whole "don't compromise" bit of advice that I'm sure we've all given, received, doubted, absorbed, or rejected at some point in our lives. During my short relationship "pause" with SCL, I heard this from many well-intentioned friends and loved ones. Of course at that point I was bemoaning how the relationship hadn't been what I wanted (my, how easy it is to say that in the midst of a break-up!), so naturally the response I got was, "He wasn't right for you, and don't compromise what you want in a relationship."

Now, to a certain degree, I do support not compromising on certain things:

• Key core values (for me that would include feminism, gender equality, and progressive causes)
• Major life goals (getting/not getting married, having/not having children)
• Safety (Obvious, but worth stating) 

Essentially, I support not compromising on what makes you a complete whole human being. The problem is that I think our expectations about what it requires for us to achieve satisfaction and a sense of wholeness are seriously skewed and more akin to Disney films than something we can actually reasonably expect to achieve. 

I am the biggest culprit of this. I don't even pretend not to envy my many friends who are in relationships that are on a sure path to marriage. I have wanted this for over a year with SCL. The desire to marry is a core value for me. What is not essential about that is the exact time, place, and details about how that will occur. But over time I had convinced myself that I needed SCL to commit by this time and in this way with this kind of ring. I had talked to myself so much about that I was convinced that it was true. 

How do I know this isn't true? Because SCL and I together despite a short break-up, not getting engaged, and moving out of our apartment. Granted it hasn't been long since all of this stuff happened, but the fact that we somehow find a way to move through all that crap is an indication to me that we've still got something worth fighting for. And our interactions are more healthy than they ever were when we were talking about rings. He is honest with me about what he wants; I do the same; and we are talking about how to get to a new place where we are both satisfied. 

We can choose not to compromise--to toss aside the relationship that doesn't match up with what we want, when we want it. I could do that with SCL. I've thought about it. I think to myself, "Oh, I just want to find someone older and ready to get married." Maybe that would work out, at least for the time being. But who's to say that this other partner and I would continue to be on the same page for the next five years or ten years or however long? And why in the hell would I turn my back on the person I've loved for two years, who is trying really hard to be the partner I need? 

When we were dealing with the whole couch situation, I was PISSED at SCL. BIG TIME. In a matter of about 15 seconds, I had worked myself up into a fury directed at him. If he hadn't broken up with me, if he hadn't insisted on moving out of our apartment, I would never be living in this new place that was too fucking small for my couch. Therefore, it was SCL's fault that the couch didn't fit, and I wanted to give him hell about it. He finally yelled at me, "Sometimes things don't work out the way we want them to!" Not his fault. Not my fault. Just, c'est la vie. Damn it. It's so much better being able to target my anger at another person. 

I don't want to view my relationship with SCL--the person most precious to me--through a lens of consumerism. I don't want to wake up one day "unsatisfied," assume that this feeling is an indication that something is wrong with the relationship itself (rather than recognizing life's ebb and flow of happiness), convince myself I'm compromising, and walk away from it. I don't want to blame any lacking I feel on my relationship when there simply are times when I will not have what I want, when I want it. 

So, I am compromising. On certain things. Not things that I absolutely need right this second. And I am learning to be alright with being in that place. 

Girls' Weekend!...But First, More Thoughts on Marriage

Today I'm heading up to Boston for my first bachelorette party, celebrating the soon-to-be wed C who was my sorority little sister. I haven't seen her since 2006, so I'm very excited for this rendezvous weekend of shenanigans.
But I've still got a lot going on in my head about this whole future thing.

As a child of divorced parents, I thought I'd be freaked out by the idea of marrying someone because all I heard about was how I was more likely to get divorced myself than my peers with married parents. My mom pounded into my head that I didn't need a man, but that I would date lots and lots of them before finding the right one. Even then this didn't resonate with me, but I did like the idea of not needing anyone. When I had my first serious boyfriend in college, though, the idea of marriage was less scary because I was in love for the first time and of course thought I'd met the man I was going to marry. I daydreamed about having a house together and sharing a happy life together. Quite sickening stuff actually, but normal for a 20-year-old. I thought I'd be married by age 25. Crazy kid.

When my college boyfriend and I broke up after he hooked up with one of my friends, I enjoyed single life for several years. I didn't date anyone really, just made friends and focused on myself. I was surrounded by powerful single women for the first time and began considering what my life would look like without a partner. It didn't scare me to think about being like these amazing women who had the freedom to kick ass in the world on their own. I figured I'd eventually move to DC, establish myself in my career, meet an older, established man, and get married when I was in my mid-30s. Sounded like a fabulous plan.

Then SCL came into my life. He was not what I had planned--younger, academic, and (yikes) in a relationship. But after nearly a year of flirtation and sexual tension, eventually we gave in and got together. I thought he'd be a fling. I was finishing up grad school and really desired no lasting connection to the school. But our time together was intoxicating, and soon we found ourselves in that all-consuming, nearly blinding infatuation stage. I couldn't just let go of that.

In those early weeks I felt that I loved him and that this was going to be the man I'd marry. And that feeling, while it sometimes wavers, is still there now. Sometimes I wish I were more freaked out by the idea of marriage, that I was in that place of being fine with it happening or not happening. But thoughts like that are so different in the abstract when there is no smart, handsome, compassionate man in my life.

I do want a life with SCL. I believe in him and in the work he's doing. We share the same values and view the world in similar ways. He challenges me and pushes me in ways that I need to be challenged and pushed. The core things we share are rare and beautiful. The barriers of age, maturity, and his being a student are temporary, and I guess I feel like if I can hang in there, he'll come around eventually. Perhaps this is a dangerous way to think about things, but for now it's where I place my hope.