This is a guest post from Carlos Miceli, who blogs ever-so-succinctly at OwlSparks.com.

People fascinate me.

I enjoy looking and listening to them.

I like analyzing their exteriors and predicting their actions.

I love imagining their backgrounds and guessing their goals and desires.

One of the aspects that have interested me enormously lately is love and attraction.

What it means to people, what they really look in another person, what they do to “triumph” and what they hide away.

Infinite variables affect the way we act towards relationships, but I’ve seen one attitude present in most people (especially young people), one that I think we should re-evaluate.

That attitude is expectancy. The idea of love as a sure step. The problem is this:

Expecting to be in happy relationship is a recipe for conformity.

I’m obviously not saying that being in a happy relationship is impossible, nor I’m saying that we shouldn’t try to be in one.

We just shouldn’t expect it.

We still put “being happily married” as one of the obvious steps of life, after graduating and having a job. As if we should logically go through it at some point. There’s a clear problem with people saying things like “I want to be married by the time I’m X.” Even though words like destiny, karma and soul mates may sound nice, I don’t think they prove anything. We shouldn’t put our hopes in them.

So, conformism kicks in. We are stubborn people. It’s human nature, you know? To prevent our “plans” from changing, we force ourselves to fit our context into our goals, instead of doing the opposite. We reject the idea of solitude as a possibility (and ending) for many of us, so we invent and create a fantasy that suits our dreams.

The result? A lowered standard relationship with either a short-life span of Hollywood moments, or a permanent situation filled with regrets, unhappiness and broken dreams. This is no the case for every relationship out there, but I’m sure it’s the case with most of them that end badly.

Maybe it’s because of pride; maybe it’s ignorance - the reason is irrelevant. What matters is that we are not very fond of embracing randomness as the main factor and ruler of our lives.

Look, here’s the thing: As opposed to choosing your major or career direction, you’re only in charge of 50% of the decision when it comes to relationships.

That’s OK. Accept that.

Otherwise you’ll get stuck with the other half looking to settle, and not the half looking for you.

When things ended with Date #4, I made a promise to myself: I wouldn’t get into another relationship for six months. It was clear that I couldn’t handle being in a relationship without losing my momentum in other areas of my life, and I was beginning to see a pattern of jumping from one long-term relationship to another. I’d been a serial monogamist since I was 14. One relationship after another. Some started before others had even ended. It was time for a change.

So, no relationships for six months. I decided that they were simply too big a distraction for the kinds of big things I was trying to achieve – applying to business school, saving for my first house, climbing the corporate ladder, crafting my own business, etc.

Did that mean I wasn’t going to have sex for six months either? I mean, let’s be realistic here. Unfortunately (or fortunately), I don’t really have it in me to sleep with someone I’m not romantically interested in, or rather couldn’t be romantically interested in. I tried the “friends with benefits” thing with GIWS, who actually ended up becoming one of my best friends after our relationship ended, but that got messy fast and I decided for the sake of our friendship that needed to be an “emergencies only” kind of thing.

New Year’s Eve rolls around. And I pick up a guy in a bar. And take him home. Ahem. I. Do. Not. Do. This. OK, well I haven’t done it since like, college. But I sort of figured, why not? I got home at 6 a.m. and slept the whole next day. Then we went out again, and I got home at 10:30 a.m. the next day. And I got a bad cold.

I’ve come to the rapid conclusion that not only are relationships a distraction, but so is sex. You heard me: sex is a distraction.

The pursuit of, anticipation of, before and after of – major distractions. How much time do women spend shaving their legs, bleaching their teeth, plucking their eyebrows, getting or giving themselves manicures and pedicures, shopping for the perfect ass jeans, putting together an outfit for a night out, doing our makeup, blow-drying our hair, posturing at the bar, convincing ourselves we can hunt down a worthwhile guy in a club when we know it’s not true, talking about it with our girlfriends, wondering if he’s going to call, and if so, when? I don’t even know how to figure out how much time guys spend thinking about it, but it’s safe to assume it’s at least 75 percent of their waking hours.

And at the end of the day, you still haven’t studied for the GMAT. You’re too tired to go for a run, and you get such a bad cold from your lack of sleep due to Mr. New Year’s Eve’s snoring that you have to take an afternoon off of work during a critical proving-yourself-in-your-new-promotion phase.

Is it worth it? Is sex just one really big distraction? It’s exciting, enticing, and when it’s good, it’s even a little dirty. But it’s fleeting. And what’s been passed up, what effort has been skimped, that lasts. A lower GMAT score, a lesser business school. A missed run can equal three missed runs since you got out of your groove, then you run a minute-less-than-average mile at your 5K. And being less than 110 percent on your career? Well, I don’t even need to go there.

Perhaps this is really why there’s such a gap between male and female earning after their 20s. It’s a lot more socially acceptable for a man to stay out of relationships while pursuing his career, or in the words of less eloquent men, “getting their shit together.” But that’s not the case for 20-something women. There must be something wrong with us if we’re not doing the sex-dating-relationships thing while pursuing our career goals as well. Somehow, we are less feminine. We become “career ladies” or are seen as ball-busters. We are told that taking our work seriously makes us masculine, and we are given tips on being sexy and career-driven at the same time. Well, that part is actually OK with me. I was clamoring along with the rest of you for Hilary to get rid of the pantsuit (seriously, woman, wear a skirt!).

I think a lot of young women are not necessarily in the settle-down life stage, and yet still feel pressured to date and search for The One in anticipation of the onset of that life stage. Why not embrace that stage? And if you still have too much on your plate, why not take sex off the menu in favor of something that will have a greater impact on your life than getting laid on New Year’s Eve?

So, I’m off it all. Sex, dating, relationships. All of it. At least while I prep for the GMAT this month. When it comes down to it, I’ve got priorities – too many if you ask anyone around me. And sex just doesn’t make the list.

Yeah. Ask me what I think in two weeks.

Photo by Bottom-Feeder via Flickr.

I suppose I had it coming. Things were just too good, and I couldn’t let well enough alone. I’d just gotten a tremendous promotion, and after a week’s vacation in New York, Date #4 and I had reconnected on a new level. I’d finally settled into our relationship after waffling on whether or not I ought to be in one. I let myself fall in love again, and we celebrated our six-month anniversary with a fancy dinner out.

And, despite the fact that he had decided with much finality that he would be moving away come the new year and that neither of us wanted to carry on a long-distance relationship, we were getting along splendidly.

I couldn’t let well enough alone.

I’d been reading about open relationships. It all made sense to me. Were we really made to be monogamous? I’m evolved enough to know that what we feel and have between us is stronger than sex. I’m progressive enough to know that sex is just sex, and what we have is intimacy and love. How many relationships had I ended just because the proverbial grass looked greener on the other side? Nearly all of them.

So, Date #4 and I had a long talk about fidelity, openness, sexuality, trust… and we came to the conclusion that since we’d been ending our relationship in two months anyways, why not try a little experiment? We made a list of people we didn’t want the other to sleep with and insisted on total honesty. This was Tuesday evening.

Date #4 headed out of town for the weekend, and work kept me in town. So, I decided to begin our Great Experiment by heading out to the club to carry on as an Ethical Slut. The funniest thing happened though. As I looked around at the men hitting on me, none of them came close to Date #4. I realized how little I really wanted to sleep with anyone. Sure, it sounded nice in the theoretical sense, but when faced with it, I balked. More than anything, I missed him.

I left the too-interested guy sitting next to me at the club early on in the night, and texted Date #4. No answer. I fell asleep and woke early to a horrific nightmare – I’d dreamt that he’d slept with someone the night before. I needed to terminate the experiment before something irreparable happened. I called. Straight to voicemail.

I was petrified.

Finally, he called. “Oh, finally,” I said with tears in my throat. “I can’t do this. I had this terrible dream last night that you slept with someone else.”

Silence.

“I did.”

Silence.

“Are you serious? You’re not serious.”

Silence.

I wanted to vomit. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this. Why did I think I could do this? What ever made me think that I could share the man I love so deeply with anyone and not care?

I’m devastated and I’m heartbroken, and it’s my own fault. It was my idea. I can’t be angry or pissed off at him. I have no idea how I’ll forgive myself, and I have no idea what will happen with our relationship.

I met up with a friend early and he looked at me and said, “You know, Holly, no offense, but you don’t have the personality for an open relationship.” Hindsight is 20/20.

So, let me offer you my lessons since I came by them so hard.

1. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Date #4 and I had two more good months left to enjoy one another and the opportunity to part amicably. I have a tendency to pick and pick and pick at something, until voila! Disaster.

2. Give yourself sometime to consider the weight of your decision. Based on one conversation, we made a very big decision and barreled ahead. We didn’t even give ourselves a full week to sleep on it.

3. Be willing to accept the consequences. I knew this outcome was possible, that our decision might ruin everything, but I really thought I was much more progressive than that. Imagine the worst-case scenario and the best-case scenario. Ask yourself if the worst is worth the best. In hindsight, my answer would be no.

4. Consider both sides of the story. I didn’t read one negative article about open relationships. I only read the positive ones. That’s poor decision-making.

I don’t know if Date #4 and I will survive this or not. The “emergency brake” we both agreed upon in our original conversation has definitely been pulled, but I’m not sure what to do now. It seems unfair to end everything because he did what we said we would do, but I’m also very, very confused. Why did he do it so fast? Why didn’t the feelings that kept me from hooking up with someone keep him from it? Would I have cared so much if I had hooked up with someone too?

I don’t have the answers. I’m just learning as I go along, and there’s some collateral damage sometimes. In this case, it’s my own heart. I can tell you that it’s the last time I will handle it so lightly.

That dynamic duo over at HoneyAndLance invited me to a roundtable on virginity, and who am I to deny that kind of combined sexual magnitude? So here’s the WorkLoveLife treatment of virginity.

Personally, I lost my v-card at 17. It was my junior year of high school and my high school boyfriend and I had been together for something like 8 months. That’s a serious relationship there. I knew he was the one I would lose it with, based on timing and all, but I wanted to wait until I was 17. The national average at the time for females losing their virginity was 16 and dammit, I wasn’t going to be some statistic. We went to a Brian Setzer/Bob Dylan concert, and didn’t stick around for Bob Dylan. Instead, we did it.

Eh. I literally remember counting ceiling tiles with that particular boyfriend. High school sex doesn’t have much to do with actual gratification in my experience, at least not for women.

The coolest part about my experience? My mom allowed me the space to be completely honest with her without judgment. She had my sister at 17 and me at 22. She also lost a kidney due to a urinary tract infection that spread because she was too afraid to tell her mother that she had been screwing around as a teenager.

She wanted both my sister and I to be as open as possible with her when we were “ready.” A few months before I lost it, I told my mom that I might be getting close. She took me a gynecologist and I got on the Pill. She never judged me or pried.

She asked me a few months later had I done it. I hesitated, “Yeah.” I furrowed my brow. “What?” she asked. “It just, um, wasn’t what I expected,” I said. She laughed, “It gets better.”

I’ve been a vocal advocate for women’s reproductive rights and against abstinence-only education for this reason. The way some politicians endorse ignorance is beyond me. Clearly, young women are having sex. Even if they weren’t, why wouldn’t you teach them? Hell, when my mom explained to me the downsides of a guy ejaculating inside you, I steered clear of that for years. And probably avoided a lot of nasty side effects in the process.

I also have a claim most women don’t get in this day and age. I deflowered my first three boyfriends. There was junior year boyfriend (see above), senior year boyfriend, and freshman/sophomore year of college boyfriend. And let me just say, virgin sex was lacking. While it might sound fun to get to “train” them, it’s not. Sometimes you just want someone who knows what the hell they’re doing. Once I finally did with my first non-virgin guy, I’m happy to say I’ve never done another virgin. Besides, age-wise it just would’ve been improbable at that point.

All of this said, I don’t think virginity is something to be taken lightly. Thanks to my mom’s openness with her experiences and having an actual sex education class, I really weighed my decision before I did it. I’m glad that I wasn’t drunk or with someone who didn’t care about me. I’m glad that I got to do it with someone who was doing it for the first time too. I didn’t feel intimidated or pressured. I didn’t feel ashamed or wish I had waited longer. I’m grateful for that.

As to this new rash of women selling it off, I’m disturbed by it. I’m not sure how I feel about the commoditization of sex. It’s nothing new, though. When a geisha came out of her apprenticeship period, her mizuage was auctioned off to the highest bidder. Really, that’s all these girls are doing. Of course, geishas were an important part of Japanese culture and this portion of it was conducted with a certain amount of respect and ritual. All in all, why would you want your first time to be with some guy who’s willing to spend upwards of $250,000 on deflowering a girl? Gross.

I figure the experience is difficult enough as it is – it’s emotional – at least it was for me – and it signals a new phase of life. Why would you want to bring any more pressure to bear on it?

I won’t be writing as much about love and relationships as I have been lately. I do, however, want to explain why because I am very committed to being open and honest with you guys. While it didn’t take me long to make this decision, it was a difficult one. My readers have told me repeatedly that they enjoy my relationship posts the most and that made it difficult, because I want to give you what you like to read.

That said, two big things came up yesterday, aided by one little comment on another blog. One is that I have entered weekly counseling. If you read this blog regularly, then you know I’ve been in a funk. And since I’ve always been completely honest with you all, you seem to know me, and you’ve been asking if I’m OK. After a few months of trying different things (exercise, diet, time alone, time together, on meds, off meds, relaxing), I’ve come to the conclusion that I can’t fix this one on my own.

A major part of my counseling centers around what it is that makes a strong, independent, intelligent young woman like myself turn into a weak, self-doubting nervous wreck in relationships. Call me crazy, but I think I need to give myself some privacy to work out these issues. My counselor has also asked me to keep the content of my sessions between him and me. Besides, I really don’t think you’ll want any relationship advice from the likes of me.

Also, Date #4 has been an avid reader since we first got together. The freedom I have enjoyed thus far in letting my writing roam far and wide through my relationship-related thoughts has lasted a lot longer than I thought it would. At this point in my relationship, I think it’s time to back off for both our sakes. I have to admit that there are posts I have would have a hard time dealing with if I were in his shoes.

A special thanks to Dad’s House here. The author responded in his own comment section on writing about relationships while they are ongoing: “In fact, I don’t blog about any relationships while I’m in them, out of respect to the other person.” It honestly hadn’t occurred to me that I was being disrespectful to Date #4 by broadcasting my joys, fears, and issues regarding our relationship to the world. Like I said, I’m not sure you want to take relationship advice from me.

Now, don’t think that I’m being secretive. I am happy to answer any questions you might have, love-related or otherwise, via email. Those of you who have emailed with me know I’m an open book. And this isn’t to say I won’t ever blog about love, my relationship, etc. I will, but only when I can be as open and honest as you are used to me being and can offer you something valuable without hurting anyone in the process.

Hey, maybe I’ve achieved some work/love balance after all.

Photo by dimi15 via Flickr.

All day they’ve been playing Marlon Brando movies. I can’t believe how hot he was. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed him before. It’s not just that he’s attractive – it’s that he’s my ideal. My type to say the least. Hotter even than Paul Newman, because he’s got brown eyes. No, if I’m honest it’s because he looks just like him, like Paul.

Before happening upon “Julius Caesar” as I channel-surfed, it’d been months since I thought of Paul. It’d been ages since I uttered the name of the man I judged all other men against. Until he was there. On the screen, except it was Marlon Brando. Is he objectively my ideal or is it that he’s the spitting image of my first love, my first romantic admiration?

Paul was the embodiment of everything I thought I could ever want in a man. I was 17 maybe, when I first walked into his bookstore. He was so cute that my shy bookworm self could barely lift my eyes to meet his whenever I came in to buy whatever Truman Capote book I hadn’t yet read. I became a regular and he finally drew me out. At some point, I even stopped blushing the entire time I was around him.

He had big warm brown eyes (I’ve been a sucker for them ever since) and short, blond hair that had a bit of a curl, not unlike Brando as Mark Antony. And though he had a small fame, he had an athletic build from years of soccer. He wore V-neck sweaters with a white T-shirt peeking out from underneath, something I’ve also been a sucker for ever since. (For some odd, odd reason every guy I’ve ever dated since has refused to wear a V-neck sweater. I wonder if they knew how much play it would get them, if that would make a difference. But I digress…)

He wrote, on an old Underwood typewriter no less, painted, and played wonderful records. He is responsible for cultivating my love for Chet Baker, jazz, and various indie pop bands. Best of all, he owned a bookstore, his dream… a dream he’s left a six-figure accounting job for in Atlanta. That made him almost untouchable in my 17-year-old lexicon.

When I visited home from college, his shop was one of the first places I went and I was always guaranteed a cup of coffee and great conversation. At some point, I think I was in my junior year, we hooked up. It was like fornicating with a god. Whenever I was between relationships, I knew I could hook up with Paul. Really it only happened a handful of times, but how many people get to do it with someone they idolized? I’m not sure there’s been a more perfect morning in my life than one cool Florida winter morning, air streaming through the window, in Paul’s bed, having coffee. He touched me the way I always wanted to be touched, and saw me the way I’d always wanted to be seen. He had a way of stripping everything away.

I’ve never dated a man who could hold a candle to Paul, and most people would probably say they couldn’t because of the pedestal I placed him on. There’s truth in that, and five or six years later, I can see his faults. He was emotionally unavailable and closed off, unable to commit. And let’s face it: he was willing to sleep with a 20-year-old when he himself was 32.

Still, I’m not so sure that’s all of it. I wonder now, though, whether I more admired him so much as I wanted to be him. I myself was an artist, a book lover, a dreamer, a soccer player, and later, I could find, a writer. I admired the courage it took to leave that kind of security, knowing that he came from the same alcoholic, working class background as I had, to pursue his dream of owning his own business.

I identified with his vivacity and openness in thought. He was so much stronger than me it seemed. He was so confident in who he was, and he seemed genuinely at ease in his solitude. I guess I still do admire Paul, though he’s closed his bookstore and moved on. While I say that I judge all men against him, perhaps it’s really myself that I’m measuring.

When I began to hear the phrase “work/life balance” thrown around, I figured it didn’t apply to me. It was my older coworkers with family who mostly used it. Work/life balance meant “time with the kids and spouse.” So I dismissed it. It had nothing to do with me, single childless Holly who has the energy to work three or four jobs and train for marathons.

Then I got a boyfriend.

Anyone who has read this blog for the past 8 weeks or so knows that I’ve struggled to keep everything on my plate plus boyfriend on the side, but things keep slipping off like some overly eager kid’s plate at the dessert buffet. I’ve talked to friends, mentors, even a life coach, listed my priorities, and promptly removed… nothing.

There are so many things I want to pursue that I can’t imagine cutting anything. It’s asking a lot that I’m not adding anything. 

So, I’ve struggled to show the boyfriend that I am committed to us, that I’m willing to put in the time, that I want to spend time together. Actually, that might not be true. I think all I’ve really done is figured out ways to carve out pieces of the week where I can relax or do some work with him. At any rate, this is a new class of balancing act for me – the work/life balance.

Huh? Work-what balance? To me, life and work are fairly seamlessly integrated. I’m not sure what I’d rather be doing on a Sunday besides sitting in my favorite café with a hot chocolate, blogging my guts out. Who wouldn’t want to be integrating a printer into a wireless network on a Tuesday evening? I can honestly say that most nights I would rather be slinging coffee than watching television on the couch.

Instead of saying “Life? What life?” I have “Work? What work?” Unfortunately, it does take up a lot of time though, and I wonder at the end of the day what kind of energy I have leftover for my relationship – for love. I would say the majority of nights I dive headlong into my bed and I’m literally lights out before the BF flips the switch.

So what does this new work/love balance thing mean? I’m not really sure. I can’t say I’ve got it figured out. Perhaps it’s a sign of my youth, but mostly fear swirls around it. If you’re in love, should you place a higher value on that rather than your work? Should one or the other be the entrée and the other the side dish? Is it a matter of finding a person who makes you want to stop spending so much time on your work, makes you think it’s the higher value automatically? Is my relationship to my work and career so perverse that I should just give up on love altogether?

In all honesty, I am sometimes struck with the fear that my work is my only one true love in life. I have no doubt that God made me and business out of the same clay, sprinkling entrepreneurship in my blood like stars in the sky. It’s always there for me, ready to make my day, impatient when I’m away and greeting me with new ideas and excitement. Where does love fit into my already-existent love affair with work?

I glance at the title of my website, WorkLoveLife. People have asked me if that’s how I prioritize the three, if it means anything special. Honestly, it was the only combination of those three words available for a domain name. But, maybe that is it’s significance in my life – at the end of the day, I make work, love and life fit together the only way available to me.

I’ve come a long way in the past 15 months. I’ve survived the fledgling first year of sobriety, lost two dear people, been named employee of the month, and started a company that is finally catching it’s first big break. And yet, when it comes to my first honest-to-god mature relationship, my bright demeanor fades.

Before last year, I was a serial monogamist, jumping from one long-term relationship to another before the sheets could get cold. I knew that was a bad pattern, and when I got sober it was suggested to me that I not start any new relationships for a year. I’m a fast healer, and so, headstrong, decided I was well enough for a new relationship after six short weeks. You can imagine how well that turned out. After that I took that suggestion more seriously and faced my fear of being alone. And I embraced it.

I realized in those months of singlehood that without a significant other, I could be myself in a way I had never been able to be. Which was really important when you consider that I’d never really known myself in those formative post-adolescent years of drinking. When GIWS and I decided to be friends, it was a bit of a relief. I knew that I wasn’t ready to be in a LTR. I’m still not convinced that a year was long enough to become a fully formed, healthy person.

That said, when I met Date #4 I knew I’d found something I couldn’t pass up. After all, I’d have to get back out there sometimes. And besides, I felt phenomenal. I’d never been so sure of who I was in my whole life. Everything was organized just so, and I was steaming along. I penciled in dinners, coffees, and movie dates between appointments with clients and races. That kind of pace can be difficult to maintain, and somewhere between falling head over heels and two sinus attacks, I lost the balance.

I lost Holly.

OK, maybe I hadn’t lost myself completely. Maybe I’ve just been arrested by the fear that I will lose myself. I feel like a still-wet painting on the blank canvas that life-changing experience gave me. I’m afraid I’ll be smudged, or worse – that I’ll paint over it to match what I think that man wants.

Why is it that I can be so strong in every other aspect of my life, but turn into a jellyfish when it comes to men? What is it about being in a relationship that makes me fear the end of it? Because really, the core issue here is a fear that the person will leave me, finding whomever it is that I really am unacceptable.

And it hits me. Smacks me between the eyes. Every relationship that I have conducted in this manner has been codependent. And there’s the answer to the question I’ve been struggling with all week. I have a major fear of codependency. I watched my very sweet, but very alcoholic, father and my mother remain in a codependent relationship for 20 years. I listened to my mom cry after my father’s binges and say that she couldn’t leave him because she loved him and needed him. Needed him.

All of this hemming and hawing and distancing myself this week, wondering what it was that made me so willing to become whomever someone else wanted me to be if it meant that they would stay with me – I was struggling with my own codependency issues.

The irony is that anyone could’ve told you that I would have a problem with codependency. Lots of alcoholics do, so I feel a little foolish for feeling so “aha!” about it. Growing up publicly can be embarrassing, though effective.

So, what’s my solution? I simply need to remember that whether or not Date #4 and I stay together or not, that I’ll be OK. I don’t need him, and I have nothing to worry about – I loved being single. If the man weren’t such a damn fine catch, I would still be single (I had a lot of fun and it was a bit brief, in my opinion). The great thing is that I don’t need him – but for now, I want him. And he wants me. Should one or the other of us not want the other in the future, then that’s fine. I know that this relationship will make me a better person, whether it’s a brief experience or a lifetime. He has a lot to offer in the way of teaching me what a healthy relationship is; along with a few more things I’m sure.

You see? I’m already learning.

When I met Date #4, I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I was simply mixing a little business with pleasure when my online dating research yielded a surprising result – a dateable, attractive man with whom I was compatible. My life was run at a hectic, but efficient and highly effective pace. There simply wasn’t a whole lot of room. I liked it that way.

Things started slowly. I told him I wasn’t looking for anything serious, that I was, ahem, very busy and important. No time for a relationship, not looking for that sort of thing. He said he understood, respected my priorities, etc.

Then I fell in love with him.

The “serious” thing needed revising, obviously. As two people are apt to do when they find they enjoy one another’s company, we spent a lot of time together. 

A lot.

I stopped running. I stopped blogging as regularly. I stopped doing laundry and grocery shopping. I was deep in Cloud Cuckoo Land, as I like to call it. That place where newly formed couples spend way too long looking into each other’s eyes, sleeping really late on weekends, and having lots and lots of hot monkey sex. 

As much as I knew this was going to happen, I couldn’t stop it. Perhaps I didn’t want to stop it. What the hell? Falling in love is fantastic. Why skip all the fun stuff and move straight into routine? 

Incorporating Date #4 into my life isn’t the same as making a new friend or having a relative move into town. This is someone that I hope to have a meaningful relationship with. Anyone who has been in a relationship for a period of time knows that it takes time to get to know someone. I liked Date #4 and I wanted to learn about him – that takes time. Granted, you can take your time getting to know someone, but I tend to be an extremist with a “good” button instead of an “easy” button. If it makes me feel good or happy, I’ll slam that damn button till it’s broke. Luckily, I didn’t do that here.

Armed with a little bit of knowledge of myself and my habits, I tried to resist Cloud Cuckoo Land, but it was simply too alluring. GIWS and I had managed to see each other only once a week, twice tops, throughout the few months we dated. I tried to do this again, but to no avail.

When I got sick (again), my frustration reared its head. I had gained 5 lbs. I was completely out of racing shape. I’d been eating entire meals out of the vending machines at work. Thanks to my fourth sinus infection this year, I was waylaid and unable to stay awake long enough to do anything other than go to work. I reached my breaking point when my libido disappeared. WTF?!

A week later, I got better and I got some perspective. Date #4 and I have been together for only two months. I realized that I could maintain my old schedule and kick him out of my life or I could find a new routine. That period of everything going to hell was just a slash-and-burn method of prepping the soil for a new life. One that involves the man that I love and all the activities I love.

What I ended up having to do was first explain to him what was going on in my head. He understood and didn’t take it personally at all, which was essential for me to feel comfortable moving forward. I explained to him that there are a lot of things I enjoy doing that I haven’t been doing lately, and that I need a routine or schedule in order to make it all fit into my life.

I looked at my schedule, needs and priorities. I looked at his schedule, needs and priorities. He has two dogs, so he can’t stay over too often. I live out of the way of my work and his house, so I have to bring all my stuff for work if I’m staying over. It made more sense to do all that if I were staying two nights in a row. For both of our sanity and respect of personal space, I decided two nights apart would be good for us. Thus, a schedule emerged. I would stay with him Wednesdays and Thursdays, and he would stay with me on Tuesdays and Fridays. Sundays and Mondays we had off, and Saturdays I left to whim (even I don’t try to plan everything).

I make sure to bring my running shoes to his place and try to take the dogs out with me. I also run on the evenings we’re not seeing each other. The beginning of the week can be overwhelming for me, so that’s why I picked those two days to spend apart. It gives me the time to work on my blog, get my clothes ready for the week, and to generally spend time with myself, which I think is important in any relationship.

Once I identified the problem and communicated that to him, I was able to then ask, what now? How can I have both – him and my old life? Planning the nights was a great first step. It allows me to plan what will need to happen and when. The other stuff is simply up to me. Once I finished the relay marathon I had spent months training for in May, I had a hard time staying motivated, so I signed up for a race on July 4 and started looking for more to keep me running.

Maybe this is easy for some people to figure out, but I was really happy being single. My life was happy and whole when I met Date #4, so much in fact that if it weren’t for my sister’s sage advice to not let opportunities pass me by, I probably wouldn’t have made the leap.

I’m glad that I did, but that period of transition can be tough. I think it’s important to be honest with yourself, to communicate your frustration without laying any blame, and to get into the solution. Dwelling in the problem while I was sick yielded nothing but a depressing blog post (sorry!). Once I decided to try a solution, I was already feeling like my old self and it didn’t take long to get back on track.

Oh, and my libido came back. Thank god.

[Photo credit: Evan Romine]

Last week, Adam Gilbert wrote a post on marriage that drew a veritable firestorm of comments. With a whopping 50 percent of marriages ending in divorce these days, one does begin to wonder what purpose the marriage contract serves realistically in today’s society. I thought it would be an interesting subject to discuss with the BF, considering his background in anthropology and his profession in law. He brought up an interesting concept – a seven-year marriage contract.

The man is brilliant, but not that brilliant. This is a concept that has been around for a while. That famous image of Marilyn Monroe standing over the subway grate holding her dress down – that’s from the “Seven Year Itch,” a movie about the phenomenon of married couples growing bored at the seven-year mark. Last September, a German politician suggested that the government actually allow a seven-year civil union contract, which drew international feather-ruffling.

I was immediately intrigued. Think of all the problems this could solve, I thought. For one thing, with 50 percent of all marriages ending in prolonged divorces, it sure would make things a lot less painful for both parties. For those of us entering into the marriage state believing that this will last, however, that probably isn’t the reason you would choose the seven-year contract.

I liked that it would be a reaffirmation of your commitment to one another. Every seven years you would ask yourself, “Is this still the right person for me?” Imagine how incredibly powerful that affirmation would be for the continued growth and life of your marriage.

I would love to see what the statistics would look like on the treatment you receive from your significant other around the six-year mark as well. I would guess that you might see your spouse become more attentive to you, knowing that the contract is up for renegotiation soon. Indeed, it’s one of my fears about marriage that after X number of years, you fall into such a comfort zone that you don’t really try anymore. I’ve watched couples grow inattentive, selfish, even downright mean as the years stretch on in a marriage. Somehow there’s a mindset (not always, but in these cases) that now that you’re married, it doesn’t really matter how polite you are to your significant other. After all, they’re committed. Having a contract would eliminate this, or give the offended party an out if it didn’t.

I like the idea that neither party is obligated to remain in the relationship. I know the outcry from the happily married community will be, “It’s not an obligation when you love the person!” But my fear would be that either party would feel obligated to remain in the marriage. After all, you’ve made a vow in front of your family, friends, deity of your choice to remain married forever. That’s a lot of pressure. Some people can (and do) crack under the idea of ‘forever.’ It’s kind of like how I stay sober – one day at a time. You ask me to stay sober for the rest of my life – I’d be cracking a bottle of wine by noon. I could see myself saying yes to seven years. Then after seven years, re-upping for another go around, and so on and so on.

I see the flipside of that token – neither party is obligated. Some people have argued that if neither party is committed to remaining for better or for worse, then you never feel the security of marriage. You or both of you never really feel secure in the relationship. You live with constant competition from the outside, a feeling that nothing is set in stone, that the seven years you are investing could be all there is. Your spouse could hold it over you – “If you don’t stop/start doing X, Y or Z then I’m not going to renew our contract.”

Perhaps worse than the feeling of obligation would be the possibility of one or the other riding the contract out for the remaining years. Imagine figuring out three or four years into your marriage that it’s not what you wanted. You might think, I’ll just hang on for another three or four years and let it expire. Your spouse might be thinking that without you knowing. If both parties are in this mindset, they might treat each other even worse, knowing that they’re unhappily bound for X more years (not that you couldn’t divorce early, but you might choose not to due to the cost or stigma).

Finally, on the con side, some might enter into the marriage state more lightly with a seven-year stipulation. I could imagine a 22-year-old thinking, Hey, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll only be 29 and I’ll still be able to find someone. Or, it could be a way for gold diggers to catch a free ride for seven years before ditching the poor schmuck. Conversely, it could also be a way for those old horny geezers to protect their assets from said diggers, hedging their bets on whether or not they’ll survive the term.

It’s highly unlikely our government would ever allow such a contract since each state’s government is set up to protect and encourage the marriage state. However, I think you’ll have an interesting conversation with your significant other on the topic. As for me and my significant other, we agreed it would be nice to have some sort of informal agreement at the outset to reevaluate a marriage seven years into it, and either to amicably dissolve or to reaffirm the relationship. For me personally, the merits outweigh the cons. But hey, I’m not there yet.