Installment 6
I haven’t been adding to 63 Things lately because Mr. 63 Things (hereafter 63) just hasn’t been on my mind much … until the other day, that is. Thanks to the miracle that is Facebook, I reconnected with someone I knew in college—we’ll call him Paul.
Paul was the last guy I dated before I met 63. They kinda loathed each other in that way guys do when they follow each other in close dating succession.
Naturally, Paul asked about 63 … if he was still in the picture, etc.
He was the one who wore sunglasses when the sun wasn’t out, right?
I guess, even after 15 years, a good alpha-male put-down is fun for all.
Anyway, his enjoyment of dissing 63 notwithstanding, I was a little surprised at how forthright Paul was. He hit me with, “Why didn’t we make it?” in e-mail two. We only dated for about a month, so I knew even I and my tremendous powers of (over-)analysis could not come up with an answer of either depth or detail. What I told him was it just wasn’t our time.
See, there was no huge incompatibility or a dramatic falling out. I liked him … a lot, actually. Apparently, he liked me quite a bit too. We just couldn’t get our shit together … then I met 63.
With 63 it was different. For better or worse, it was like our shit was designed for no other purpose than to be together. I liked him. He liked me. We never seemed to get sick of each other—even years later, when we were both clearly unhappy.
Paul tracked me down a few years after I graduated, back in the days before Facebook. For those of you too young to remember those days, let me break it down. You had to know someone’s hometown, call their parents, clumsily explain that you boffed their daughter junior year, and ask if you might from them obtain her phone number.
I was immensely flattered by his efforts, I must say. By that time, though, he had a young son and I had an engagement ring.
He asked if we could be friends, but 63 put the kibosh on that, as you might expect. I was tempted to press the issue, to insist on this platonic relationship with Paul. Honestly, I considered cutting bait with 63 to see what might happen.
Instead, I bid Paul adieu. He was understanding. He wished me the best.
It just seemed crazy, you know? On the one hand, there was 63, who—at the time—was head over heels for me. I mean, the sun rose and set on me, as far as he was concerned. On the other hand, there was this guy I hardly knew … a man I had dated for a mere month, five years earlier.
Thinking on these things that happened so long ago, I wonder how much truth there is in my explanation to Paul … it wasn’t our time. I mean, can the timing for me and 63 be considered “good” or “right” when things ended the way they did? Yes, the timing was there … there for a coupling that made us both miserable for the better part of a decade.
And what about Paul? Paul contacted me five years after we broke up. He regretted letting me go. He wanted another shot. In retrospect, when he called, I was just beginning to understand 63 wasn’t the one for me. What could be better timing than that? Seriously. But it wasn’t enough for me to muster the courage to walk away from what seemed like a no-brainer.
If I’m brutally honest, I’ll admit I was a mess at 20 … and at 25. I would have fucked things up with anyone. If I had chosen Paul, either time, I would probably be sitting here wondering what might have happened with 63. (Sure as shit, I wouldn’t be imagining it the way it really went down.)
Still, would I ever have become the less-messed-up version of myself that I am today if I hadn’t tried (and failed) with someone? Unlikely. Would it have made a dramatic difference which someone? I wish I could answer that question.
Soooo, what’s my point? As usual, I can’t say exactly. I think my point is that evaluating timing as either good or bad, right or wrong, there or not there is so subjective and changeable as to be almost useless.
Making the most of the opportunities that come along is what matters, right? If we wait for the stars to be aligned just so, the world might be a less, uh, messy place, but would it be any better? Would we be any better? Any happier? My gut says no.
I go back and forth on that subject. I suspect that I would be in much better emotional state if certain thing had not transpired with certain people. On the other hand, I was involved myself. It’s not like I couldn’t see something like that coming; it’s that I chose not to see it.
Ahh, the fear of the what if. I ruins me even today. It keeps me second guessing everything I do and every relationship I become entangled in. It keeps me hanging on to several people that I should not hang on too (damn you myspace and face book and gmail and the rest of the automatons that run our lives.) Shit, I helped my ex-girlfriend’s mother move last week.
I don’t wait for the stars to align as it were, but it would sure be nice. :(