My mind likes to have something to focus on. Or something to obsess about. And periodically, it obsesses about “having a boyfriend” (whatever that may mean for someone who is aro-ace).
I often – more and more often – think that the importance my buddies have for me or the affection I feel for them are much stronger than the importance I have for them or the affection they might feel for me. And that’s because they have romantic/sexual/nesting partners whereas I don’t.
This summer I’ve often found myself thinking how lucky their wives or girlfriends are. Almost feeling envious – not jealous – of their wives or girlfriends. Not because of the sex or romance they share but because of the shared life they lead. With me, they go out for a few hours, maybe a day, of climbing or trail running or hiking. We have a wonderful time together: it’s fun and wild and physically tiring and satisfying. And there’s bonding, for sure. But then, at the end of the day, they go home to their spouses and that’s the highlight of their day, or their week, really: their time with their romantic partners, with whom they share daily experiences and long-term plans.
At the end of the day out with them, I go home to nobody. Being out in nature bonding in the camaraderie from a shared adventure and physical effort is the highlight of the day – or the week – for me. I have nothing “better”, no one “closer” to go home to.
This realization, the realization of this imbalance in our relationships and probably even in our feelings, is painful. But the imbalance is real, and I need to accept it and deal with it.
This imbalance is one of the causes of my “almost envy” towards their wives or girlfriends: I wish I could have those deeper shared connections with my buddies, not sexually or romantically, but at a level of life-commitment.
The other reason for my “almost envy” is that my buddies are really nice guys, really nice people. I.e., if I were ever to find some type of “life-partner(s)”, I’d choose, or hope to find, person(s) similar to my buddies in their character, sensitivity, intelligence, world view, values.
I don’t feel sexually attracted to any of my cis-het buddies. Fortunately, I should say, because otherwise it would get very messy because they would certainly not feel any sexual attraction towards me. To me they really feel like brothers, and I know I do to them, too. But I wish I could find someone like them, with whom I could have similar camaraderie and intimacy on the level of feeling like soulmates, but with the additional aspect of mutual sexual attraction. Because at the end of the day, I miss that level, or that type, of connection in my life.
I find myself thinking, or writing this, and I feel like I’m being totally honest and open. On the other hand, though, I’m not sure what I want. What do I really mean when I say, “I’d like that level, or that type, of connection in my life”? Do I mean that I’d just like to live with someone who is a close, dear friend rather than a random, albeit nice, housemate? Or do I mean that I’d actually like to have a “life-partner” of some type, even though I’m against the institution of marriage and “life-partner” for me wouldn’t necessarily be the same as sexual partner? Or do I mean, instead, that I’d like some friend(s) with benefits?
What is it that I need, that I feel the lack of in my life right now (& periodically)? Is it sex? Is it tenderness? Is it deeper camaraderie or more long-term, more explicit commitment? Is it more sustained, long-term emotional connection? Is it just a little more touch, like some hugs or snuggles, but not sex?
I’m not sure, I’m confused. (And yet, those yearnings, those unmet relational needs are real and intense.)
It’s probably a mix of the above. Which, of course, would mean that I would need more than one person to get those needs fulfilled.
What scares me when I’m feeling this type of neediness is the risk, or vulnerable position, in which it puts me. When I get to the point that I’m actually writing about it like this, that my mind is “obsessing” about it, it means that I’ve gotten to the point where I’m like a thirsty person who’s been walking through a desert for days and suddenly sees an oasis: is it real or is it a mirage? Is the water in the well clean or poisonous? Will I quench my thirst if I drink from that source, or will I get myself sick?
When I get to this point of neediness, relationally, I’m vulnerable to walking right into the “wrong” relationship. Or a relationship with the “wrong person”. It can be very unhealthy for me.
Was it this level of neediness that led me to hook up with one of the guys in the chorus less than three months after joining? And am I so worried or scared about this now because chorus rehearsals start again in less than three weeks and going back to such a group of people feels potentially risky to me?
The break from the chorus in the past five months was good for me, and necessary. I had so many expectations – emotional and relational expectations – from that group of people that I was often very disappointed, inevitably disappointed. The break was good for me as it allowed me, among other things, to go and “find myself again”, i.e. to give space, to dedicate time, and to rediscover confidence in areas of my life that are such a strong and important part of my identity: being an athlete, a scientist, an adventurer. Interacting again briefly with a few of the chorus members during the Pride weekend, specifically at the Pride 5k race, allowed me to be with them in a position of “less neediness” on my part; on the contrary, of showing up in a position of strength and confidence: it was a run, a race, I was wholly in my element, radiating confidence in a way that I never do at chorus rehearsal.
These months of spring and summer travels and adventures and physical activity and training toward specific athletic goals have helped me find a focus again that is deeply my own, a type of focus and a type of goals that I know well and know how to handle. (Once again, my mind focusing on something very specific.)
I’ve been compartmentalizing. I compartmentalize. It’s a defense mechanism. I set up very clear boundaries within each relationship and make sure the Venn diagrams of different relationships have hardly any overlap. But there are areas of those Venn diagrams that seem to remain forever empty for me: blank, unpopulated.
Am I really going to go back to the chorus in less than three weeks full of athletic confidence shielding me from wishes of deeper connection?
And am I really, eventually, going to make peace with the fact that at the end of a wonderful day climbing my buddies go home to someone they love and care about more than me?
Probably not.
Realistically, I’m probably going to continue being in these vulnerable positions with respect to the chorus or my buddies, unless I get those other – as yet still only vaguely defined – needs of mine met. Even though neither the chorus nor my buddies are the people to fulfill those needs – and this is very clear to me, these are boundaries that I don’t doubt – my longings remain.
And precisely because neither the chorus nor my buddies are the people to fulfill those needs for me, those longings remain unsatisfied and painful.
The Little Prince and the Fox 