schweblog

For most everyone, a point arrives in life where you have to make the leap.  You can attempt to commit your love to someone or hold back.  We are told that the former is potentially much more satisfying of the two options.  And, naturally, there is the possibility of getting hurt and coming out of it burned and bitter.

Typically, we assume that people are hesitant to love for just that reason–the fear of being burned and coming out of it heartbroken.  I believe that there is another, much more basic impulse at the base of our hesitancy, though.  It precedes the far-off future, where your lover may run off with another or leave you in a huff, dissatisfied.  It also precedes the concerns: in the throes of a budding romance, who honestly thinks about the possibility of your lover escaping to be with another?  You are both present and your situation is progressing swimmingly.  Feelings are developing, physical contact is being made, and, for all intents and purpose, every element of attraction necessary for love is there–concerns about the future whims of your lover are the last thing on your mind.

And yet, this hesitancy prevails for many of us.  What is at the core of it all, though?  Since it’s not a concern about the state of the other, I think it is more internal and significantly more personal.  At the core of any relationship, there is a limitation of your own possibility.  If I enter into a romantic relationship with another individual, I am ceding a degree of my freedom to them.  This varies from relationship to relationship, of course, but ultimately there will be a drain on my freedom to act.  For some, this limitation might prevent them from kissing a person besides their proclaimed love.  For others in, say, an open relationship, it might mean committing to regular Friday night engagements.  Either way, the individual that loves will be limited in a significant way.

The very presence of another and the very act of loving makes demands on us that will inevitably force us to break down our otherwise complete autonomy and make concessions for another.  In many ways, loving could be called a job–a contractual agreement between two parties where goods and services are delivered according to a very particular schedule.  This, I think, lies at the core of our hesitancy to love.  The fear of getting burned is negated by the blissful stages of the honeymoon phase and won’t be a consideration until much later.  By loving, though, I force myself into a form of bondage to another.

Within this, the true nature of a relationship springs forth–the selfish endeavor.  I have to witness enough good, whatever that may be, in order to be willing to limit my possibilities.  Do I have what it takes to make the other person abandon their impulse to sleep with the stranger?  Do I have what it takes to make someone feel as if this is worth it; if passing up the other possibilities, the other potential men that could be just as good as I am–is truly a worthwhile choice?  And do I really want to abandon the possibilities with the well-read blonde that makes me coffee or the old childhood friend that has blossomed into a gorgeous woman?

This is what we’re all trying to figure out, in one way or another.