Original Post Date: Feb 24th, 2009
Most people don't know, but I've been in an on-and-off long term relationship since about 2002. Now, in a ceremony that's bound to be cliché, a time comes to end it.
I finished Plato's Republic yesterday. Back to front. Cover to cover. One of the most infamous books of all undergrad philosophy. I, actually, had never finished it before. Owned a copy since High School, took several classes that required its reading, and graduated with the word "philosophy" in my degree, and yet had never made it through. Until yesterday. I wanted to celebrate. This was an accomplishment. I had forgotten what an accomplishment felt like.I remember where we first met. I was watching Becker on the TV. Becker was in the diner, talking to the waitress. She was also the owner, in a lot of debt. He made a joke about her lack of success. She made a joke about a psychology degree being useless. I remembered people telling me a philosophy degree was useless. I asked her out.
I liked it. As sinful as it was, reading behind my partner's back, I secretly enjoyed it. I knew that I'd have to hide it, that I'd never be able to learn anything and get away with it. But simply being able to lose myself in footnotes was blissful enough. There is nothing like an affair with an old love. The familiarity. The comfort. The delusion of being there. It was like I was there again, in my course union, sitting on the floor discussing the age-old questions. I wish I could have shared that moment with someone.
At first, we were a perfect match. I attended first year university, had access to a car, lived out of home cheap. I was allowed to window shop, of course, as long as I didn't leave fingerprints on the glass. She was very trusting of me around other lives. Anyone else would have been terrified that I would have run away with Success, or Career, or Academia, or Love, or any one of the other beauties that were in my life. We had lots of mutual friends, friends interested in our lethargy and allowing us our feigned acceptance. We were madly in lust about talking the talk. We felt the same about drinking, about morality, we both loved escapism and being liked and understanding the game. The sex was great.
When people ask "Why should I be moral?" my answer has always been "so that you can trust yourself". I've said it different ways - it's equivalent to say "it's in your best interest" - but the former statement is the one I like the best. We wonder why we should bother being moral with an individual we don't know, or don't care about, or who might not find out. What does anyone lose if we steal from Wal-Mart? What does a one night stand matter if my girlfriend never finds out? And in a world where the wisdom of Ecclesiastes reigns high and yet there is no God at the end of the day, one has to wonder why not try to take what you can. Plato suggested that it was because it will imbalance your mind, causing your soul to never obtain real happiness but instead starting it down a road of internal anarchy and suffering. My partner says that pursuing passions were just as important as keeping trust... and trust you can get back anytime. Multiple orgasms, however, are tough to come by.
After our first year of university, things got a little rocky. I met a girl. We held hands a lot, and talked about God. I fell in love with Theology, in a way that I never had with my partner. We had an affair for a while, but I brought it to an end one stormy night on one of our bible studies. This new feeling was too scary for me. Too real. I didn't want to leave my safe and secure partner for it. What if it didn't work out? But of course, once I had a taste of it, I could never go back. When has contentment ever satisfied one who has tasted happiness? I started drinking, and talked about love with my father. My partner was jealous. A year or two later, I found a way to turn escapism into this love. It had been hiding there all along! And it was so safe too! But my partner turned our mutual friends against me, and stole it from me. We had a huge fight about that. I met Philosophy as well, who spent long hours in the cafeteria with me, and a girl who licked my arm and made me feel I did when I first met my partner. Some of them were affairs, some of them were moments and reminders. Some of them were lessons and warnings.
I don't really trust myself anymore. Plato, to defend morality, imagined the person who was perfectly immoral and yet had all the social respect and benefits of being moral. He imagined the perfect criminal and then warned that they were worse off. I appear moral. I know how to earn respect, or admiration. I don't exactly rob banks or have sex with married women, but in my search for that Real Love, I have developed the very democratic mind that Plato warned against. The mind of immorality. Of anarchy. I have a solid work ethic, and would rather take a cab than be late for work, but I'm immoral to myself: every statement I make sounds like a New Year's Resolution, never to last more than a week. How can one earnestly love if they cannot trust? Plato wasn't warning about your girlfriend finding out. He was warning about never being able to love your girlfriend. Or the next one. Or any one. Or yourself.
I felt guilty, and torn, and scared of the outside world. And so, I made a mistake after university. I re-committed to my partner after graduation. We compromised. I was allowed to write, but never to produce anything meaningful. I was allowed to play Dungeons and Dragons, but never to get anywhere with creating something out of it. I was allowed to discuss meaningful theological and philosophical issues, as long as I didn't try to do anything meaningful with them. I agreed to separate myself from any semblance of Success, Career, or successful friends until they wouldn't feel attached to me anymore. In exchange, I was able to avoid being alone, and avoid feeling unwanted. When happiness seems out of reach, even the most thirsty of us will settle for contentment.
This life, this life of commitment to a partner that has never done anything for me but the appearance of Plato's morality - the appearance of internal cohesion and harmony - is not what I was supposed to achieve. I was not meant to be a democracy of half started lives and whole hearted dreams. And it's not what I want. I am tired of writing words, making declarations, and setting goals that are as meaningless (and as bountiful) as the last week's. Words are the easiest things to make meaningless.
And now that they are, I hear the sweet nothings of my long time lover: marry me.
My partner and I have reached a cross roads. I either need to marry her, or dump her, wholly and completely. I don't actually know if a person can regain their own trust. Part of me - the part of me that has been harmed by others - hopes that it is impossible. But I have to regain it or go absolutely crazy in a mundane relationship with a life fit for sheep and sci-fi drones.
As with any break up, I'm terrified. Terrified that I'm not doing the right thing, terrified of being alone, of not finding anyone else ever, terrified of going back to her, terrified of losing our mutual friends and hobbies. As with any solid break up practice, I'll need to find a new place, a few hobbies to distract myself with, and will need to completely cut her out of my life for a time. Of course, I will need to lean on my friends and family. If I'm not careful there may be a rebound fuck and/or hurt feelings, and there are bound to be tears and jeers. But none of that should not deter me. Real love is worth trusting for.
- Z
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