Love, and other disasters.

Love, and other disasters.

B was right in the middle of a gunfight on his last night in Cambodia. The details are all kinda hazy, but what's important is that all of them are fine and back unharmed.

It’s inexplicable, but apart from incredulity, I didn't feel anything else when he told me the news. I did shorten my unproductive coffee/revision session to spend a few hours with him last night, but it was really because I missed him and not because of a gripping urge to hold him and reassure myself he's alive.

I’m typically a bit of a worrywart, and this lack of reaction has got me thinking.

When my first serious boyfriend enlisted in the army, I kept watch over my mobile phone every night, waiting for that one call before lights out. A 15-minute delay would have my overactive imagination conjuring up the worst accidents in my head, and I remember how his mom and i would speak on the phone about how worried we were. Life went on, but there was that subtle bit of trepidation that I lived with.

We all give a part of ourselves to a relationship, and we inevitably lose that piece of ourselves when it dies. My first love and I really gave it our all and when it fell apart, I felt like I lost myself, not just a part of me.

A vital part of my healing process was getting to know myself all over again. Many of you may have experienced it – having been one-half of a couple for years, it was unnerving to have to stand alone again. Still, hurt is an elemental part of life, and all I could do was suck it up and live. I traveled, suck solace in yoga and good friends, and did almost zero dating. Oddly, I think the pain gave me the courage to do things I normally wouldn’t have done, like pack up and go to India. The experiences changed me, and I like myself a lot better these days.

Even though I’m often unsure of my cultural footing when I’m with B, I feel somewhat more stable and able to have and maintain a relationship. I don’t obsess about his safety, and there’s an innate trust that he would know what to do and how to take care of himself. The absence of this obsession frees me from a lot of the trepidation I lived in when I was younger, but don’t the bizarre and underlying rules of love dictate that obsession be a part of passionate love?

Did I lose my ability for all-consuming love when my first relationship died? Was that the vital piece that its death took from me? In the movie Win a Date with Tad Hamilton, Angelica the bartender told Rosalee that when great love is rejected, one packs it up and waits for a second greater love. (Memory’s a little fuzzy but the key point’s in there.) But of course you love a little less than you did your great love.

Or could it be that living through the pain taught me that no one is truly indispensable, and that when I am truly whole, there is nothing anybody can take away from me? Or could it simply be that this self-assuredness I have with B is a sign of two proper dating adults?

Some questions are better left unanswered. Life awaits. ;)