Eternal Analysis of My Striving-to-be-Deep Mind

Here’s how it begins: His text messages give you butterflies. (Or are they chills? It doesn’t matter, does it? Because, whatever they are, you love not just the texts but the rush you get seeing them.) You’re still a bit nervous (excited) while you wait downstairs for him to come out of his building’s elevator. You shave your legs every day—even on days you don’t see him because maybe you might (you hope). Yet, you know he doesn’t care if your legs are stubbly because he tells you there is nothing he doesn’t like about you. You feel so yourself you could go so far to say you've perhaps evolved into the best version of yourself—and don’t forget, you're insanely happy at that—but somehow you can’t imagine being any other way. It's twofold: You can't imagine the relationship being any other way either. You can’t imagine you being another way.

If only there was a way to sustain that beginning-of-a-relationship feeling, the pessimist in me says. You hear of those couples who stay in love seemingly forever, who make-out in front of their kids while washing dishes, slow-dance on their 50th wedding anniversaries. Are we supposed to believe this ideal is possible and risk potential disappointment of its discontinuance, or just blindly enjoy right now?

Okay, confession-time: when I see a deep, artsy movie I think way too hard about it. Especially when it's about people falling in or out of love. Tonight I watched Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind for the first time, (yes, I’m a little late on this one), and it sparked my curiosity about the stages of a relationship.

What hit me most about the movie, and I’m assuming many people who’ve seen it might agree, was the part at the end where Clementine and Joel, who think they’ve just met, listen to tapes of each other listing all the things they can’t stand about the other person. The tapes were made as part of the process to have each other erased from their memories when they broke up and each person hears the most horrible opinions the other has about him or her very early, while they're still in that glowy-first-part-of-a-relationship phase. This shakes up what many of us experience as the typical progression of love, presumably for Clem and Joel's benefit. In acknowledging their capacity to hurt and disappoint each other, they can hopefully avoid doing so.

For me, the end of a relationship is often punctuated with a feeling of being trapped, of not knowing who I’d become or who the person I thought I was with had become. Certainly, I didn’t start those relationships annoyed by everything the guy said to me, or wishing I could just be single again. I wasn't a nagger or too tired to have sex, or not even wanting to have sex, or argumentative, or mean. I couldn’t even imagine being those things.

While watching Eternal Sunshine I thought, on the one hand, knowing what will annoy you or piss you off about the person you’re dating could be helpful—get it out of the way, you know? But, on the other, perhaps in not knowing there is still that hope to be that perpetually-happy couple. Of course, there are more than just these two roads (misery or true love) because relationships aren’t so simple. (No matter how happy people are, there are certainly gripes, misunderstandings, and fights eventually right?)

I used to be the type of person who wanted to be prepared for anything. I would explore all the potential outcomes of a relationship just in case it didn’t work out, better to be safe than sorry, might as well protect myself and not get blindsided or hurt or disappointed and all that self-conscious crap. However, I think I rather like the idea of simply imagining--hoping for--happiness. Especially because, right now, I can’t think of a time when I’ve been happier.