marn!

it's that time again!
The Line


We were having the kind of conversation that you can only have with a stranger in a bar, one that you’re certain you’ll never see again. It was honest, intimate, drunken. I was talking to my sister’s friend Julie while I was home for Christmas break.

“I dated this guy,” she told me, “and on our first date he listed all the women he’d dated since he was like 17. It was just one woman right after the other, like one big long-term relationship. Three years here, four years there...”

“What’s so bad about that?” I asked. I mean, women are always complaining that guys can’t commit, right? This guy obviously had no problem committing.

“He was 32 years old,” she said. “And it was like his entire life was defined by these women--he told me about all the sacrifices he’d made for all of them. It was like he didn’t know what to do unless he was in a relationship. He’d lived his entire adult life making job decisions, deciding where to move, everything, based on other people.” Obviously this kind of commitment wasn’t something that Julie was looking for. I understand where she was coming from. It’s one thing to be put on a pedestal but it’s quite another to carry someone’s fate in your hand.

It made me wonder, though: at what point in a relationship do you start making concessions? When is the right time to decide that you want to be with someone enough to change your life plans? And if you decide to alter what you want to do with your life or your job, is that really such a bad thing?

As I was talking to Julie I started to think about my own history with guys, specifically the times that I’ve made the kind of accommodations that she was talking about with such distaste. The truth is that I’ve always been the kind of guy that makes compromises in a relationship. It’s not like I define my life by my relationships. I didn’t choose my college because I was dating someone; I moved to Baltimore for no one but myself. In the end I’ve always done what was best for me and my career, but that doesn’t mean that I haven’t taken into consideration the needs of the person I’m with.

I wonder, then, how Julie decides how much of a compromise is too much. At what point, for instance, will she pass up a promotion to be with the man she loves? It’s a hard decision to make. You have to weigh your options: is being with this person worth what I’m giving up? And, of course, what happens if I make this move or pass up this promotion and we break up? It’s a gamble, obviously, but it’s a gamble that I’ve always thought was worth taking.

I suppose that it all comes down to priorities. If it’s something as small as postponing a move, the decision’s pretty easy. What if, though, someone gave me an ultimatum? What if they told me that I had to give up singing or stop writing? What if they said that the life of a classical singer was one that was too risky for someone they’re dating? For me there’s just no question: giving up music, something that’s defined me for so long, isn’t something I’m willing to do.

So I guess I’ve kind of answered my own question, drawn a line for myself in the sand. I know what I’ll give up for another person and what I won’t. Does that make me selfish? I don’t think so. Julie didn’t either.

“Being in a relationship is like walking down a road together,” she said. “If you get to a place in the road where your paths have to diverge, it just has to happen. It’s sad, but in the end you just have to do what’s right for you.”

She’s right, but the true test is how I’ll deal with that fork in the road when I come to it. Will I stand my ground, stick to the decision I’ve made? I think I will.