Light Bulb

     It's only taken me three years...but I got it. If I'm gonna succeed at this dating thing in this country, I have to play by France's rules.

     This made it all clear as CRYSTAL. 

American Rules Do Not Apply Here

            It has been a sleepless week. Between stressing over job stuff, stressing about the future, and stressing about not being able to run ( which is my stress reliever ), things have been a stress mess. Add to this the very awkward render-vous I had with This One last weekend, which added to my stress mess.

            We'd met up for brunch at a placed called H.A.N.D. near the Comédie Française and I was feeling the pull. The slow, backing up, distancing, about to bolt in the other direction pull. Instead of kissing me as he usually did he didn't even bise me. The date felt more platonic and stiff than it ever has, and then he asked me if it would be ok if he left the Tuileries, where we were stationed, because he was meeting a buddy to run at 5. I said sure.

              He walked me home and pecked me emotionlessly then left.

              I didn't know where I'd gone wrong.

              *  *  * 

             As he'd walked me home that afternoon, we'd passed the Musée d'Orsay and I'd mentioned wanting to go there with me sometime. I shot him an email on Monday to give him the schedule of all Parisian museums open at night, the days and times.  

             When he shot me a message back saying he was busy this week, he was sorry, I'd had it. Since the start of September, he'd been playing the busy game with me and I was pissed. 

             I finally blew a gasket on him on Tuesday when I told him I needed to talk to him. I then explained that if he wasn't going to give me the time of day, we wouldn't work, that I couldn't start a relationship without getting to know someone, and how did he expect me to get to know him if I didn't spend time with him? 

             He asked to talk to me face to face on Friday evening. 

           *  *  * 

           Near dusk on the avenue de Breteuil, we met up to chat. I'd been on a roller coaster all week...from lividly angry to sad back to pissed and all over and in between. I asked how his week went. 

            He signed his contract. 

            Teaching was good. 

            But he had to be honest and open with me in saying that he understood why I wanted more, why it was normal after three months to want more in a relationship from him, but that he's just not in a position to do it right now. 

            Excuse or not? 

            He still wants to see me, but doesn't want to lie and promise me more when I clearly want more and deserve more. 

             But in true Lindsay fashion, I don't much want to see anyone else. I explained to him that I think it would be stupid to just drop this thing instead of rolling with the punches and seeing what happens, though I told him very clearly that I know if I do this I run the risk of getting hurt.

              ¨I was going to get there, but you forced me to play my hand,¨ he said. 

              ¨I forced it because if I didn't know what it was and didn't have the ability to know what it was and make my own choice depending, I know I'll get hurt.¨

               He then went off about how in France, ambiguity is more tolerated...it's not like America where we need to know, after a certain period of time, black or white, what ¨this thing is.¨ I replied that while I know this, while I respect it and know it about his culture, that I am--and as hard as I might ever fight not to be--at the core, due to my childhood, my education, my parents, my principles, everything that makes me me--still in many ways American. 

               But American rules don't apply here. 

              I know what I deserve and I know what I'm worth. (All I can hear, Frank, is your voice telling me not to ever settle or sell myself for bargain basement price.). But what if the one person I think might actually finally deserve me is being honest and open and truly not an asshole about his ability to make a more serious commitment right now? 

               American rules don't apply here. 

               In retrospect, I can see how desperately I have tried to make them apply: when I returned from  the islands and nannying last summer, E said to me almost nearly the same thing.

                ¨I like you, I want to keep seeing you, but there's another person, and it's not fair to you...¨

                Then I did the American thing, told him I needed things black or white, and with the nod of a head and a few words from his mouth, things were settled. 

                 I think about FWB and how things were so ambiguous for so long and how I, so much head over heels for him and falling so, so terribly hard, came on too strong, forced his hand...to the point where he ended things. 

                 ¨You want more and you deserve someone here in Paris, who can give you the time...I can't.¨

                 You were much kinder hearted and fairer than I thought you at the time, FWB. I did not give you the credit, did not stop to think that perhaps this ambiguity thing is cultural, that American rules do not apply here. 

                  Then there's This One: ¨ Nothing has changed between you and I. I still like you, I still want to see you, I'm still attached to you. But there are days I miss you and then there are days I'm so stressed that I can't even think of missing you. If you want more and you need more in a relationship right now, you'll have to find it elsewhere. I should have told you this sooner. I was going to tell you this weekend but you weren't patient enough to let me get there....this doesn't mean we're over, it just means we have to roll with the punches and see where this goes.¨

                   I told him that for me, that would be running a risk. I told him why. I told him why I was so afraid of it and terrified to give him the chance. ( And I can hear you Frank telling me he doesn't perhaps deserve the chance ). 

                   This One told me I freaked him out. I told him why he freaked me out. Then I thought about how maybe I was coming on too strong. Goddam it, why do I do this? ( Yes, Natalie and Bill. I probs was / am coming on strong. But I've picked it up quicker this time and am nipping it fast. And with all do respect, I've made some improvements: no where near as fast as with FWB!) 

                    ¨ You have to understand, you're in France. American rules don't apply here. Things are not cut and dry. Just because I didn't tell you I wanted to see you again doesn't mean I don't want to see you again. I do. ¨ He added. 

                     American rules don't apply here. 

                     And this is the part where I look back on every thing I have done this past year in this particular realm of my life and wonder how in the world I f*cked it up by trying to apply American rules and American woman know-how. 

                      Is it too late to do a 180? Put the car in reverse and just go? 

                      That whole American thing of ¨if he doesn't try and see you all the time he's just not that into you¨ doesn't work. Out the door, out of the question. 

                       There is no rulebook, he added. 

                       Which is both liberating and terrifying. 

                       American rules don't apply here.

                       ¨ I'm sorry I freaked you out. 

                       So I figured I'll leave him be. I'll see him again if he wants to, with no particular effort made to see him. I'll give him his space. If I meet other people, it won't stop me from seeing them. 

And then in tradition French way, in traditional French fashion, maybe he'll come running.

                       But if he doesn't, I won't be heartbroken. I'm stronger than this. 

                       I texted him after. Said I was sorry for the misunderstanding and glad things were clear now, because all I need is honesty and clarity so I can make my decisions with as much information at hand as possible. He too said he was relieved to have had the convo, that it was heavy to keep things blurry between us.

                         I responded with: ¨ I don't want things to be heavy, I want to have fun with you...like this summer. I really liked that, and I really like you. It's that simple. You know where to find me...bonne soirée.¨

                           Because in all reality, it is that simple. Boy likes girl, girl likes boy. Things will evolve as they evolve, in their own way and in their own manner. Why apply an arbitrary set of rules to different stages and places and whatever you may have its as they evolve on their own organically?

                            The American rules, at least, don't apply here.

                            It's only taken me three years of being in this country to figure that one out.


     

                       

                      

Of Landlords and Love Lives

      On my way home from work this Wednesday, Carrefour sack brimming over with groceries, I was marching down the rue du Bac when I ran across my landlord. He promptly asked me about an electrical issue I'd been having and mentioned that he'd stop by again to take care of it. Out of the blue added:

      ¨Your chéri must be gentil.¨ Gentil meaning a hard-to-translate, special French brand mixture of nice, kind, and sweet.

      ¨Why?¨ Perplexed, I asked.

      ¨Because that smile looks good on you,¨ he stated, swiftly turned the corner, and vanished.

*  *  * 

        France is the kind of country you can have discussions with your landlord about your love life. This landlord likes to ask, not in a pesky way, but in that curious, paternal ¨you are a good looking foreign girl with near impeccable French, how have you not been swept up by a Frenchman yet?¨ sort of manner.

        He knew about FWB, not in all the grim details, but in the basic contours of how that went, and every now and then, convinced the FWB would figure out his mistake and return to me, would ask me about him.

        When I stopped into his shop several weeks ago, he naturally asked about the Baron and to which I happily replied that there was someone new. He then lovingly dispatched a list of advice, which included:

          1) Take it slow, there is no rush, see where it goes
          2) do not ever become super close to the mother of your boyfriend, as French mothers are potential relationship wreckers; achieve this by always vous-voying the parents of said boyfriend.
          3) if down the road you get invited to a weekly family lunch on Sundays or what have you, say that you are miraculously and unfortunately always ¨busy from 12pm to 9pm on Sundays on a permanent basis.¨

         He then shared with me that when he flew to Réunion with his now wife to meet her parents, he wasn't paying attention and was so nervous that, suitcase in hand and stepping forward to shake hands with his future father-in-law, he walked straight into the pool.

          He ended his words of wisdom with one piece of advice that I am holding at the top of my thoughts as much as I can: that while men and women are truly from different planets, what can and does mess up a relationship are not the true workings of said relationship, but how we think, in our own little heads, what skewed visions we have, about the workings of the relationship and the other person.

           I am tremendously guilty of this.

*  *  * 

           This Thing I have with This One is a slow, steady burn. Not combustible, not explosive, not dramatic. I like it this way. But I know that deep down in my gut I am guilty of gargantuan fear, the type of fear that comes with knowing that what you have is good--quite good--and the fear of losing that, of having it dematerialize right before your very eyes.

           Aptly, This One and I were sitting in the Tuileries yesterday discussing fear when he stole one of my own life philosophies right out of my very mind. He said that we should do things that scare us as often as possible because it is only then that we are living.

           There is a sort of complicity between our visions of life, a fellow nerdiness between us that makes me smile and laugh, but also, in all honesty, makes me go OH SHIT. 

           Oh SHIT because the more I learn about him and the more I glimpse his values and his personality, the more I see compatibilities between us. And this time I am not blinded by Charlotte York style infatuation.

           Naturally, this makes me want to dive for cover and put on the iron shield of armor to protect my vulnerabilities. So I go into EJECT mode.

            EJECT mode is sabotage mode. It's the mode where I try to find any and everything to hit the breaks and hit the eject button, try to find anything wrong so I can exit This Thing fast and save my heart from any potential heartbreak.

             For example, a week ago, I was overwrought because This One had said he was quite busy during the week working on a consulting contract and had some stuff with friends and wouldn't be able to see me during the week. Then once during the week he mentioned he didn't know when he'd be able to see me again the next week. He then dropped a bit off the face of the planet, but justly so....the deal he's working on is rather of the life changing scale.

              Again, quite naturally, I went to the dark side and started going to the dark place of ¨ok, well if you don't have time to spend with me, why the HELL are you dating me?¨ I texted him later that week and told him that I wanted to talk. He said he'd call that night. He didn't call. I texted and said if he tried to call I'd be out with friends to dinner and that if he wanted to see me during the weekend he'd need to tell me or I'd make plans. He told me to save Saturday afternoon.

               Saturday afternoon, he showed up to my place looking like bloody hell. Hadn't slept, hadn't eaten, been so worked up over his contract that he'd not taken care of himself all week. Looked like he was about to keel over.

               It was then that I realized that dropping off the face of the planet had nothing to do with me and everything to do with his anxiety and his way of coping. He elaborated upon this. I told him why I was frustrated and explained my logic of ¨if you don't have time, why date me?¨ and he apologized and hugged me. He said that it was just how he handles things and I told him ¨thats fine, but I don't know you well enough yet to know that. Now I do.¨ He then planted a set of kisses on my forehead and asked me to forgive him and said that he knew he shouldn't cut me off completely because I'm his 'lady', even if he is under duress.

              So in the blink of a two minute span I went from thinking I'd have to end it with him because he didn't have the time for a girlfriend to cuddling and giving him a head massage and telling him he could nap on my shoulder if he needed to sleep and it was ok if we didn't do anything else because he needed to rest.

                Oh lord, my mental Eject Button at its finest trying to sabotage the shit out of everything as a protective mechanism as per usual. There are beasts in my head to be reckoned with.

*  *  * 

                 At least through the small hiccups we have had, our communication is good. We're very open and to the point with one another. And it makes me feel like the bond we are growing is something worthwhile.

                 Very, very worthwhile.

                 I'll post about him and it when I find it appropriate, but I again admit that there is something special about this one, and I'd like to keep a lot of it to myself for now, and perhaps indefinitely, but when the need to philosophically muse about it strikes me, I will.

                 Know that I'm happy and at peace and all is well.

                On a final note, what he doesn't know and what I've been dying to tell him is this:

                I feel like I'm on one truly kick-ass super team whenever we're together.

                And I can truly smile about that.