26. Intimacy against the odds
Fear of intimacy? Maybe not. Intimacy is nurturing, it’s not trying to hurt us, so why be afraid of it?
But getting to intimacy? That can be painful, and therefore scary, because so many things are working against us. For example, the damage we suffer in childhood can cause trouble in our relationships for decades. And we live in a culture of attack, which is the worst possible environment for something as vulnerable as intimacy. And human togetherness is inherently treacherous. Trusting in each other takes a sustained, strategic effort.
So where can we turn for help? There are plenty of relationship experts around, but so many of them give us solutions that are too easy, impossibly easy. They claim they’ve done the work for us, and now all we have to do is follow their simple instructions—the Ikea version of intimacy. Or they dumb it down. They tell us that men are silent, cave-dwelling blockheads and women are volatile chatterboxes. They say we’re born that way, so don’t be ambitious, don’t challenge yourself, don’t try to do better. Settle for a diminished-capacity relationship and ignore your disappointment.
On the flip side are strategies which are too hard, impossibly hard. You can find them in weighty volumes written by psychoanalysts who have a Rubik’s Cube mindset, and treat intimacy as an intellectual puzzle palace. They imply that if you will just follow them through to the end of their labyrinthine explications all will be made clear. Everything except how to put their advice into actual practice in our real lives.
While working on this chapter, I went back to the relationship books on my shelf and pulled out the ones I found useful in the past. Three of them raved about a therapist named David Schnarch, so I decided I’d better check him out. I got his Passionate Marriage and loved it. I got Intimacy and Desire and tore through it. Overnight, Schnarch became my favorite go-to relationship guy. And why? His approach to intimacy is what I call possible hard. He believes it’s really hard to get there but really possible.
Say you’re a couple who goes to see Schnarch. You can’t stand each other and you can’t stand your own selves. You’re on the edge of despair, but you have just enough fight left in you to make this one last attempt to save your marriage.
You tell Schnarch you feel like failures. He says this is good. This is what marriage does to people, it puts you in exactly this kind of trouble. So you’re where you’re supposed to be. And now that you’re there and now that you really hate being there, you have a chance to get to a much better place than you’ve ever been before. But to do that you’re going to have to do some painful personal work.
You tell Schnarch you need him to help the two of you get closer, but he says, no, the problem is that you’re much too close. What?! He warns about the danger of merging. He tells you a fused relationship is thrilling at first, but then it becomes debilitating, and finally it enrages you.
What’s the cure? Learn to love from strength not from weakness.
And what’s that take? Differentiation. Which means you develop your own identity. You know what you stand for. You quit being dependent on others for your sense of self. You become so well-grounded in your core values, that you’re immune to co-dependency. You won’t sacrifice who you are, not for anyone. Differentiation gives you the freedom to love someone because you really do love them, not because you’re needy.
And this makes your relationship resilient. You don’t have to walk on egg shells. You can disagree with your partner without hurting the relationship. Disagreement doesn’t cause distress. It doesn’t make you want to attack. It doesn’t make you want to run.
Schnarch explains that differentiation leads to what he calls “self-validated intimacy,” which sounds like this:
I don’t expect you to agree with me; you weren’t put on the face of the earth to validate and reinforce me. But I want you to love me—and you can’t really do that if you don’t know me. I don’t want your rejection—but I must face that possibility if I’m ever to feel accepted or secure with you. It’s time to show myself to you and confront my separateness and mortality. One day when we are no longer together on this earth, I want to know you knew me.
So the work begins, and you show up week after week and you struggle and hurt, then struggle and hurt some more, until finally you get to your breakthrough. And it surprises you. Getting to it was so hard, but suddenly there’s a simple beauty to it.
You think back over your sessions with Schnarch, and you realize he never once gave you an easy step. He never let you lie to yourself. In every moment he kept holding you tenderly but firmly in the fire. He never gave you an escape hatch, because if he had you would have taken it and he would have failed you. As his client Audrey told him, “I really hated you, but I knew you believed in me.”
What I like best about Schnarch is how he honors his clients. In many relationship books, the case studies are an excuse for the therapist to show off his spiffy talents. Every happy ending is due to his special skills. Schnarch, instead, shows off the couples and makes them his heroes. Each victory occurs only because the couple decides to push through some of the worst pain they’ve ever felt. At each crucial point they find the strength to take the next hard step, so when the breakthrough comes it belongs to them. Schnarch was their ally, but they took the journey. They did that. First, they each did it alone, then they did it together.
For example, Joan and Bill. When they come in to meet with Schnarch, they’ve been married for twelve years. They have two children and a bitter impasse. The things they say to each other are terrible. Schnarch explains the problem of fusion to them, and how they will each have to work on themselves.
“Are you suggesting we become more separate?!” Joan blurts out incredulously. “This makes no sense. We’re already about as far apart as we could be, on the brink of divorce. I’m telling you there is almost nothing between us except our kids! There’s no connection between us, no intimacy, no sex, no talking! Nothing! Don’t you understand?!”
I say, gently, “Perhaps I’m saying the things I am because I do understand. You decide. Besides, as long as you’ve tried solutions that seem to make sense, how far have you gotten?”
“Nowhere!” Joan bemoans.
“Then maybe an approach that makes no sense to you in the moment might offer a new solution. Besides, what makes you think there is no connection between the two of you?….I’ve rarely seen couples demonstrate just how important they are to each other as you two….You both go ballistic when your partner disagrees with you. If you were truly indifferent to each other, you’d hardly care. The very fact that you can’t stand your partner’s disagreement highlights the importance you place in each other.”
Over the next months, Joan and Bill go through rugged sessions with Schnarch. They hang in there, just barely, but they do hang in. Then over breakfast one morning:
…Joan expressed her feelings without focusing on Bill’s reaction. “I’m no longer willing to accept how rarely we talk,” she said, “and I’m no longer willing to push you to do it. But don’t assume I’m accepting things the way they are because I won’t be nagging or criticizing you anymore. For myself, I don’t want to be pathetically grateful just because my partner talks to me. Or has oral sex with me. And for you, I don’t want you feeling pressured all the time by a screeching wife. I’ll interpret what you do from here on as indicating your decision about how you really want to live. I’ll make my decision about my life accordingly.”
And Bill’s reaction? He was shocked…
He scrambled to get the conversation on familiar ground. “You’re telling me what to do! You’re pressuring me! Threatening me!”
“No,” said Joan quietly. They both noticed her unusual calmness. “I’m telling you what I’m going to do. I have no idea what you’re going to do. That’s why I’m scared stiff. I’m threatening myself!”
This catapulted Bill into “terrible days of self-examination.” He could see that if he tried to control Joan he would lose her, so it was time to deal with his own issues. On a recent evening he had finally gotten up the courage to confront his domineering father. He realized that he was trying to control Joan the way his father controlled him. Suddenly, he saw that Joan was standing up to him like he was just beginning to stand up to his dad, so how could he not support her?
He burst into tears in our next session—not as a wounded child but as a man confronting the reality of his own actions. Even Joan could hear that he wasn’t being self-indulgent in his torment.
Then one night, when he knew their breakthrough was solid and secure, Bill said to Joan, “I’m glad you and I have this opportunity to share what we now have….To think we almost passed this by frightens me!”
Schnarch demystifies intimacy. He gets real about the rigor it takes to get to the joy, but he believes the joy is the point. I’ve heard many people say, “Relationships are work.” Period. I wait for the next sentence. It doesn’t come. But if relationships are work and only work, if they’re just a grind, if all they do is wear us down, why wouldn’t we fear them or fall into despair about them?
Schnarch has a different perspective, though. Once his clients get their breakthrough and are looking to the future, he asks, “How good can you stand it?” Now their challenge is to open themselves to deeper and deeper joy.
I’m so thankful to Schnarch for his wisdom about the psychological labor that makes intimacy possible and pleasurable. But then I want to take one more step. I want to add moral labor into the mix.
This human thing we call intimacy is not natural. It’s not a given. Our DNA doesn’t provide it for us. It’s an aftermarket add-on. If we want it, we have to make a moral decision to work for it and fight for it, knowing the odds are against us. And they’re against us because evolution doesn’t give a fig for intimacy. It only cares about reproduction.
There are plenty of self-help authors who radiate a judgmental attitude, like: “You should be good at intimacy, and if you’re not, something’s wrong with you.”
But no we shouldn’t be good at it. Our operating system is not intimacy-friendly. So please don’t go blaming us while our OS gets to sit there on the sidelines looking all innocent.
If everyone’s always supposed to be great at intimacy, then anyone who does the hard work to actually become great, gets no credit: “What are you crowing about? You’ve just gotten to where you should have been all along.”
In this context, intimacy is the zero point, which means there’s nothing special about it. But intimacy is special. I want anyone who takes the journey to intimacy to see themselves not as remedials, playing catch-up, but as proactive fighters, even heroes.
And I want to say to you, if you and your partner have gotten to a deep and delicious intimacy, honor yourselves. It doesn’t matter how you got there. If it was through hard, conscious work, celebrate!
If you did your work intuitively, not even knowing what you were doing, so what? Celebrate!
If you got there by luck, if you were born into a family that brought you up on intimacy, celebrate!
If you and the one you love are on the road to intimacy, but you still have a long way to go, honor that you’re on the road.
If you have friendship intimacy, honor that, even if you don’t have a primary partner.
If you have a desire for intimacy and all you’ve met with so far is failure but you’re still persevering, honor that.
Intimacy is worth fighting for, first, for the innate pleasure of the thing, but second, because it’s the fiercest enemy of despair.
And that means despair should be afraid of intimacy, not us.
Intimacy is on our side. It’s our ally. Its heart is joyful, not scary. So let’s ditch the heavy tones of intimidation and solemnity. When it’s free of our baggage, when it’s free to be itself, intimacy is alive with the spirit of play. And play is Kryptonite to despair. When two people have done their personal work, and then their partnership work, and have crossed over into the realm of intimacy, now they get to do something not just special but outrageous. They get to take hands and step up together and dance on despair.
What follows is just one example of this audacity. And I understand I’m about the last person who should have anything to say about intimacy since I’ve been a solo guy most of my life, but I’m in the mood so here goes.
Allow me to conjure up Lucy and Matt. They’ve both developed strong, stable, well-differentiated selves, which is the best possible foundation for intimacy. And they both understand the basics of the human operating system, another big advantage. They’ve spent time together—four dinners with movies, three afternoons at cafés, two folk music concerts, one lecture on evolution (!), plus a long weekend away. Now they’re going deeper.
“So, Lucy, I really enjoy spending time with you and I notice myself getting serious about you. May I ask how you’re feeling about me?”
“Yes. The same. For sure. I really like you. I’ve started dreaming about what might happen between us.”
“Okay, then how about if we have The Talk?”
“What talk?”
“The OS Talk.”
“Oh, you mean like evolution’s version of Namaste—the OS in me sees the OS in you, and yikes!”
“Yes, like here we are two creatures running on the human operating system considering an intimate partnership and, omigod, what are we thinking!?!”
“A tricky business, intimacy.”
“It is. So how about if we take charge and do it our own way on our own terms from the start?”
“Count me in.”
“I think evolution is kind of stupid about love, but we can be smart.”
“Maybe we should call this the anti-OS Talk.”
“I like that. Countering OS despair with personal grace.”
“Grace?”
“I believe there’s this mischief in us, this twist of grace, that allows us to transcend evolution and make our love something special.”
“Okay, then let’s get talking. I have a failed marriage behind me, and a bitter divorce, and I won’t put myself through that again. Things have to be radically different next time. This time.”
“I hear you. My past relationships have failed mostly because of me acting out my childhood issues. I don’t want to ever do that pitiful stuff to anyone again, and especially not to you.”
“Thank you.”
“I know so much about my old patterns now, and I’m doing way better, but I want to make very sure I don’t run them again. So how about if we out ourselves?”
“Like a dress rehearsal for trouble?”
“Exactly. I like that way of putting it. We’re both human, so that means that each of us is going to be some kind of trouble sometimes, doesn’t it?”
“Speak for yourself, Buster.”
“Oh, you didn’t know that I’m the spokesperson for the entire human race?”
“No, I didn’t know that.”
“Well, speaking on behalf of my species, I want to tell you that each of us is definitely going to be trouble.”
“You know what this makes me think of? How pilots get safety training and do practice drills so they’re prepared in case something goes wrong.”
“Yes, let’s have an emergency response plan for when we hit our patches of trouble.”
“Then maybe we won’t have to be so scared of trouble.”
“And maybe we’ll have less of it just because we’re ready.”
“How about if we start by making a list of red flags for each of us? For example, what kind of trouble might you be, Matt?”
“Oh, no, I’m a very polite guy, ladies first.”
“Ha!”
“Okay, so being the sweetheart I am, I’m now volunteering to go first. Which is actually not hard, because I know plenty about the kind of trouble I can be. Sometimes out of the blue I’ll be triggered by the memory of an episode of shame from my childhood, or really anytime in my past, and it will take me over and hang on like a sickness, and I might very well pull away from you and go cold on you.”
“How will I know that’s happening?”
“I get inward, not meditative inward but stressed inward. I get silent. I stop looking you in the eye.”
“What do I do then?”
“Take me by the shoulders to get my attention and tell me, ‘Matt, I miss you, I want you back.’ And, by the way, you can do that, too, if I ever say something that hurts your feelings. Take me by the shoulders and say, ‘Matt, you’re hurting me.’ I’ll pay attention.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“That kind of directness has never not worked because I hate hurting people, and that will be true especially for you. I really don’t want to hurt you.”
“I like hearing that. But let’s say just on the off chance we might need a next step, what would it be?”
“Challenge me. Say: ‘I want you to remember who you are. Tell me three aspirations you have for intimacy. Tell me three moments when intimacy has been most alive for you. What made that happen? Now, tell me what’s the door you need to open right now to get back into intimate connection with me.’ ”
“And if that doesn’t do it?”
“Then tell me who you know me to be when I’m at my best. Insist that I listen to you, which I do when someone gets very serious with me. And in the case of a shame attack, you can ask me to tell you about my moral stand on shame. That’ll snap me out of it and get my fight juices flowing because I hate shame, and I’m fiercely opposed to it.”
“Okay, so we’re going to do a complete trouble assessment for both of us. We’re putting that on the agenda. And we’ll make an action plan for each kind of trouble. Is that going to be hard for you? Is it going to be shaming?”
“No, it’s going to be great.”
“Because?”
“It might be hard in the moment, but much worse is for us to get locked into snippy, sniveling, snarky battles when I know we don’t have to go down that street. It’s thrilling to think that we’re going to make a prevention protocol because that will keep us from getting to the point of saying the nasty stuff many couples say to each other that sometimes gets so bad people never get over it. Is this unrealistic?”
“I don’t want it to be.”
“How about this? In the spirit of prevention, why don’t we find a therapist or relationship coach who’s really, really good and put her on speed dial?”
“I like it. Then in a moment of crisis we won’t have to start from scratch and figure things out when we’re both in distress. We just push a button.”
“Here’s a problem, though, I’m not impressed with most therapists. And I don’t believe most of them could keep up with us.”
“I’ve got someone I trust. Marcie. She helped me so much when I was going through my divorce. She’s really sharp. No jargon, no BS.”
“Perfect. How about if we schedule a session with her right away and tell her what we’re up to and let her know she’s part of our plan in case we need her, which we might not ever. Do you think she’d go for that?”
“She’ll go for it.”
“Okay, but wait a minute, I just saw your mood shift.”
“It’s that we’re starting with the negatives. I’m worried they could drag us down. I can get a dozen compliments in a day and then one criticism and I’ll suck on that criticism like a lemon all night and never think about those compliments again.”
“Me, too. So let’s switch gears and focus on our strengths.”
“I want us to do more than just talk about them, Matt.”
“What can you imagine?”
“How about this. We could video ourselves in our best moments.”
“I love that! But why do I love that?”
“Imagine that we get into a messy put-down battle with each other.”
“Lucy! No! Oy!”
“Of course it’ll never happen in real life, but for now imagine it.”
“Okay, I see it happening, and I hate it, I really hate it. How do we stop it?”
“We’ll have a code word, like crapbusters, and when one of us says it, we’ll shut up, and we’ll go pull a video out of our Strengths Library and watch it together.”
“Our Strengths Library?!”
“Yes, why not?”
“I’ve never heard of such a thing. Let’s do it! So if we watch a video of us at our best together, our best will be a vivid presence in the moment, not the distant echo of a memory.”
“Watching ourselves will get us back on track.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“We hit the speed dial and go see Marcie.”
“Does our Strengths Library have to be only for trouble?”
“Not at all. Say we’re cruising along having fun, but we decide we want even more fun. We can pull out a video and inspire ourselves with ourselves.”
“Okay, Lucy, but here’s something about me, I hate cameras. I don’t even like to get my picture taken, and video is worse.”
“So what do you need around this? Do you not want to do it?”
“No, I really want us to do this. It would help to make a promise that you and I will be the only ones to ever see these videos.”
“God, yes! We have to keep them private so we don’t censor ourselves. We need that protection.”
“Can we really do this?”
“Why not? How much does this relationship mean to you, Matt?”
“It means a lot, and in this conversation it’s meaning more by the minute.”
“So can we do this crazy video thing to protect our love?”
“Yes, we can. And since you’re on a roll, tell me what else we can do.”
“How about if we gather pictures of a dozen couples we know personally, or maybe some celebrity couples. We’ll put them in a circle around us on the floor. Then we’ll dialogue with each of them in turn, like, ‘We’re the same as you because…and we’re different than you because…’ And that will help us see more clearly the special magic of our relationship.”
“Cool. And here’s another idea, Luce. Let’s get Astrobrights in different colors and write short, freestyle poems or haikus about our partnership on them. We’ll put them up on the wall in our bedroom like a mosaic when we move in together.”
“Move in together?!”
“It could happen. Just seeing all that color on the wall will keep us remembering ourselves at our best.”
“What about playlists? What could we do with them?”
“We could make a playlist of our favorite ‘fight’ songs to stir us up when our spirits are flagging.”
“And a list of songs that evoke tenderness. And a list that sets us dancing.”
“Hmm.”
“Hmm, what?”
“Here’s something I’m noticing. We’re talking about what we want in terms of intimacy, but at the same time, Lucy, we’re…”
“…doing the work of intimacy.”
“Suddenly I’m thinking of times when I’ve helped nonprofit leaders with their hiring. Why am I thinking of that? Let me explain. The default is the polite interview: ‘Are you a team player?’ ‘Oh, yes, I’m very much a team player.’ ‘Are you a problem solver?’ ‘Oh, yes, I’m a very good problem solver.’ If you ask those kinds of questions, you learn nothing about the person. But hiring is so serious.”
“And it’s so hard to get rid of someone if you make the wrong decision.”
“Is it ever. So another option is what they call behavioral interviewing: ‘Tell me three times when you’ve played a key role in helping a team achieve its goals.’ ‘Tell me three times when you’ve solved difficult problems.’ ”
“I get how that’s better, but somebody really good at BS could still fool you, couldn’t they?”
“Which is why I recommend what I call a real-work interview, which means if it’s at all possible, do some real work together. Say you’re hiring a fundraiser. Have her come in for two days, pay her for her time, and then the two of you design in detail her work plan and specific strategies for her first year. See how that goes.”
“Like if she takes over and makes the plan without letting you get a word in edgewise. Or if she tries to get you to do all the work. Or if she engages in a back-and-forth partnership with you. You find out if the two of you can work together, not just talk about it, but really do it. Is that the idea?”
“That’s it exactly. The real-work interview is labor intensive, but it pays off big time, because it prevents bad hires. Not that it’s the perfect solution, but it’s better than anything else.”
“And you’ve seen this work, Matt?”
“Indeed. And once, the other way around. A friend applied for a job as a fundraiser and got the offer, but something was holding him back from saying yes. So I recommended that he call the director, and say, ‘How about if I come in on Monday morning and we’ll make the work plan for the first year? We’ll see what it’s like to actually work together. If it turns out we’re not right for each other, at least you’ll have a professional fundraising plan for your organization for the first time ever.’”
“And she was okay with that?”
“Delighted. He went in that Monday morning and called me that afternoon and said, ‘I respect Judith now more than ever and there’s no way I could work for her. We’d drive each other crazy. I’m so glad I didn’t make a two-year commitment based on one lightweight interview.’”
“Okay, I see where you’re headed with this. You’re saying that conventional dating is like the polite interview. Dinners, movies, and both of us on our best behavior, which tells us nothing about how we’ll be together under the conditions of everyday life or, god forbid, in a crisis.”
“And what we’re doing right now in this conversation is finding out if we like doing intimacy work together. And, Lucy, your verdict?”
“I’m having so much fun right now.”
“I have this theory. You know how the sweetest love can turn into the bitterest hate?”
“Oh, yes. Scary. That happened with my divorce. Once upon a time we were so in love, and then where did that love go?”
“I don’t want that to ever happen with us.”
“Me, either.”
“I want to believe that if we were ever to grow apart we could go our separate ways without bitterness. Am I delusional? Here’s a promise I want to make to you: Whatever happens between us, I will always be your friend.”
“Thank you. I want that. And I want to make the same pledge to you. If we were ever to part, I’ll treat you with respect at the very least. But can we really do that? It can be so hard when hearts are breaking, or burning with anger.”
“Here’s my theory. I think the bitterness comes from the salvation trap. Sometimes people try to use an intimate relationship to fix what’s wrong in their life. To make them feel okay about themselves without having to do the real work that would actually make them be okay with themselves. And when the longed-for salvation doesn’t happen, when it turns out their partner doesn’t have supernatural powers but is only a fellow human being with human needs and limitations, the relationship takes a sharp turn into despair. Then resentment follows, and before long you get people locked into persecutory battles.”
“So you’re saying we need to be vigilant about not slipping into any kind of salvation hopes with each other. Like if we aren’t nursing inflated fantasies, there won’t be any bubbles that can burst ugly.”
“I’m especially intent on making this deal with you because I’m a former codependent savior wannabe. I’ll do my best not to backslide, but it’s the one thing about me that worries me most, so if you catch me at my old crap, please, please call me on it right away. Will you do that?”
“I promise. But won’t you get upset if I call you on your stuff?”
“It doesn’t matter if I get upset.”
“It matters to me. I don’t want you to be mad at me for doing something we agreed on.”
“Okay, you’re right, so just say this: ‘Matt, I’m watching you do your Rescuer thing with me right now, and just one question: What comes next?’ That will sober me up quick, because I know all too painfully well that resentment is what comes next, and then attack, and I never want to go there with you.”
“Okay, I can do that. But let me ask you for a favor. If you catch yourself slipping into Rescue mode, would you point it out to me so I can get really sharp about what it looks like, especially if it might be wearing a disguise?”
“I promise.”
“And what happens if we catch ourselves getting sucked into the salvation trap together?”
“We declare a State of Emergency.”
“And then?”
“Then we go out for an hour and split a hot fudge sundae to celebrate that we caught ourselves and declared the emergency.”
“Then go back home and get to work on it?”
“Yes.”
“Matt, I’m starting to feel scared.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re talking about making a very serious commitment to each other, and are we really ready? Can we trust our feelings? My past relationships have ended badly. How do I know this won’t? What’s going to make this different for us?”
“Great question. Let’s answer it together. Where do we start?”
“Tell me, what’s deepest in your heart?”
“In this moment?”
“Okay.”
“You.”
“No, don’t say that. That’s too much for me to carry. You can’t center your life around me.”
“I won’t, except what I want more than anything in the world is an intimate partnership. But the basic definition of intimacy is two people revealing who they are to each other, and that’s not enough for me, because who is this person once she’s revealed? What does she care about? What does she fight for in her life?”
“What exactly are you looking for?”
“A commitment to mutual nurturance and mutual advocacy.”
“Why that?”
“Because that’s what’s deepest in my heart. Because that’s what I call my moral core. It’s what I want at the center of all my close relationships. I want to champion my friends and I want them to champion me. I want us to bring out the best in each other.”
“And with an intimate partner?”
“I want that in spades.”
“You said that’s your moral core, but morality is stuffed with shoulds.”
“The conventional kind is.”
“And you’ve got something else?”
“We’ve got something else. Look how we’re treating each other.”
“So far we’ve decided to treat each other with kindness and understanding, and with respect no matter what.”
“While we each stay true to our values.”
“And stay real with each other.”
“Wouldn’t you say those are nurturing decisions?”
“Yes. Sweet decisions.”
“And do you feel like we’re bringing out the best in each other?”
“Very much.”
“So we’re championing each other?”
“Agreed, and it feels really good.”
“I don’t care if someone gets an A-plus for being open and vulnerable, if she’s not a big fan of nurturance and advocacy, then she’s not right for me.”
“I understand.”
“So when I said you are what matters to me most, I was talking about in this moment. If I take a step back, though, I’d say that an intimate partnership is what matters to me most. But you are far and away the best chance I’ve ever had of getting that, so that makes you super, super important to me. Which doesn’t mean I would compromise my values to be with you.”
“Okay, when you put it that way, I like being that kind of important to you. It makes my heart take a little leap. And I feel the same about you. What you’re looking for is what I’m looking for, too.”
“I hear the conviction in your voice. Can you hear it in mine?”
“I sure can. So we’re not just looking for a personality match, are we? We’re also looking for what I’m guessing you would call a moral match.”
“Absolutely. And I can tell you I have a moral crush on you!”
“No one’s ever said that to me before.”
“And I’ve never said it to anyone before because I’ve never thought of it before.”
“We’re definitely on the same track, then, except for one thing I noticed.”
“What’s that?”
“You used the word ‘commitment’ and I know women are supposed to like it, but I’m having a reaction to it.”
“Why?”
“Because commitment can be stifling.”
“Like if it’s infected with shoulds?”
“Yes. In the last nine months of my marriage, we both knew we were finished but we hung in there because of that vow we had taken on our wedding day years before. And it was gruesome. A formal commitment does not make a relationship.”
“When I’m just talking with myself, I never use that word.”
“What do you say instead?”
“I talk about desire. And by that I mean moral desire.”
“But can we trust desire, because desire waxes and wanes, doesn’t it?”
“That’s true for some desires.”
“My cousin, Phoebe, the one who’s the marriage counselor, says what first attracts you to someone is the very thing that later on will turn you off and make you ask for a divorce.”
“Do you think that’s true?”
“Yes and no. Yes, because it was true for me and my ex. What attracted me to him was how funny he was. He made me laugh. After three years, he was still a lot of laughs, but he never went deep and I had become hungry for depth. So I started resenting his humor, and then him.”
“And the no?”
“No, because I want to believe that if two people start out connecting from the deepest place in their hearts, that kind of connection won’t wear out. That’s my theory anyway.”
“Well, why don’t we see if we can prove your theory right?”
“Okay, and do I get a prize if I’m right?”
“Yes, you get me!”
“I’m going to get you anyway.”
“Oh, you think I’m easy?”
“Yes, but only easy for me. Tell me more about your take on desire.”
“Look at how badly both of us want a for-real intimate partnership. We’re talking about a fierce desire with plenty of fight in it. And if we’ve got that going for us, why would we need a conventional commitment? Why would we need to sign on the dotted line?”
“But, again, doesn’t desire wax and wane?”
“Not the deep kind. I can look back into my childhood and I can see my desire for nurturance and advocacy even then. I didn’t have the words for it, I didn’t know how to make it happen, but that’s what I wanted. And as the years have passed, this desire has only gotten clearer and stronger. It’s stuck with me through thick and thin. So I trust it. More than anything I trust this desire.”
“Phoebe says security and eros are opposites.”
“We’re talking about eros now?”
“Is that okay?”
“More than okay.”
“Phoebe says security depends on safety and stability, while eros thrives on risk and mystery. So they work against each other and that’s trouble in relationships because we want both those things at the same time.”
“What do you think about that?”
“Security, in the conventional sense of the word, means you stay the same and I stay the same and so our relationship will be the same old, same old. And the problem with that is the relationship’s going to get boring and then both partners are going to want more and they’re going to start looking for that more outside the relationship and where’s the security in that?”
“So if we live by moral desire not by moral shoulds, we’ll be okay?”
“If that desire motivates us to keep growing and challenging ourselves and moving forward in our lives.”
“I’m all for that.”
“A phrase just popped into my mind.”
“What?”
“It’s giving me a shiver.”
“Oh, now I’m really intrigued.”
“Ordinarily, I’d say it sounds a bit weird, but in the midst of this conversation it feels perfectly natural.”
“And it is…”
“Moral eros.”
“And that means?”
“I don’t know because it’s new to me. But it makes me think of Esther Perel. In both her books she says eros is more than juicy sexuality, though hooray for that. For her, eros is total aliveness—mind, body, heart, and soul all purring along happily together at their best. Does that make sense?”
“It does, because when I’m with you, I find your caring, your smarts, your playfulness, your good heart, all of that, the total presence of you to be erotic.”
“Wow.”
“And really why should our bodies get to have all the fun? Why can’t our souls get in on this deal, too? Eros is so invigorating, why shrink it? Why not liberate it?”
“I believe one of the best gifts a person can give their partner is to do their own personal work. And you giving me the gift of your personal work is a turn on for me.”
“Then for sure I’ll keep giving you that gift.”
“So, Matt, is moral eros going to be our motto?”
“I like it!”
“And do we get to have a totem animal?”
“Yes! The twist of grace.”
“And what about our own personal Namaste?”
“Oh, that’s easy. The fight in me is crazy about the fight in you!”
