#2: “What If I Met the Right Love at the Wrong Time?”

Security might be enough for some, but I don't think it's enough for you.

Hello Hayes, 

Your clarity of mind and compassion is exactly what I need for this. I’ve been with my long distance boyfriend for about a year, and we’ve been best friends for two years going on three. All of the things people say about falling in love with your best friend are true in my case: He brings me comfort, security, trust, communication and intimacy in ways I didn't know existed. We first met online, and then in person shortly after we started dating. While our incredible mental connection remained, some practical problems emerged.

I’ve lived a lot of life for the average 24-year-old, whereas he has lived much less than your average 23-year-old. Our different life experiences really widen our one year age gap. I’ve lived all over the world and he’s too anxious to drive more than a couple of miles. I’ve had multiple careers and he’s never had a job. There are a lot more differences to be listed, and while we also do have things in common, it doesn’t change this depressing sensation that comes with feeling like the more mature person in a relationship. I’m embarrassed to say I’ve felt this way before, if that says anything about me.

We have talked about all of this, and I mean all of it. Even the painful and awkward parts, all in order to push through this period of unevenness. And yet, even when we talk about things like moving in together and living our lives side-by-side (which is the most comforting thought I can imagine), it still just feels…hypothetical. Any attempts I make to solidify a plan for our future just seem to dissolve. I don’t want to push him. I don’t want to hurt him. I want a future with the hypothetical ‘him’ he sees when he has a job, financial independence and confidence.

My therapist hints that I’m afraid to be alone. I guess that’s true, but it’s more so the fact that I know how rare a love like this is. I know how lucky I am to have found this incredible connection to someone, and in all my life, this is the first time I've felt it. How could I leave it, especially if it could end up being just a matter of time before we can settle these differences? The truth is that, yes, I am afraid to be alone. Which is funny, considering how long I’ve been so confidently alone in my life. I love how this love feels, who wouldn’t be afraid to lose it. 

What do you think: Can I wait out meeting the right love at the wrong time?

Please help,

Old Soul, Big Heart 

Dear Old Soul, Big Heart, 

Did you notice what you did there, when you painted that description? About the differences between you and Friend-Turned-Lover (FTL), we’ll call him. Your artist is showing. You remind me a lot of myself, though much more worldly and cool, I imagine. This picture you presented, it’s something like: you, a nomad with a dream, and him, a couch with anxiety. My use of the term couch is intentional, both metaphorical and endearing. He’s a couch in the sense that he doesn’t want to leave his house, and also because of the comfort he provides you. We love our couches, thinking of mine and the L-side that I love to scootch into, I feel my shoulders melt. But I think this is true: A couch performs the peak of its powers after you’ve had an adventurous or long or difficult day. It’s less profound when you spend every moment there. 

I was in love with someone once who sounds a little bit like your boyfriend. On the night of my 20th birthday we had plans to go out for dinner. When I arrived at his fraternity beforehand, he was deep in a severe anxiety attack, worsened by the “mole” he smoked moments before — which, for the uninitiated, is a bong rip filled with tobacco and pot. I sat there with him, in my birthday dress, because that’s what you do when you love someone and they’re hurting. Once the episode passed, we discussed whether we could still go out for dinner, and then I made the decision he wanted me to. It’s ok, I don’t mind, I promise, I’ll grab take-out, be right back. He pulled it together the best he could: When I arrived after picking up falafel, he had set up a table in the room with candles. It was precious and heartbreaking. We broke up about seven months later, when I realized that it wasn’t my role to fix him — or anyone else I tried to fix to escape fixing myself. 

It was around this time when I started questioning what the relationship actually gave me, other than the love and support that a couch can give. Was it also helping me get off my ass and become the person I’m capable of being? At the end of the day, I, like you, want to live and see and do a lot of big things — but a couch just wants to be. 

On seeking stability 

I want to talk with you about adventure. You mention you’ve lived a lot of life for a 24-year-old, including multiple stints abroad and many different careers. I wonder if that also comes with some heaviness. Have you lived so much life at such a young age because you had to? Because you wanted to? In writing this I realize it’s probably a combination of both because at some point, what we have to do becomes what we want to do, doesn’t it? We take the divine circumstances we’ve been given and morph them into something that feels like our own creation. At least we try to. Maybe the happiest among us are those who succeed. Your life seems to be defined by spontaneity, risk, uncertainty. Those terms alone make for a fairly “unstable” existence, which isn’t always a bad thing, as the word is often associated with. I don’t mean it in a bad way. I mean it to say that I understand why you’d be attracted to someone who offers you security. But what kind of security is he offering you? The security of being loved? While that might be enough for someone, it doesn’t seem like it will be enough for you.

Let’s actually break down the words you use to describe what Friend-Turned-Lover gives you: comfort, security, trust, communication and intimacy. These are important words. But they’re all kind of saying the same thing, they tell a story with no tension. If you throw these words at me and say “WRITE A SCENE!” then here's what I deliver back to you: 

You lean into bed. It’s a little earlier than usual, maybe 9 o’clock, but you’re under the weather and you need some solid sleep tonight. There’s someone there with you, he tucks you in like you’re a check in an envelope and pulls the covers up under your chin. Safe and sound. You close your eyes and want to cry a little, you really don’t feel well and you wonder if you're ever gonna feel well again, but hold up, it feels good to release your weight in the mattress and to close your eyes and to have this person taking care of you. You feel like a child, or what you wanted to feel like as a child but no one could ever give you. Is this better than childhood? He says you’re gonna be okay and you trust him. He kisses your forehead and turns off the light, sits with you until you fall asleep. 

When we think of Big Love, of being swept off our feet, of finding our “soulmate” (which you know I don’t believe in), I think THAT SCENE is what a lot of us imagine. Cradled and child-like, fully taken care of. When someone gives it to you, that familial type of care, it’s natural to be terrified that it’s going to go away. So terrified that you ignore all these other tiny details that you’re not sure about. Because you’d be INSANE to give that up! That type of love is rare, goddamnit!!  

No my love, I don’t think it’s rare. Or it’s not rare enough for you to let go of everything else you want. If comfort and stability are the one note of your relationship — I get the sense that that’s not going to be enough for you. The song will fall flat. You are a person, who yes, wants your basic needs met just like we all do, but you want a relationship filled with surprise and creativity and magic. But magic requires you to venture beyond the three mile radius of your house — which, unless you were using hyperbole, your boyfriend cannot currently do. 

On grieving something before it’s gone

You know that depressing feeling you mention, the one that comes up when you realize that you’re more mature than he is? I suspect that that feeling is grief. I’ve been in love three times, I think. Maybe four. (As I write this I’m picturing all the men I’ve told I loved, sitting in a room together, debating whether they’re one of the three, and it makes me feel kind of bad.) Anyway, three Big Loves is what I see in retrospect, the third being my husband who at least for now is still obsessed with me. 

When my first two Big Loves approached their expiration dates, the grief began far before I was ready for the relationships to be over. In the case of the Love I told you about, I felt sick to my stomach, ridden with guilt, sad and worried about how he’d feel about me moving on, about me saying: I deserve more than this and so do you. I didn’t have a plan to end things, you can’t plan for that kind of readiness, in that kind of relationship. You don’t know when the moment will hit you, but then suddenly it does, and you’re off, the moment is now, the starter gun has popped and you spring off the starting blocks. Keep running, don’t stop, you’ll catch your breath on the other side. 

I’m proud of you for having these conversations with him, even when they’re painful and awkward as you wrote. I want to say clearly that I’m not concerned about the fact that you two don’t live together yet, or that one or both of you isn’t ready. 23- and 24-years-old is very young. Moving in together is not the only way to evolve a relationship — in fact, I think moving in together too soon can cause one to unravel. No alarm bells there. It’s the other details you generously shared that give me pause.

On seizing your moment

I’m going to ask you a tough question but I think you’re ready for it at this point in the story. You say that living side-by-side is the most comforting thing you can imagine, but which version of him do you imagine sitting next to you? The version that he is today, or the one you hope he is in the future? There’s no assurance that that person, the one you fantasize about, will ever exist, especially if he hasn’t shown you that he’s trying. Is he trying? Does he get help — outside of you — for his anxiety? Is he looking for a job? These details matter. You can’t fix him, my love. He won’t miraculously become the person you know he can be if he’s not ready to become that person himself. 

You ask me, how could I leave something I’m so lucky to have? Especially if it could end up being just a matter of time before we settle our differences? Listen, my love, you can leave and still be lucky. The experience you had won’t disappear if you decide to move on. My past Loves are with me everywhere I go, I think about them from time to time. I have nothing but gratitude for my past Love that’s like yours, and I feel joy when I see he’s doing well. But I wasn’t gonna be the one to get him there. If you have the same doubts about your Big Love, it’s okay. You’re not a bad person. You can also wait and see. For as long as that feels good. But promise me that if that moment presents itself, when you feel the adrenaline and you realize, oh shit, something is happening right now, promise me you seize that moment. You’ll never be ready to do big brave things, but you do them anyway.

That’s what makes you extraordinary. 

Thanks for reading Hello Hayes! Send me your advice letters at alexandrahayesrobinson@protonmail.com. I’m so grateful to all of you for reading and sharing my work. If you have any feedback on this issue, or ideas for what you’d like to see more or less of in the future, you can respond directly to this email and share with me — I will read and respond to everything.