My 50th high school reunion just happened on Saturday. I included a link to this blog in my "bio" that was mailed out to classmates in advance of the reunion. I wondered if perhaps I would get canceled for some of my less popular views, but I didn't (and perhaps no one read a word).
I have no reason to think my life is nearly over, but the idea of living as if each day was your last is good in some respects. And so I choose today to offer (to those who really want to know) the most important element of my own emotional truth, as best I understand it.
When growing up, there was no one who said or conveyed "I love you no matter what." I could get approval for being good, but never unconditional love. A great many people don't have that, but perhaps I felt its lack more than some others, and in any case this is about me. Surely the best way to get it is to have it just handed to you along with your childhood.
Popular songs told of the power of romantic love, and how the right girl or woman could fix everything. In particular, the right girl would offer unconditional love. I believed it. This is very destructive if taken as actual advice. When was I supposed to have learned not to take it literally?
Well up into my 50s, far past when I should have known better, whenever I started a relationship, I would feel this strong tendency to melt into the joy of unconditional acceptance. This sort of weakness was a turn-off to partners. Part of me knew that I had to be reasonably strong as a condition for the relationship, but this other tendency dominated too often. If I had to be strong, then it wasn't unconditional love, was it? The one relationship that really worked was my marriage to Sarah, and a key reason was that I didn't love her with the passion I had the others. It was a compromise. "I really have to marry someone if I want to have a family, and who's the best?" There were many considerations.All candidates were former girlfriends, but all the others had rejected me at some point, and Sarah never had. I wonder in retrospect if that was important.
I gave up on receiving unconditional acceptance 16 years ago from my then-girlfriend, but realized I had already given it up in any other friendships, and knew there would be no future relationships. It was a major life goal, and not one I achieved. My wariness in trusting that any sort of affection is profoundly "true" has carried over to friendships, including family.
Short of acceptance that is unconditional is the variety that is at least warmly felt and genuine. I have struggled with that too.
In high school and before I had many fine qualities, made people laugh, and got considerable approval. I think I have always genuinely cared about people I consider my friends. But I was also not "with it" in many ways, and was always worried (with some justice I think) that there were important emotional realities that other people understood that I didn't. I was accepted into one key group in high school (known as "the clique") but felt that with one misstep I could be instantly dropped. In high school I was surrounded by a great many attractive girls, a few of whom I even knew were interested in me. But the wrong choice could surely lead to derision and loss of all my friends. This criterion allowed me to feel interest in only the most popular girls. I also had no idea how to relate to a girl in that sort of situation -- no adult men in my life modeled this for me. My long-time therapist seemed stumped on that question too -- where do men learn this?
College was where I had my first five romantic relationships, none of which lasted more than a couple months but which were at least real and not just possibilities to dream about with intense anxiety. I had many individual friendships and even was accepted into a group of friends. But even among them, I recall feeling I lacked the "standing" in the group to try to invite anyone else in, for instance.
With my wife Sarah we had the sort of relationship that grows from affection, common activities and mutual respect, and those years 1981 to 1986 were the happiest of my life. Unfortunately other stresses were unleashed in by the birth of our children, and ultimately the marriage ended in 1998. Sarah in retrospect labels her difficulties starting in that period as "mental illness", and I surely contributed my part as well.
Parenting was an entirely different sort of activity. I tried to love my daughters unconditionally. I felt I did, but they were "good" kids and did nothing to seriously test the truth of such a commitment. But still I wondered if I really could deliver the genuine article, since I had lacked that in my own childhood.
After college, friendships were more difficult to maintain and more varied. I recognized and "owned" my strong introvert tendencies, and felt at peace having just a few friends.
The theory as I understand it for those lacking unconditional love is to provide it yourself. You love yourself as you would have wanted to be loved. It remains somewhat mysterious to me. Perhaps there is bootstrapping, or connecting different aspects of life in new ways, or "faking it until you make it" or taking a leap of faith. I can't say I have felt like I had much success. Perhaps the way my cards were dealt it was always out of reach.
There are of course a great many other ways to build a worthwhile and interesting life, and I feel I have done well with those for the most part. I am proud of what I have done, in fatherhood, friendship, service to community, and the life of the mind. I succeeded in a career of which a few jobs were arguably advancing human welfare in modest fashion. But today I have admitted to this other piece of life that I wanted and never got.
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