We're Dating?

I have a tendency to let relationships build kind of... as they’re going to, and this largely stems from a fear of being more invested than the other person and showing weakness by asking the “so what are we?” question.

It leads to some moments like

“we’ve been talking regularly for 10 months, I flew down to Texas to spend a week with you at the first opportunity that presented itself, we’ve kissed and shared a lot of important life info and moments........” 

“oh, we’re dating?? We’re partners? Yeah, obviously! I knew that! For sure!”


And then the question is “but when did we start dating? When did this go from being good friends who flirt a lot to being partners who are... idk, whatever partners are?” And this question has multiple sources/desired answers-
“what’s the difference between partners and not-yet-partners?”
“how long have we thought of each other as people we want to keep around for awhile and form this connection with?”
“when is our anniversary???” (This one is mostly for me, my partners don’t tend to track these things as much as I do)
“How did I miss this as a definition of our relationship for however long?”

I’m just saying, poly has really not made my dating life any less confusing, words are fake (even if I really like them), and damn do I need to work on believing people also like me.

Romantic Love

Romantic love is difficult to qualify or quantify or make any sense of. People talk about it all the time, there are songs and books and poems that all try to make sense of it. Defining it is tricky, however, and it gets more so when you start to look outside of heteronormativity, monogamy, and the relationship escalator.

I can tell you that romantic love, for me, is different from friend love, family love, puppy love... It feels like warm honey in the sun, golden and liquid. It feels like tiny fireworks going off in my brain. It is tied to a few people in my life, and it usually starts with a heavy dose of apprehension because it's something I feel all the way, every single time.

My concept of romantic love is complicated by my friend Spencer. Spencer is someone I have been friends with since April of 2012, and when we first started talking I fell head over heels for them within weeks. I expressed my interest and affection, I was gently rebuffed, and I was a broken little heap for a couple days. I revived. I recovered. I didn't lose that spark. Spencer and I lived in the same dorm freshman year of college, and I went to see them whenever I could. I listened to stories about their life and classes, I sat on their floor while they did homework, I adjusted every time they changed their name or pronouns, and listened every time they expressed their identity and orientation differently.

I expected nothing. After I asked the first time, I never again told them I wanted to date. I didn't want to date. I wanted them to be happy, to be part of my life, to thrive in their environment and relationships. I wanted to support that in any way that I could. I've spent a few years now watching Spencer from afar as they do all of these things, and as they become the person they've always wanted to become. And I still feel that spark, that liquid gold, that certainty of affection. This person will always be my person.

My love for my friend Whitney is a different kind of love. It's bright and happy and sometimes exasperated and protective. It's standing up for her when she can't stand up for herself, and it's her reminding me that my feelings are important even when I want to prioritize other people. We have steel cables connecting us across the miles and time. This person will always be my person.

Ben and Jakal are my people, too. My partners. Honey in the sun, fireworks in the brain, butterflies in the stomach affection and joy and anticipation. The building of something new and beautiful. Still learning each other, still reaching out at random times just to feel the warmth and reality of each other. Reassurance and emotional support and jokes and sharing. Building lives that entwine and entangle and converge. These are different, and they do not come with the certainty of forever, but they come with the certainty of "right now, forever." One of my favorite lines of poetry that I've ever encountered is from "How It Ends" by Andrea Gibson.

"But whatever

Whenever
However this ends,
I want you to know, that right now,
I love you forever."

What They Need To Hear

If you only ever use “I’m just telling them what they need to hear” to mean negative or hurtful things, give that some thought. Sometimes what people need to hear, and I mean need not want, is encouragement. Sometimes they need to hear that you believe in them, that you’re proud of them, that they tried their best.

The next time you want to tell someone what they “need” to hear, consider if maybe there isn’t something else they need to hear too.