shhh... it's a secret
Showing posts with label role models. Show all posts
Showing posts with label role models. Show all posts

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

To Cohabitate or to Not Cohabitate?

That apparently, is the question.

When I first watched the movie Frida, one thing about Frida Kahlo's relationship with Diego Rivera really struck me. (Okay, well, a few things struck me, but I am only going to write about one thing here.) Kahlo and Rivera were married, but they did not cohabitate. In other words, they maintained separate residences. Often times they lived adjacent to each other. To be honest, the first time I heard about this, I was intrigued, but we are talking years ago so I quickly forgot about this. I recently (as in within the last four months) discovered that another famous couple also chose to maintain separate domiciles, Helena Bonham Carter and Tim Burton. I am a huge fan of their work, and when I heard they did not live together, I was again intrigued.

I proceeded to do a little research, and I discovered that not only are there millions of couples out there who do this, but there is also a term for it. It is called "Living Apart Together" (LAT), and it is a concept that is said to have originated in the Netherlands. Couples cite numerous different reason for choosing to live apart. Some LAT couples do so because of their jobs. Some do so because they have children from a previous marriage and combining households would be disruptive. Some LAT couples, like Kahlo and Rivera, live apart in order to pursue extra-marital affairs. And some couples just do it because they do not like the thought of living with someone else.

 These two were not about to give up their
whoring ways for anyone.

Let me explain why this whole LAT thing has me so intrigued. I lived with someone, off and on, for six years out of our nine year relationship. During those six years I learned more about the other person than I ever wanted to know, I gave up more of my personal space and time than I ever wanted to give up, and I had to compromise more than I was comfortable with in regards to decor, routine, and lifestyle. Of course, at the time, I was not aware of any of this. It was not until moving out that I had such a revelation.

I have never considered myself to be a selfish person, however, I have always known that I am a very private, introverted individual. I enjoy my alone time and I require a lot of it. I like the freedom of being alone. I like the freedom of being able to pick up my art supplies at 2 o'clock in the morning and drawing for three hours while in bed. I like the freedom of being able to hop in the car and run to the grocery store or the bookstore on a whim. I like the freedom of being able to eat a quickly thrown together dinner at 9 pm while reading a book, watching TV, and listening to the latest album I downloaded. Living with someone else makes this very difficult to do. Plus, I'm an insomniac, and being an insomniac and living with someone else do not work well together.

I am also a very visual person, and having things around me that I find to be visually pleasing makes me happy. It is very difficult for me to live with someone whose own style contrasts greatly with my own. As an artistic person, aesthetics is very important to me. To cohabitate with someone(s) who has little regard for colors, shapes, patterns and style, is highly aggravating. And to sacrifice my visual pleasure because of someone else's lack of taste is something I am not necessarily willing to do.* 

Some people argue that when you marry or just commit to another, you should then gather up your two separate lives and create a new, joint life together... as a couple. And you will then live happily ever after, together, forever. But of course, not without a lot of work. And not without some arguing and disagreeing and compromising. Once upon a time, I believed this as well, but as I venture through my journey of self-discovery, I am beginning to believe this less and less.

 See what these two have to say about their living
arrangements: Mr. and Mrs. Mad Hatter.

I have always maintained the philosophy that the most important thing in life is to be happy, regardless of what that entails. In my opinion, if you are happy, then your life is fulfilled. Call me naive, or just plain stupid, but I would rather be happy in life than living to just "make things work". I don't necessarily believe that one needs to make numerous compromises and give up parts of themselves in order to commit to another person. In fact, I think life would be better for everyone if people didn't feel forced to compromise and reluctantly sacrifice the things about them that make them unique individuals.

When people first meet, they meet as individuals. Throughout the dating process, people are more than willing to make some sacrifices in order to get to know each other. They go to dinner, they go to shows, they rent movies and cuddle on the couch. As time goes by, their lives become more and more entwined with each other. In a perfect world, the two individuals will mesh perfectly together with very little disturbance to their lifestyles. In reality, many couples give up a lot of who they were as individuals for the sake of the relationship. In my opinion, this is one of the most damaging things that can happen to a relationship.

When you give up your hobbies, your lifestyle, the things that make you happy, you become an entirely different person. You are no longer the individual that your partner met and fell in love with. Over time the magic, the excitement, the novelty disappears. There are numerous tips and guides out there that advise couples on how to recapture the magic and excitement in their relationships. Instead of trying to recapture something lost, how can couples prevent the loss in the first place? What is it about committing to someone for the long-haul that creates mundane relationships and complacency?

I know what did it for me. For me it was getting to know the other person too well. It was getting to know all the little details, bad habits and annoyances of the other person. It was about hearing all the same stories over and over and over again. It was experiencing the same things as the other person, living the same life and then having nothing new and exciting to talk about. It was about giving up the things that make me me. It was about feeling obligated, through no fault of the other person, but just by being in a relationship, to do everyday things together. All the time. It was the obligation of eating meals together. The obligation of finding things to do on the weekends together. It was the suffocating, confining, panicky feelings an introverted loner feels whenever they have to spend a majority of their time with other people, regardless of who they might be.**

Things didn't work out quite as well for this famous
LAT couple.

I admire the LAT couples of the world. I am envious that they can afford to maintain separate living quarters, but more importantly, I envy their ability to recognize the importance of preserving their relationship by preserving their individual lives and happiness. And if by doing so they have to live apart, I applaud them for their strength, confidence and trust in each other to make it work. Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera being the exception, of course. Their relationship was so destructive and toxic, I do not believe anything could have really helped their relationship to succeed. But maybe that worked for them. Different strokes and what have you.

Further reading:
Living Apart Together by Carrie Sloan


* This came off as sounding extremely pretentious. I apologize for that as I am very much not a pretentious person. Although at times I have my moments. It's just that I know what I like and I love what I like. And having personal preferences is not something I will apologize for.
** Or maybe I just wasn't ready. Maybe twenty-two was too young to move in with someone and make that kind of commitment. Maybe I didn't get the chance to live enough life as me before attempting to create a life with someone else. We may never know.

Sunday, June 20, 2010

Happy Father Figure's Day

(Dear Twin Sisters: The following post is an account according to me. Your memories may be different than mine. In fact, they most likely are. Please don't feel like you need to correct me. I'm okay with being wrong from time to time. I'm okay with my false memories. Just let it go.)

Today is the day I envy all the "Daddy's Girl"s out there. Today is the day I wonder, "Huh. What would it have been like to have a real dad?" Not that my dad isn't real. He is. It's just... well... he is lacking. I mean, I know he tried and often times he probably had the best intentions, but, well, that didn't always come through. And let's just leave it at that.

Instead of dwelling on the negative, today is a day to focus on the positive. Therefore, I present to you, the Father Figures of my life (because I wasn't damaged raised by just one man). 

(Please note, unless otherwise specified, none of these men are deceased. Some of them are just no longer in my life anymore. It's easier to use past tense.)

Father Figures of the Familial Type

My Dad
(shown with my youngest nephew. Photo taken by someone else and stolen from my sister's Facebook page.)
There are a few great memories I have of me and my dad. I remember he used to make Mickey Mouse shaped pancakes for breakfast on the weekends. I'm pretty sure he's the reason I love grilled cheese because I think that was what we ate after my mom left. I don't recall him being all that great of a cook, but he used to take us to the only "restaurant" in town, Big Daddy's, for dinner. We always ordered grilled cheese. I still order it whenever I go to a diner. He's the reason I can't drive by a shipyard or smell diesel fuel and grease without reminiscing about my childhood and the times we used to spend on his ship. I'm pretty sure he's also the reason I knew how to read before Kindergarten (him and Sesame Street and Wheel of Fortune). My dad used to read us books before bed. He used to quiz us on the pictures too, so I'm pretty sure he's responsible for my partial-photographic memory and my mad skills of observation.

My Step-dad
(photo taken by me at his 55th 54th 56th 57th on his birthday.)
My step-dad is a man of few words. Thankfully, my step-dad never really stepped (pardon the pun) into the pseudo-father role. Which is good. Otherwise I probably would have disliked him just like I disliked my step-mom who jumped right into the pseudo-mom role. I know he still worked behind the scenes when it came to "dragging" us kids up though. My step-dad is probably responsible for many of my views in life and some of the things I know.

He taught me how to change a tire (not that I necessarily remember, but hey, he tried). He tolerated my sisters and I whenever we got it into our heads to repaint our bedrooms and furniture. And he was always there (well, in the workshop) when we needed help. Whenever various boyfriends/friends got stuck in the muddy/snowy/icy driveway, he was right there with his tractor, ready to pull them out with barely a grumble of complaint.

While a little gruff around the edges, my step-dad had a soft heart and would do anything for anyone. He offered to give his kidney to his best friend when he got sick, and he and my mom used to joke about opening their own nursing home because they cared for the aging family members. Plus, he puts up with my mom, and trust me, that ain't an easy thing to do.

And when it comes to water gun fights, he doesn't mess around. Garden hose always trumps Super Soaker.

My Grandfather 
(My grandfather passed away in 2000 as the result of an accident. I can't believe it's been ten years.)
My dad's dad was the greatest, nicest man I've ever known. All men in my life get measured against my grandfather. If there was anyone in my life I wanted to make proud, it was my grandfather. I miss him everyday.

My grandfather taught me about lazy Sundays and how to spend the afternoon playing solitaire and doing crossword puzzles. Reading the Sunday Funnies was always better when he was visiting. And he always brought doughnuts. Lunch on Sundays was an event with cold cuts and sandwiches. 

My sisters and I used to watch out the window for the arrival of my grandfather. And we always looked forward to the slide shows he would show us at night. We didn't know most of the people in the pictures he showed us, but it was cool to see where he'd been on his last vacation. And he always had tons of slides of the grand kids that we giggled over.

Visiting my grandfather was so much fun. We were allowed to ride our bikes around the neighborhood and on the campus of the college in town. He would take us to his old offices in the athletic department and show us off. We learned to shoot pool in his basement. He would hire a couple of baby-sitters to watch my sisters, my cousins and I while the adults went out for dinner. We'd watch rented movies, eat delivery pizza and play games the sitters taught us. 

And he always returned our noses to us in the same condition as when he stole them. 

Father Figures of the Academic Type

Mr. E and Mr. R.
(Sorry, no photos available)
Mr. E. was my 4th grade teacher, and he introduced me to hobbies. His was stamp collecting. Mine is procrastination. Well, can't win 'em all.
Mr. R. was my 6th grade teacher. He introduced me to the joys of contemplating life in the middle of the woods and in graveyards. He introduced me to writing poetry and drawing while surrounded by nature.

Mr. T. and Mr. B.
(again, no photos available)
Mr. T. was my 7th grade, 9th grade, and 10th grade social studies teacher (it was a small school). Mr. T. was the only person to ever ask me what it was I wanted to do with my life. When I told him I wanted to work with kids and bake, he didn't mock me, but asked me how I intended on accomplishing that. I'm still working on it.
Mr. B. was one of my science teachers. He was also the only person to ever suggest that I could have been more than an art teacher. He's also the person who told me I could have gone into science, despite the fact that I barely passed physics (in all honesty, I barely even tried). Of course, I didn't hear any of this until after I became an art teacher. In all fairness, if he had tole me that in high school, I wouldn't have listened any way.

Mr. L.
(no pic)
Mr. L. was my soccer coach from 9th grade to 12th grade. He pushed me to try my hardest, he wouldn't let me give up, ever, and most importantly, he saw right through me. He knew what my problem was before I did. He knew when I was bullshitting him before I even opened my mouth. And he didn't let me get away with anything. He was the only person in my life to confront me when I was self-destructing. He never accepted excuses from me and he was always there for me whenever I needed him.


So, while technically today is Father's Day, I'd like to say thank you and wish all the Father Figures out there a Happy Father's Day.
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