“Love, love me do, you know I love you”(The Beatles)
Versione italiana al link: A un passo da Tinder
For the title of this article, I transcribed the incipit of a recent conversation with a dear friend who, as one can well imagine, manifested an understandable difficulty toward the magical world of relationships. At the now venerable and venerable age of forty-five, I continue to observe one difference between my friends and myself: they, from adolescence to the present, have had a series of long and, God willing, often satisfying affairs, while I am in a state of chaos toward romantic relationships practically from the womb.
I well realize that many couples are still together because they have five mortgages and eight children, or out of inertia and fear of loneliness, childlike attachment or quiet desperation. Those who are not in the above conditions and have become aware of the dynamics potentially at play in a relationship, can only long for the peace of the convent.
Intimate relationship, in a more or less immediate but surely inexorable way, thoroughly unwraps our most hidden wounds. In my tragic experience in that area, I can say that I have only felt truly loved and 'special' in a couple of cases, one of which is my marriage. Let us give Caesar his due: my ex-husband was practically the only one who made me feel safe and secure from an emotional point of view; then he might have had other problems, but not the one of throwing poison into my inner wounds. To honor such exceptionalism, I, who also had not put marriage among my goals, married him.
Other datings, which never reached that degree of seriousness and commitment, lasted a little longer: in any case, we saw each other very little and in any case the other never integrated me into his life, even when I made an effort to make him feel welcome in mine. So I found myself in very ambiguous situations, where my let's call him 'partner' , believing that I did not notice, would put appreciations to photos of other women, chat with them or even call them in the few hours he was with me.
I can therefore truly understand the state of mind of many of my friends, beautiful and intelligent, who find themselves single at this age and in this world. They are afraid of experiencing what I have always experienced: a game of slaughter or constant disappointment and humiliation.
True intimacy, what we consciously or unconsciously seek in a romantic relationship, is actually a final test of the human adventure: it takes years, but what am I saying, eons, to begin to understand a little what 'love' means, and it usually has nothing to do with what we imagined watching "When Harry Met Sally" or "Pretty Woman."