“Oh, Girl I’ll never give you up, Cause ain’t no other good enough, And nothing can compare to you, I waited all my life to be with you. Oh, here I stand and when I fall, Only you expect for more, Your love is so unique, it knocks me off my feet. You love is so damn divine, you’re always on my mind.” Raphael Saadiq
It’s official I’m addicted. Not only am I a subscriber to singleblackmale.org but I also search and read all of the older posts. I’ve gone as far back as 2008… and I’m still going. I have a few of my favorites, which I save in my email in hopes of posting a reaction on my site later… ahhh inspiration.
Their poignant simplicity of the male psyche draws various rebuttals and desires of being the exception, and realizing I’m in a group along with a bunch of other women… well for now.
I recently read: How I Knew She Was the One by TheMostInterestingManInTheWorld (aka Most).
The lucidity of his case states 5 qualifying factors that made his wife, The One. She was able to hold his attention, accurately prioritize him and the relationship, won the approval of the grandmother, he pictured her in his future, and he prayed about the decision. Ok, ok, ok I can dig all of those things.
But then you read a post that describes why she wasn’t the one…here’s where my heart stops and I can’t control the tears leaking from overcrowded ducts. Too many times I’ve not been the one… and to feel that weight can be unbearable.
You read, and read, and read some more; checking off an imaginary list, comparing yourself to the protagonists in the articles; deluding yourself to believe you’re not like that… only to realize you’re another statistic *sigh*.
“Jenn was an amazing woman. She just wasn’t amazing enough for me.” Replace Jenn with L and you have the exact sentence I’ve heard 3 times, by three different men. And my response was just like Jenn’s “I thought we had something special. I really thought we clicked.” The only difference is that I never asked why it didn’t work… until the last one. I just had to know! That’s the crime in truth, being so bloody curious to hear why “he opted out of a potential relationship with [me] in order to pursue something special with someone else”.
It’s sad to say but you can’t help wondering when he came to that conclusion, when he decided that you’re great but not good enough, to realize that pursuing anything with you is a waste of time because she isn’t the one. And even worse, how do you get so sucked in, when he’s remained neutral!
And so you respond: posting a comment even though this post is over a month old:
Slim… I agree with it all. This is a good post: hard to read, to accept, but a very good post.
I have to respond to what @WisdomIsMisery’s commented:
“I’ve said it a 1000 times and it hasn’t made me popular amongst the ladies, but I truly believe as far as men are concerned, they only have two type of women in their life:
1) The woman (as in one) they’d be willing to seriously commit to/marry.
2) All other women.”
I think the problem for women and the need for closure is not that you fall into the second category, but why is it yet again that you don’t fall into the first.
It really hits on a deep-seated insecurity of being inadequate and when you’re faced with that reflection in the mirror, sometimes it’s hard to face yourself. Especially when things are good between the two of you. Especially when he’s with you all the time, inhabits your space, asks for the musings of your mind, holds you, grabs you when you walk through the door… It’s hard to think of yourself as a friend if he treats you with deference. Especially when he does things like meets your family, or introduces his family to you, or if all his coworkers either know you or know about you… those things make it hard to distinguish the lines between friend and actual commitment. And you push back. You push, you push, and you push. And he still stays around, so you cave.
And when you, as a woman, fall into the carefully laid trap; give pass to your guards; leave the fortress unattended… well don’t be surprised when scoundrels pillage.
And though you are left with bruised emotions, your pride is distinctly damaged. You’re led on a merry chase searching for Robin Hood’s barn. During the hunt, while knee-deep in the muck of a dark forest, you wake up. You stop wanting to accept the scraps while the invitation to the feast is denied. And you have to move on. But you want to know: Why me? Why did you choose me? What makes me an easy target? And once you know, you just move the heck on.
Intrigued by WIM ability to make me feel like crap… I had to read more of his work (I guess especially since he’s E’s favorite blogger at the moment).
So I get to the heart of the matter: the “IT” factor.
As defined by Dr. J and accepted by WIM, the “IT” factor is the power to make a man stop looking for other options. The cursor blinks several zillion times as I stop, read, reread, analyze, configure, and realize that I’ve never had that component which in essence places me on a pedestal.
As compatible as I may be with you, if there is room for you to consider other women… I’m not “it”. If you could see me tearing out my hair, clawing at my clothes, releasing the inner banshee while doing backflips, running in effort to escape the truth that I need to move on.
In its barest foundation, I never was enough for a guy to develop any significant emotional attachment in order to commit. And while I sit with baited breath nurturing feelings with the tenderness of Mother Teresa… his eyes focus on the distant horizon and the elusory pot of gold.
The truth behind this disparaging fact that I’m not the one is that I’m arrogant. Arrogant to the point that I believe what I invest, what I give, how I behave is substantial and significant enough to make guy 1, 2, 3 fall in love with me whether it’s their choosing or not. And though they tell me, “L, it’s never going to happen” I can’t help but devote myself to proving them wrong; because intrinsically I HAVE to be good enough. I devour the words special like a ravenous vulture, preying on the dead desire of G1-3 until I peck searchingly at the ground for hidden morsels.
Always in a pickle, I relish the role of hunter, seeking out the most evanescent target only the shiny gleam of my canines announces the sleek whoosh of movement. You really can’t be disappointed at the bitterness of the toughened flesh when you continue to chase the same type of venison.
What do I REALLY want?
Any regrets? Read a blog lately that challenged your ideas? Ready to move forward?
P.S. If I hear that song Motivation one more time, I may explode. I love it and hate it with the same type of passion.