Most of us have had someone who has the following effect on us in our lives at one point or another: seems devastatingly attractive despite a "not my type" look and/or personality, leaves us speechless or blushing at even our most confident moments, leaves our minds replaying encounters with him or her for days afterwards (no matter how insignificant the interaction was), and, most importantly, is never ours.
Well, for those of you who don't recognize this description, consider yourselves blessed. But for most people, this checklist is all too familiar.
Much of the time, I think my life would be a whole lot easier if I hadn't met my version of the aforementioned. For more than a year and a half now, this particular guy - let's call him Ray - has been my downfall. The pattern between Ray and I usually goes something like this:
Once in a while, one of us will call the other. We make plans to have dinner or get together for a drink. We follow through, hang out for a few hours, catch up, have a few laughs, an awkward silence or two, exchange hugs and friendly kisses on the cheek and then part ways for up to a couple of months.
Each time I part from our encounters (that includes hanging up the phone when we speak or finishing reading an unexpected e-mail), I get butterflies in my stomach and can't stop thinking about him for days.
For almost two years now, my friends have been asking me what it is that makes this guy so exceptional to me. My answer is simply, we've got "that thing." No description that I have attempted, nor the sexual tension thick enough to cut with a knife that hangs in the room when we're together, nor the playfulness with which we joke, can come close to defining the invisible energy that exists between us and grabs hold of me every time.
The problem with these relationships is the addiction factor. You see, "Rays" are like a drug: Every time you see them, you get terribly excited. Afterwards, you obsess for a few weeks. Then it fades and you think you could be over it (singer/songwriter Matt Nathanson sums this part of the cycle up perfectly in his lyric: "I'll forget about you long enough to forget why I need you").
Yes, there's an absolute high that comes from these interactions. But don't confuse the euphoria which arises after our meetings with perfection. No, it's only the upswing of our vicious cycle, and it's this elation that allows me to overcome the emotional equivalent of coming down from a trip just to realize I'm about to have to go without my fix for a while. No matter how long we go without talking, how many times I think he just doesn't "get me," or how many times he fails to meet my expectations, I just keep reverting back to him.
Many people feel, like me, that these cycles of elation and disappointment will never go away, and that the attraction is more of a burden than a pleasure. Fortunately, friends can make us reflect a bit on these situations. I was bitching to my friend one day about Ray when he asked me point blank, "Do you think he's good for you?"
I knew the answer immediately - no, and I told my friend so. As I sat there, ashamed by the obviousness of the answer, I realized that my answer had been too hasty. I wasn't able to distinguish the difference between Ray not being a good potential partner for me (in all honestly, probably the truth) and my frustration with not being able to "catch" him. After each of our interactions, I try to talk myself out of feeling anything for him, but the high is so incredible that I'm sucked back in the next time we spend time together.
So what do we do? Do we cut the "Rays" out of our lives cold-turkey? Anyone who has a "Ray" knows that that's much easier said than done. And anyone who has ever read a romance novel (classic or trashy) knows that this is a universal phenomenon - there are always people to whom you remain attracted for years, sometimes even a lifetime.
I thought I would end with a conclusive, "Don't be stupid, these just aren't the right people for us!" when I began writing this column. And perhaps this is true in many cases.
But here's the thing: For most of us, "Ray" won't keep us from seeing other people and having successful relationships. Maybe there's some cosmic charge between each of us and our "Ray" that keeps the attraction alive. But no matter the cause, as long as we're able to open our eyes to other people and experiences, keeping the fantasy of being with the person who acts as that drug alive may not be so harmful.
I've changed my mind. I think the only thing to do is keep going the way we all have, allowing the highs and lows of our interactions to remind us that we're alive, full of emotion, sexuality and the capability to forgive those who don't act exactly as we'd like them to.
The side effects of our "drugs" may not always be pleasant, but they're part of learning to live and love. Taking a dose of that drug and biting off more than we can chew may not always lead to a successful relationship, but I'll be damned if we don't learn a thing or two in the long process of realizing that there's more to life than Ray.
