Edition #138: Learning to Love With Cupped Palms
Plus, how to leave a party, pace of life quiz, and an cute new grocery store
A Note From the Editor
Oftentimes, when I write fiction of any sort—a screenplay, a short story, whatever—the process begins long before the pen goes to paper. It begins with a single, isolated thought: What if I suddenly stopped answering my sister’s phone calls for months? What would they do? What if a regular circumstance led to homelessness? What if a child had to come out of the closet to their parents as straight, instead of the other way around?
It was the latter inquiry that led me to develop an imagined world a few years back at a time when I was just beginning to take my writing more seriously. The story never went anywhere, but it wasn’t the story itself I was interested in so much as the setting—utopian or dystopian, depending on your vantage point. It was set at some vague point in the future, amid impending climate disaster and after a permanent chasm between the north and the south in the US. This story took place in a futurist, commune-style living arrangement in the north. Gender and sexuality in children weren’t assumed, but claimed by the child whenever they felt it right, and partnerships could take on any form the adults found suitable—two women married but open, two men and a woman, three men together but all open, and so on. In this setting, nothing was taboo; these configurations were ordinary. The only abnormal thing would be to suspect that everyone should, or once did, conform to a narrow system of how relationships or love “should” be.
In this world, the adults taught children about the ways we used to do things in America. The old ways, regimented and restrictive, and the children couldn’t believe it. For them, this is how it had always been.
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Last summer, I arrive in Costa Rica and meet a person who will become a dear friend. We have an instant connection; a shared love for writing and love poems, an ability to drop headfirst into a deep conversation at any given moment, itchy feet and occasional attachment issues. In each other, we find mirrors and opposing forces. It doesn’t take long for me to love her.
We begin to share stories of our respective pasts. I learn about a great love of hers. Over the course of our budding friendship, this love becomes a phantom third. I’d never met him, but it’s as if I know him—his work, his travels, the intimate details of his life and of their complex romance. I don’t tell her this plainly, but I decide I decide he’s an asshole, at worst, or a man-boy, at best. Not someone who deserves her light.
She swears he loves her, their bond is deep and complex, but he cannot be with her and this I cannot understand. Over time, they cause each other pain, volleying affection back and forth over continents and time zones, often getting socked in the stomach by the force of it. I wonder why she continues answering the phone when he calls. If he doesn’t want to be with her, what else is there?
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The greatest thing about writing, about fiction in particular, is the way it grants us the space to explore the possibilities which “real life” often restricts by way of cultural norms. Each time I write I practically blackout. I don’t think about my deep intent or the feeling I’m trying to evoke, and as I go back and read between the lines, I see myself clearly. Sometimes the lines aren’t obscure; they’re blatant red strokes screaming out on the page. Time and time again, I find my work coming back to themes of gender, power, and the roles we are stuck with from birth. I find, sometimes to my surprise, the searing heat of the frustrations I’ve felt as a woman in this world; the strain of trying to squeeze my wide foot into the narrow heel of femininity.
Often, this line of contemplative questioning comes up in my considerations about love and monogamy. When I dreamt up that futuristic setting in which marriage and partnership weren’t so forcefully designed, I tasted the cool mountain air of freedom. Imagine what that might be like, I thought, if everyone could just do what they wanted without fear of judgment or of being disowned by their communities. Imagine if there were endless ways to be accepted, to be loved and give love. To build a life.
Looking back on history, the single-partner-for-life model wasn’t always the norm. There were concubines, polygamy, polyandry, you name it. Admittedly, most of these arrangements were oppressive towards women, designed with the aim of procreation at all costs. If one wife was barren, no sweat, give her sister a try! But some scientists argue the rise of monogamy was normalized for similar reasons; as societies moved away from hunter-gatherers and toward agriculture, it meant larger groups would be living in close proximity. Social-imposed monogamy replacing polyamory was something of evolution. It meant less chance to contract STIs, resulting in a presumably healthier physical setting for bringing children into the world.
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Over time, my opinion of my friend and her great love began to crystallize, heavy with my own conditioning and insecurities. It went like this: she loved him, but he obviously didn’t love her enough to do the right thing which would be, of course, to commit to her. Her hanging on to the relationship, even as it moved away from intimacy and toward platonic friendship, was objectively heartbreaking. True love should persist, said the little girl in me sitting on the couch, watching Ariel give her life away and leave her entire family for a fisherman she saw just once in passing.
My friend and her great love weren’t together, yet they were inextricably intertwined in each other’s lives. Over the phone, they openly discussed their dating lives. They promised to tell each other when the other became serious with someone else. This baffled me. I won’t last, I told my friend, once one of you finds someone new. It would be too difficult. We were seated at our favorite Italian restaurant, racing to finish our cocktails before the ice melted, dipping fluffy rectangles of focaccia into a puddle of olive oil.
She wasn’t sure how it would work, how she would feel when he found someone new, or when she did. Whether the new partners would put up with their lasting bond, their closeness. Regardless, she was willing to give it a try. She was trying to learn to love more gently. Something like that old adage: If you love something, let it go. But she wasn’t letting it go, she was giving it breathing room. “I’m learning to love with cupped palms,” she said.
I thought of the love bugs I would catch during those hot Florida summers as a kid. I’d want to keep them as pets, catching them and closing the lid on the old coffee jar so they couldn’t fly away. They would die within hours. But when I cupped them in my hands, close enough to study their strange attachment, their brown spots and tiny paper-like wings, they’d survive. They wouldn’t be mine for long, but for a time, I’d be closer to them than I’d ever been as their capture.
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Cut to: months later. I’ve left Costa Rica and returned. My friend is embarking on a new relationship and it isn’t with the great love. I’m elated because she lights up from the inside when she talks about this new guy, but also because I see this new partner was an escape from the old one. I still haven’t come around to the idea of him, the great love. To me he is stuck in the role as pseudo-villain who couldn’t commit to my wonderful, sweet friend.
During the months that past, I had fallen in love and been burned by it. He wasn’t ready. So as my friend began to navigate her new relationship, I was attempting to learn to navigate the winding, narrow streets of friendship with a person I wanted more from. The situations were mirrors; my friend walking far ahead and with more confidence; me trailing behind.
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I’ve only ever been in a traditional, monogamous relationship, but I have also not yet found a long-term partner. In the years I’ve spent dating, falling in and out of love with others and eventually, with myself, I have come to a few conclusions. All are estimations, admittedly, for one can never truly know how one will feel until faced with the circumstance.
Assuming I have the pleasure of meeting someone I want to spend my life with and who wants to spend theirs with me, I’d like to be open to the idea that there might be a time in which we want to explore a less traditional relationship structure. Maybe we won’t want that, maybe monogamy will be perfect for us, but it feels important to me to be able to have the conversation, explore the idea that there might be a time when we decide to reconfigure our relationship in some way. Because we are humans; we have desires, curiosities, and appetites, and being in love or being in a committed partnership doesn’t stamp out that humanity.
I want a partnership that gives me the breathing room I need to be myself. I never want to deprive a person I love of admitting how they are feeling or what they need. I imagine a partnership in which we can admit these things from the get—that there might be a time one or both of us want to sleep with other people. We will have crushes on others throughout the years, our chemistry might change, it might deepen. A partnership in which I have unwavering trust in the other person so that these conversations don’t scare me or make me feel victimized.
I imagine having the space to tell the truth and to receive it. I imagine exploring far-flung corners of the physical world and heretofore unknown corners of the emotional world with this person by my side; everything better because they’re near. I imagine thinking back to a time when I felt so much shame for imagining these freedoms, these desires—so basic, really. The ability to build a love from the ground up, one that prioritizes the unique needs of the two people in it before blindly conforming to societal expectations. That’s the kind of love I’m most interested in.
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Finally, a swoop of reality comes for me in the form of a birthday party in which all parties are in attendance; my friend, the new love, and the great love.
I feel like I’m watching a play, standing near the stage’s side door afterward to meet the character I’ve heard so much about. I expect to dislike him, the great love. I’ve crafted a narrative, a persona in my mind, and he is nothing like what I thought. He’s gentle, soft-spoken. He looks me in the eye during our conversation, asks good questions. He is gracious to my friend and her new love. The three of them waltz around each other all evening; one grills chicken wings, one plays host, one sips wine. I expect jealousy, subtle jabs, hungry eyes. Instead, I see love, so much love everywhere I look. I see my sweet friend and she is glowing. I see evolution, acceptance. The warmth of the evening follows me home that night.
Cheers, my dears, and as always, thank you for reading! I am finally leaving Costa Rica after nearly half a year—say a prayer for me as I return to the wild pace of New York life. I hope you have a wonderful weekend. I’ll be in New Orleans celebrating the great love of another dear friend, followed by a quick trip to Florida to see family before heading back north. Eat a slice of cake this weekend and listen to this song to get you in that old-timey love mood.
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Three Pieces of Content Worth Consuming
How To Say Goodbye At A Party. When I initially read this a few weeks ago, I felt understood. This should be the societal norm! I deeply agree with this, especially in the case of gathering over 10 people. After departing from Costa Rica this week, I am starting to feel the same about general goodbyes. Saying big, formal goodbye to so many friends felt like more energy than I had stored, so I tried this trick (followed by texts!) and it worked wonders.
Real Talk About Open Relationships. In the spirit of today’s essay, I liked this super short doc from The Atlantic about open relationships. My initial thought was, why did they cast so many white hipster dudes/are white hipster dudes the only people in open relationships/or are white hipster dudes the only people who read the Atlantic in open relationships, but that’s beside the point. I liked learning some new lingo I’d never heard before, especially this one.
A Memory of Us; A Poem. Following today’s quasi-love theme, I loved this poem when I received it in my inbox earlier this week. The beauty of language is precise and clear and I love the way the reader isn’t sure who “us” is—is it a lover? A childhood friend? My guess is somewhere in between. Beautiful.
Perhaps You Should… Discover Your Pace of Life
We love a good, quick quiz! This one felt useful, especially as I navigate attempting to maintain a slower pace of life while re-entering a much faster version of the world. When I took this (while living in Costa Rica) I got medium, which was fine by me!
**Bonus Content** (A Cute New Grocery Store!)
I’m a sucker for grocery shopping, and for finding things to get excited about—this new grocery store down the street from my apartment in New York checks both of those boxes! I cannot wait to buy a bunch of probably overpriced, but hopefully delicious snacks!
A Quote From A Book You Should Read:
“Somebody," said Jacques, "your father or mine, should have told us that not many people have ever died of love. But multitudes have perished, and are perishing every hour - and in the oddest places! - for the lack of it.”
-Giovanni’s Room by James Baldwin
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Or, share the most thought-provoking piece from today’s edition with someone you love, then call them up to discuss, debate, and percolate. As a wise woman once said, “Great minds discuss ideas.