There was this boy, Tash, in New York. I found myself thinking about him this morning and concluded that he’s probably one of the most influential people in my life. I didn’t expect it, but something about Tash changed me.
Going into the relationship, I (too soon) asked “the relationship question,” wondering if there was a chance for anything concrete between us. He very honestly told me that while he enjoyed spending time with me and being exclusive, there wasn’t really any reasonable expectation of longevity. Initially, I was hurt by this, but once I accepted the situation for what it was, I was still willing and happy to pursue something—whatever—with Tash.
So we dated. We hung out. We read and talked and watched documentaries. We explored New York and new hobbies.
And about a month into it, I found myself in an awkward situation. I had said the g word (girlfriend), and he nonchalantly said that he wouldn’t mind calling me his girlfriend. He asked if I would want that. I heard him ask. I kept talking, avoiding it as much as possible. He asked again. And again, thinking I hadn’t heard. Eventually the conversation smoothed over into something else, the question unresolved.
When I first moved to New York, I didn’t want to date. I didn’t want to think about boys and relationships and the drama and heartbreak of it all. I wanted to focus on me, to exile myself to a tiny island for six months and see what I came away with.
Tash happened kind of by accident. We were introduced by a mutual friend and hit it off. He taught me about aesthetics and beauty and religion and spontaneity. And I taught him about… I don’t even know. But it worked, we worked. And he treated me better than I’d ever been.
But when he mentioned the whole girlfriend thing, I kind of freaked out. I had become so comfortable with the idea of not being his girlfriend. Having guidelines was fine because I could follow them. I didn’t have to rely on him; I could be my own strong, independent self. I didn’t need him, but I could still find happiness in spending time with him.
It was healthy. For so long, my relationships were marked by codependency. I wanted someone to take care of me and to take an interest in everything I was involved in. I wanted that complete meshing of my life with someone else’s. There is one person, in particular, that comes to mind. I think the world of him and I respect him highly, but I would never let myself be in a relationship with him again. Simply put, I loved him in the unhealthiest way possible. And it didn’t benefit me.
But Tash… I learned to love him simply. I learned to love myself first and him second. And eventually he did become my boyfriend, but not because of some conversation or conscious decision. We just started calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. there was no grandiose show of affection; just two people admitting that they work well together.
And we were right–there wasn’t any longevity to it. We spent a semester learning about each other and then said our goodbyes when he moved back home. No harm, no foul. I look back on my time with him and still smile. There is no bitterness or resentment, just a spot in my heart for someone that helped make me happy during a particular time in my life.
He set the standard for what I should expect for myself: someone who cares about me, who respects me and my opinion; someone who wants to see me and spend time with me and who doesn’t think of my as just another commitment, a distraction; someone who pushes me to try new things; someone who calls me gorgeous and means it; someone who texts me kitchy-cute (slightly dirty) things or lyrics just because I’m on his mind. And someone who lets me love myself first and foremost.
Going forward, I would never accept anything less.
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| Tash and me |
