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I was quite shocked the other night when the guy I am dating told me I don't listen. "You're always interrupting me", he said, "Shhhhhh".
"Of course, I am", I thought. "You’re always talking. Always. Talking. And never listening to me".
I don’t mind his always talking. In fact, I kinda like it. Because I get to know him.
I know all about the ex-wife that he hates,
his children, his blood pressure, how much he earns, his love for rugby, what
he likes to eat and drink, and what music he likes.
He doesn’t know that I love Neil
Young, that I don’t eat chicken, or how
much I don’t hate my ex-husband.
I actually like listening to this guy. Apart from hating the ex-wife, he’s
interesting, he’s bright, he has a beautiful way with words and he is
incredibly sexy.
But I can’t get my head around the fact
that he doesn’t know I don’t eat chicken.
I mean, he should know. I think
I’ve interrupted him at least ten times during various dinners to say 'I don’t
eat chicken'. He’s never heard me.
I also know about his past. Not as much as I know about his present, but
I know a little about where he grew up and how he grew up.
He grew up in a single parent
family. He had five siblings and
was always fighting for space and for someone to hear him. He was a rebel and was expelled from
three schools. His dad used to beat him, and he ran away from home when he
was fifteen, never to return.
It’s important that I know these things, it
makes it easier for me to understand some of the things that he does and the
way he behaves.
But, he doesn’t know anything about my past. Not a single thing.
And yet I cannot put all the blame on
him. It isn’t just about him not
listening. It’s also about my not
talking.
I find it really easy to talk about the
now. I can talk about what I did today, what book I’m reading, what movie I’d
like us to see, and what I’d like him to do to me in bed (he listens to the bed bit, of course. That’s
important to him).
I find it quite easy to talk about how I am
feeling, right now, today, in the moment.
But I find it really hard to talk about the
past. And in a way, that is what I want
a man to know. I want a man to know
about my history. Not just my marriage
history. But about where I grew up, what my childhood was like, the
relationship that I have with my mom and dad, my grandparents, my school
history, my love history.
He won’t ever know. He isn’t interested, and I find it really
hard sharing those things.
So as I write this, I realize
something. The man I meet and have a
relationship with, eventually, is a man who is going to know me from my
past.
It doesn’t have to be intimate,
but I think it is going to be someone who grew up in the same city as me, lived
nearby and knew me in my childhood; someone who understands the upbringing that I had, and the relationship
I have, or had, with my parents.
And, this is weird, but next month I have two men coming back into my life. I haven’t seen either of them in twenty
years. They both live in America today, one on the
East Coast and one on the West.
We reconnected on social media, they are both
single (divorced) and both are coming back 'home' for a holiday. They know each other, but only vaguely.
What they don’t know is they are both on
the same flight home! And I have dates with both of them, but of course, on
different nights.
I’m bloody nervous, but also very excited.
I’m looking forward to reuniting with them both and listening to them.
And to them listening to me!
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