When it comes to finding a man, does
compromise mean settling for less? LINDSEY KELK wonders if it's time to give
that turtleneck-wearing
As a woman, i was born into the art of
compromise. A recent example -my friend suggested that we go and see Titanic
3D. I suggested I would rather kill myself. Surely there was a happy medium
that involved neither self-harm or Celine Dion? After a brief debate, we worked
it out. Turn out my friend was happy to trade Titanic for a stiff drink and I
was happy to watch Romeo +Juliet instead. Everyone's a winner. Be they small or
large, I feel like I'm constantly making compromises. It's one of the things
that remind us we're a grown-up. We can't always have exactly what we want,
exactly how we want it. But when it comes to relationships, isn't compromising
just a fancy name for settling for less?
when
it comes to relationships, isn't compromising just a fancy name for settling
for less?
I'm the first to admit I've made some
serious mistakes in my dating past and for the most part, that's because I was
Queen of Settling. One of the reasons I didn't want to see Leo and Kate mince
around an ill-fated ocean liner in glorious 3D was because they've already had
three and a half hours of my life and, dear reader, they are three and a half
hours I can never get back.
Without wanting to be unkind, that's pretty
much how I feel about my first real relationship. Seven years. A seven-year-long,
passive - aggressive, pretend to be asleep so we won't have to do it, domestic
nightmare. In hindsight, I should have known the relationship was over after
two years, when the most exciting thing in our joint diaries was the weekly
shop but no, under the guise of `compromising' we dragged that thing out for
five more years. That was half of my twenties, gone.
My ex was a great guy, everyone said so,
but even though I knew something wasn't quite right, I hung in there when I
should have vamoosed years before. Just like the Titanic, we were sailing
along, completely oblivious to the great big iceberg about to rip into our
relationship. So when we finally sank and I was given my second chance, I swore
I would never again settle for a relationship that made me unhappy. But guess
what? I did. Again and again, And, um, at last count, twice more after that. I
do not know when to say when. This is problem number one.
I
do not know when to say when. This is problem number one
Problem two: I'm now worried I've gone too
far the other way. For fear of not knowing when to leave, in the past six
months, I've written off several potentially great boyfriends for the following
reasons: too much aftershave, wearing a turtleneck on the second date, a
distracting lisp, arriving on a skateboard, not owning a TV. I hope you'll
agree that the latter is a deal breaker. The others? Well, they kind of make me
a huge asshole. I'm not sure how it's happened, but I've gone from being
someone who is prepared to `work through things' when my boyfriend tells me
he's sleeping with someone else because he cares about me so much, he's scared
to have an `intimate relationship' in case he gets hurt (no, really, I fell for
that), to being someone who ditches on date one because they tell me they love
Bryan Adams. I have now forgotten how to compromise altogether. With visions of
riding the B62 bus back and forth to Ikea Brooklyn, wearing a housecoat, too
much rouge and carrying a basketful of kittens, I turned to a wise friend for
counsel.
First, she explained the differences
between settling and compromise: `Compromise is about listening to someone else
and working together,' B explained. 'When you're settling, it's really only
about you. You're making it all about yourself, but in a negative way. You're
closing doors on yourself instead of opening them together.'
I took a minute to soak up her genius.
`You're right,' I marvelled. `I have been doing that: And I had. I was using my
fear of settling as an excuse not to be with anyone and then complaining that I
couldn't find a boyfriend - problem number three.
`So how do I stop doing it?' I asked. `How
do I change?' B stopped, shrugged and sank her pint. (B drinks Guinness. B is
amazing.) `I don't know,' she replied. `You're screwed.' Well. On the upside, I
have no idea where I need to go to buy a housecoat, so perhaps in the time it
takes to procure one, I will have made some changes in my life.
