About a week ago, just as I was leaving Helsinki for Milan, I dropped a bomb on Johann.
“So we decided on Oct. 1,” I said. “To start playing Christmas carols. Right?”
He did a double-take. “I said no such thing,” he insisted.
I sighed. “We talked about this last weekend at the cottage,” I reminded him. “You don’t remember? Your drinking has really gotten out of hand.”
For a second, I could tell that he almost believed me. Then, just as quickly, he didn’t. There is not enough whiskey in the world to convince him to play Christmas music before Starbucks even has a chance to offend people with a paper cup.
About a week later, when I told one of my oldest and dearest friends about this power struggle, she got up from our café table and walked away. This, I gathered, was more about not spitting out a sip of rosé than because she was upset by about my love of low-stakes gaslighting. Honestly, that I am an occasional asshole should be nothing new to her. She and I had lived together, off and on, for several years in college. We, too, have battled about seasonal music and whether or not our apartment could accommodate a 12-foot Christmas tree for 6 weeks. We trolled each other long before trolling was a thing. If we lived on the same continent today, I have no doubt we’d still be doing it.
There was something about this moment – about watching her turn her back and hunch her shoulders to keep the wine and laughter inside – that reminded me of Johann. Usually, he is the person I see in such a state. This is the position he assumes when I feign interest in hula hooping or reenact a person (me) running down an ascending escalator in the Stockholm airport to retrieve a piece of jewelry in the restroom. More often than not, he is my first stop when I have complaints about work, aches and pains or cat videos. Our interactions – if put on paper, our identities blinded – would be indistinguishable from that of my oldest friends, my favorite co-workers or even my brother. Johann and I have been together for a year and a half. In that time, we have become best friends.
Back in my single days, I used to roll my eyes when people would encourage me to set aside the romance and chemistry of dating and focus on friendship and partnership instead.
“At your age, what you need is a best friend,” people would often tell me.
“I already have a best friend,” I would remind them.
Looking back on it, I wasn’t put off by the content of the recommendation so much as the intrusiveness of it. I doubt I ever asked anyone for a step-by-step manual for finding a spouse mostly because I don’t think such a thing exists. Also, not for nothing, I’ve never been all that interested in marriage. The idea that I needed to find a husband to make me whole was ridiculous; the suggestion that, at age 32, my best hope was to just find a good friend instead seemed downright insulting.
I decided to disregard that advice. I continued to put romance before friendship, chemistry over comfort. In an ideal world, I wanted to end up with both, but I would rather build from a foundation of passion as opposed to partnership. For me, it seems to have paid off – at least at the moment. A handsome stranger swept me off my feet on a ferry ride to Estonia long before he became my best friend in Finland.
One of the more annoying things about talking to people who have found love is that they think their method is foolproof when, in fact, it has hardly been tested. Friendship can blossom into love just as easily as passion can mellow into partnership. As far as advice goes, “Marry your best friend” is about as valid as “Jump into the frozen sea.” Both of them may have worked for someone in the past, but that doesn’t mean they work in general.
When it comes to love, there is no such thing as a recipe, or a secret, or a shortcut. Do not believe anyone who tells you otherwise. Don’t listen when they speak of age, biology, tradition or timelines. Disregard their tips and tricks and friendly advice. Feel free to tell them to shut all the way up when they mention magazine articles and survey results and daytime talk shows. Then remind them that now is not the time to fret about what could be. After all, it’s Christmas.
Hey, it’s your holiday, play what you like. =)
I now have whittled down my Xmas carol list to 2: Bob Seger, “Little Drummer Boy” (really) and Train, “Joy to the World”, both belted out most satisfyingly.
I was always skeptical of those women’s magazine articles that breathlessly tell you you have to ‘work’ at your relationship. I figger, if you have to work that hard, maybe you should step back and reevaluate.
There is a chemistry, a connection, and a meeting in the middle that has nothing to do with romantic love. I married my husband partly because he smelled ‘right’ and he spent more time with my cats than he did with me. A plus, for any catperson. (Always wondered why a woman who loved St. Bernards would marry a man who was allergic to dogs and loved Siamese cats…?)
Oh, and Merry Christmas. Long may you wave.
yeah, I agree with your 3C’s: chemistry, connection and compromise. I do understand that there’s a lot of work that goes into relationships, especially as life gets more complicated… marriage, I’ve been told, is relatively easy – having children is not. (That is not to say that anyone regrets any piece of that – just that your Cs are easier to maintain when it’s two healthy people. Throw in other, helpless people or an illness or other hardship and that’s when it really takes work.) But yes, in the beginning at least, when it should be light and fun, there should not be a need to work it to death. I could always tell when my girlfriends meet someone they’re going to marry because they drop off the face of the earth for 6 months. I don’t have to worry about them, even if that should be alarming behaviour in most circumstances. It’s not – they’re happy and they’re throwing themselves into something new. it’s the girls who call me and talk about what he said and what he meant and when I think he’ll mention whatever – the ones that are working way too hard to make it work – that give me pause.
HA! I have the PERFECT way to find a partner. Get super drunk in a sketchy bar on your birthday, dance on a table to ACDC Shook Me All Night and then go home with the first guy who helps you off the table. Date him for 1 year, live with him 4 more years, then finally agree to marry him. Or not. Maybe it only works for me . . .
ha! this is exactly what I’m talking about. Yes, the usual advice that your story is the exception, not the norm – but if it works, it works. for what it’s worth, I like your style.
a little off topic, but I recently caught an episode of 90 day fiancé while in Canada… and yes, there were cringeworthy moments and there is a rush to the altar that seems unnecessary… but at the end of the day, the concept of the show feels really familiar to me. not just because I began a relationship that spanned two or, at times, three continents but because any new relationship is a kind of gamble. Dating almost always involves taking people at their word and seeing what happens. even the stories that work out – like yours and mine – seem downright insane to other people. And I guess that’s my point – it doesn’t matter what it looks like or sounds like so long as it’s good for the people involved.
You definitely should play him a Christmas carol on October 1. Do you know which one he hates the most?
Oh. Have we met???
I got back to Helsinki last night, Sept. 29, and when Johann went to the grocery store I most definitely switched his phone to a Xmas station. He got in and just said, “NO.”
A true test of a relationship is Alvin and the Chipmunks.
I think every relationship is its own self, and as soon as you (in the generic sense) start trying to model it after a women’s magazine script, or your best friend’s, or even, god forbid, your MOTHER (“well, it worked for daddy and I for 32 years…”) you are already screwed.
I didn’t do that, and it’s obvious you don’t do that either. Good for both of us.
I agree. Good on you!
Why buy me flowers when you could buy me a Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving? Keep fighting the good (carol) fight, we all need some happy music right about now.
…also really bad lurker here, your blog is funny and timely and I’m pretty sure you wrote a post about how it would be nicer if people actually connected and commented, but then I never do…
So voila. Appreciate your writing, love the photos, carry on!
Right?! Give me the Grinch in HD or get out of my house!
Thank you for reading :) Thank you for commenting :) You’re welcome to lurk at your leisure :)
xx