How to Think Outside the Box

Recently, I had a revelation. A strangely long-awaited one, I think. My revelation seems oh-so-obvious, even to me, but I honestly found it very perspective-changing once it happened. But here...let me start at the beginning.

I've been seeing Mr. Songwriter now for a few months (click to remember the first and second dates). Though I claim it is "not serious," it most certainly is on many levels. I mean, honestly—I've been casually "dating" him for over six months, been his date to a friend's wedding, taken him out to be judged—ehem, I mean, to meet my friends, and spent evenings with his entire family, including a brother living in D.C. He's even slipped up and introduced me as that horribly-feared word girlfriend, and I almost didn't want to correct him (almost being the operative word there).

So while I realize that I am vibing out the kind of crazy that is usually reserved for the institutionalized with my pathetic attempts to assert the "it's-not-serious" excuse, I find myself still holding back from admitting to commitment. I absolutely stand strong in my refusal to attach any labels to this...relationship, for fear that a label might send me running in the opposite direction from this very kind and patient, very handsome and honest, very absolutely-adores-me man. So, I desperately grab hold of my "I'm still single" mantra and stubbornly hug it to my chest in defiance of the fact that I have a...boyfriend.

Oh crapola, did I just say that word out loud? Uggggghhhhh... Give me a second to get my stuff together here...

Whew.

Okay.

I know what you're thinking. You're thinking that maybe this whole crazy-institution comment isn't that far off. And up until recently, I would have agreed with you. It seems like absolute insanity that I would NOT want to be seriously dating and committed to Mr. Songwriter. I have no good reasons. My friends Mamasita and Chanel think I have lost my mind, and, at every chance she gets, Mamasita very appropriately calls me out on my ridiculous behavior: "How could you seriously not want to call Mr. Songwriter your boyfriend? He's hot, sexy, intelligent, caring, kind, and did I mention HOT?!? If you don't want to call him your boyfriend, I will!!!"

Bottom-line: I desperately need to get over my commitment phobia. I know this. And I've been hating myself for that. But for some strange reason, I just haven't been able to do it.

That is—until my revelation.

It all started when my sister Steve was visiting. I took her out with Mr. Songwriter so that she could assess the situation, and so that I could get some unbiased, honest, sisterly feedback. Afterwards, we were talking about Mr. Songwriter's future potential, and Steve said something that really made me think:

"Okay, so he is great...what is your problem? Not only does he adore you, he took an interest in getting to know me—and I don't think that was only because of you, I think it was honestly because he is just that great of a guy! He was interesting in talking to me, not just kissing up to me or trying to impress me because I'm your sister or because I will break him into tiny pieces and then spit on those pieces if he sucks. Why are you still holding back? So he's not your type—what is he really missing that you are looking for in a guy?"

Huh. Good question. What was Mr. Songwriter missing? When I drew up my image of the "perfect" man, what standards was I setting?

Attractive and affectionate? Check.

Honest and trustworthy? Check.

Good sense of humor? Check.

Kind and caring? Check.

Family values and desire for one? Check.

Confident and adventurous? Check.

Aren't these all of the important things? So why was I still holding back?

I went to Mamasita, my rational advisor who has no agenda, despite the fact that Mr. Songwriter is a great friend of hers and Big D's (and this is one of the many reasons I love her), and our conversation went something like this:

DD: I really like Mr. Songwriter, but I feel as though I can't trust how I feel. I'm just not sure he's right for me.

Mamasita: That's because he is not the typical guy you like or date. Because no offense, my love...you tend to go for the douchebags.

DD: I KNOW! I totally do! Why is that?

Mamasita: Because you tend to flock to what is familiar—whether it is right for you or not. You need to branch out and consider someone who is not what you imagine your type to be...and I'm not just telling you to go for Songwriter. You just need to stop shutting your mind off to the idea of someone like him. I love you, but it's time—move on from your ex and adventure outside the box of your comfort zone.

I don't know if it was Steve's honest question or Mamasita's wise words, or whether it was just the mental inventory that I took of Mr. Songwriter's good qualities, but I suddenly had a revelation that I needed to change the way I approached my dating life. I needed to learn how to think outside the box.

The truth: I put my dating life in a box. I think I need to be with a certain type of person. I look for the tall, handsome, financially-successful, ridiculously charming, confident, walks-into-a-room-like-he-owns it type. I am stuck on the idea that I belong with someone who exudes ambition from his fancy business suits like a frat boy sweats beer from his pores. I look for the knight-in-shining-armor who will come galloping in on his white horse and sweep me off my feet with his charming stories of our white-picket fence futures. My future partner mustfit in the box that I have drawn around the qualities that I am supposed to have because...

Why?

Because this box person is right for me? Because a guitar-playing, tattooed, liberal, 5'10" teacher who adores me (and I very much feel the same way about) and endearingly lacks any form of game isn't?

It didn't make sense. Mr. Songwriter may not be tall, but he's the perfect height to put his hand against my face and kiss me with more love and sweetness than anyone ever has. He may not be swimming in dollar bills, but he will make a special trip to the grocery store after he hears me complaining that I forgot to buy bread. He may not have a white horse, but he will tell me "I barely had to even straighten your car out to fix it, you did the hard part," after I get fuming mad and stubborn trying to parallel park my car. He may not be dripping in charm, but he tells me I am beautiful every day in a way that actually makes me believe it.

But I think Bear's take on the Box Theory really says it best:

Bear: You're asking me why you only date losers? Because that's what you have always told yourself? Because you set these pointless rules for yourself?