I have written before about the certain indiscernible shifts that take place during my search for self-awareness. Weeks will go by without me noticing any change in myself, much like getting older I suppose and then suddenly, a moment of clarity will materialize. Usually this happens during times of stress and tension.

I will watch the stress bubble up, the anxiety cloud over, the anger, the hurt, the awkwardness, the embarrassment. I have done this before, of course, and then I have reacted the way I learned how to—I shut down or I lash out or I get defensive, etc. But lately, I’ve been watching myself become aware of a better option, a wiser choice to make. And then, astoundingly, I have watched myself make that choice instead of defaulting to my old and comfortable Reactive Self.

This, my dear friends, is blowing. my. mind.

…

Traveling with somebody is very akin to living with somebody. There are people in your life who will make compatible roommates and people in your life who are best kept in the Non-Apartment-Sharing Friend category. Traveling is the same and possibly even more intense when you happen to be romantically involved with that person. There is more pressure for things to go perfectly, two very specific people with two very specific expectations of how things are going to unfold. And hey, guess what? Sometimes those things don’t match up.

 

We checked out of the hotel later than we should have on Sunday, due to the fact that I procrastinate when it comes to packing and also have a tendency to make a hotel room my home, leaving objects on pretty much every surface. PCG had wanted to make the twenty minute drive south to Ogonquit one more time for lunch and for an addictive hot caramel apple cider we had found two days before. I was on board with the plan until I realized it was almost 12:30 and we were due back at the airport with the rental car no later than three o’clock.

I gently mentioned that it might be better to swing up to Portland for lunch, right near the airport as opposed to driving south and then turning around and heading north again. PCG assured me we had plenty of time but I nervously watched the clock and tapped my hand on the window of the passenger seat in a pitch perfect imitation of my father, a bundle of “IF WE ARE LATE, WE ARE PROBABLY GOING TO DIE, THE WORLD WILL END.”

“We also have to fill the rental car up with gas before I return it,” I blurted out one more time.

“I know! We’ll be fine!”

But it wasn’t fine. I could feel burning agitation rising up in me and all the anxious ‘what if’s’ racing through my mind as I stared at the clock.

Surely more people were traveling home on Sunday, meaning longer lines through security. What if there was a line at the rental car return like there was when we arrived and we had to wait? What if there was an accident on the highway and traffic was backed up for miles? What if we missed our flight?

I poke fun at myself and my dad because we tend to be those typical Type A’s, easily wound up and eager to control. It’s amusing later because it’s so absurd. But in the moment, our concerns are very real to us. And I wasn’t trying to be funny when my mind was racing through that checklist of all the possible scenarios that might delay us. It was upsetting to me in a very intense way.

I decided that I had a few choices. I could yell at PCG and make him turn the car around. I could berate him for not listening to me. Or I could shut up and stay present.

I chose the latter.

We had a lovely lunch though the service was a bit slow. PCG got his hot apple cider; I got a small soy latte. As we pulled onto the highway, our roles immediately reversed.

“I didn’t realize how late it was,” PCG said, glancing at the clock.

“We’ll be fine!” I reassured him. And I meant it.

But PCG was stressed. It was raining, he was concentrating on the road, he was thinking of the fact that we still had to stop for gas for the car and it was after 2:30. He was doing what I had just done an hour or so earlier.

I will tell you right here and now (and I am not proud of it) that what I wanted most in the world was to say I TOLD YOU SO. I wanted to snap that everything would’ve been fine if we had done things my way. I wanted to feel validated and above all, I wanted to feel right.

I watched all of these things rise up in my mind.

I once again realized that none of them mattered.

I let them go.

I turned my devotion and attention to PCG.

I reassured him. I calmed him. I collected all the wrappers, papers and empty cups that littered the car and put them in a bag to throw away. I folded up the maps, made sure our luggage was ready to go. We got gas at 2:45 and pulled into the airport at 2:52. Eight minutes to spare. Only one person ahead of us at the rental car checkout. The line through security was decent-sized but on our way through, we overheard that our flight was delayed ninety minutes due to weather in New York.

We breathed.

We walked through the metal detectors.

We came out the other side in socked feet, no belts, no rings, no shoes.

We looked at each other.

We laughed. 

My relationship with PCG constantly pushes my communication boundaries to places that sometimes feel almost uncomfortable because they are so new. In many of my previous relationships, particularly those that occurred when I was younger, communication was sort of like:

HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY *SOMETHING PISSES ME OFF* ——-> I PUSH THAT THING DOWN AND PRETEND IT DOESN’T BOTHER ME *SEETHING SEETHING SEETHING* WHAT’S WRONG? NOTHING. WHAT’S WRONG? NOTHING. YOU SHOULD KNOW WHAT’S WRONG. I DON’T. WHAT. *FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT FIGHT CRY FIGHT CRY LIST ALL THE THINGS THAT ANNOY ME ABOUT MY PARTNER FIGHT* RECOVER. HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY …

I do not think I possessed the capability to articulate my feelings. (I can give myself a break for some of that, the relationship at 17, the relatoinship at 20, maybe even 22…) If I ever DID feel like communicating, I did so hesitantly, afraid that the other person might think I was crazy or might leave me or might scream at me. I didn’t feel comfortable voicing concerns to a significant other because most of the time, I didn’t think those concerns were valid. I didn’t think it was okay to HAVE concerns. I thought relationships were supposed to be perfect all the time.

Um.

Ha?

PCG and I have possibly the maturest relationship I’ve experienced. Instead of HAPPY – PISSED OFF – STUFF IT DOWN – FIGHT IT OUT – ERUPT AND POINT OUT EVERYTHING YOU HATE ABOUT THE PERSON – CRY – RECOVER – HAPPY,

It’s more like:

Hey, your tone of voice just hurt my feelings.

It did?

Yeah.

I felt like you were snapping at me.

Oh! I wasn’t. I was thinking of that rental car salesguy being a douchebag.

OMG! He was such a douchebag!

I know!

I’m sorry.

Me too!

LOOK AT THOSE PUMPKINS!

Etc.

Our relationship is steadier, more even-keeled in a way that makes me feel incredibly secure and optimistic. I know that when I have something to tell him, he’s going to listen to me. He’s not going to throw it back in my face later, he’s not going to laugh at me (in the moment at least), he’s going to try and understand. I respect that about him so much and I feel really grateful to have someone who is open to improving themselves, to bettering themselves and in turn, improving and bettering me.

I feel a little silly writing this post, in the event that most couples just naturally have those types of calm conversations about hurt feelings and disappointments, mismatched expectations and annoyances. It’s just that this kind of relationship, this kind of communication was never accessible to me before. It was almost easier to be ignorant, to be miserable, dramatic, exaggerating, fighting mean because at least that was comfortable to me.

This is new. And while it’s a little uneasy right now, I think it’s because I can feel myself actively growing and maturing. Dudes, that is a WEIRD THING TO FEEL. But it also feels amazing to think that I don’t have to settle on being the Laura of a year ago, two years ago, ten years ago. And just when I feel like I’m making the same old mistakes and stuck in the same old rut, I suddenly realize that I’m not. Not at all. It IS possible to change and grow and that my capacity for love and compassion can only increase more and more with every passing day.

I can’t express how dumbfounded this makes me because I didn’t know that. I didn’t know I was capable of this much change. I didn’t know it was possible. I’m so glad that it is.