Retiring the "we"

When you're in a steady long-term relationship, you always seem to be making some sort of plans. Where you'll go on your next vacation. Whether you'll be spending the next holiday with your mom or his mom or his dad (which gets really complicated when each lives in a different country, and neither of you live close to any of them). How you'll squeeze in visits with all of them (and hopefully extended family too) over the summer months, plus attend friends' weddings, plus find some time to relax. Or you're preparing for your birthday or his birthday or your anniversary or Valentine's Day. There's always something.

And this makes breaking up really inconvenient (in addition to heart wrenching, disorienting, superbly shitty, etc). In our case, we had purchased two one-way (non-refundable) plane tickets to Midwestern City, where we were to spend most of August, before He moved to East Coast City and we embarked on our second year of long-distance. I was going to visit in mid-September to get him settled in his new apartment and to meet his new friends and entrench our committed relationship status. He had pitched several times already the idea of spending the Christmas holidays in Guatemala, where his mother now lives. We had already committed I had already committed us to two weddings in Toronto next summer (two of my besties are getting hitched, and I'll twice be a bridesmaid!), and we were beginning to think about where and how we'd spend the rest of the summer: perhaps another visit to my Eastern European homeland, or summer in Montreal again, or taking it easy in one of our two cities, or more exotic travel destinations--these were all contenders. I won't even mention the long-term planning: where we'd live after we graduated with fancy letters behind our names (Montreal, if we could have it our way), marriage (kicked off with a small, tasteful, non-traditional ceremony), house (modest, with eclectic decor that consisted of antiques and things we picked up on our travels); kids (one girl that'd be just like me, one boy that'd be just like Him, and one child that we'd adopt and love just as much).

All those plans came to a rather abrupt halt. There was no more we--at least not in that sense. It was just me. And I'm trying to figure out if I like the just me thang or not. It's kinda like when you spot a top that looks fabulous on the rack, but when you try it on you're not totally convinced, so you end up just staring at yourself in the mirror, adjusting, checking it out from a million different angles, all the while making ridiculous faces, and concluding with, "I don't know," while the commission-based sales person surreptitiously rolls her eyes at you.

You see, when the breakup was on our radar, one of the things I kind of looked forward to was the prospect of not having to compromise, or take His feelings or desires into account, or even having to consult with anyone. These things never bothered me during the relationship, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't get more than a bit excited by the thought of being totally selfish for a while without feeling guilty about it. The shirt looked fabulous on the rack. I looked forward to trying it on.

But the other day I found myself looking into the computer screen saying, "I don't know." We were messaging on Skype (yes, we've been talking...more on that some other time) and I mentioned that I was watching the episode of Anthony Bourdain's No Reservations where he visits Montreal, and that he was currently gorging himself on foie gras poutine at Au Pied De Cochon, probably the city's most famous restaurant. I should explain that in all of our years in Montreal, we had never gone (mostly because I don't eat flesh of land animals and also because it's terribly expensive). I should also explain that Anthony Bourdain is probably the only celebrity that He cares for, and lost his shit over when we saw him filming in the streets of Montreal this summer. Anyways, I mention to Him that Bourdain proclaimed Au Pied De Cochon one of his favorite restaurants in the world, to which He responds, "ya! ive got to go there some day." *Ouch* I mean, even though we've talked about getting back together in the future, I harbor no delusions that it'll happen anytime soon. I'm fully aware that we'll be leading separate lives for a while, experiencing new things and eventually people (that was (part of) the point of the breakup). Nevertheless, hearing him say "I've got to go there some day"  hurt. We loved exploring new restaurants together. That was our thing. (Writing in past tense is another of those ouch-inducing things). "Fuck freedom and not having to compromise," I wanted to say, "I just want to explore new things and places together, and share the things we love and are excited about with each other." Instead, I waited twenty minutes to reply, then came up with, "Bourdain played hockey in a Concordia uniform!"

Time for you to (not so) surreptitiously roll your eyes.