The Ex-Boyfriend-Turned-Best-Friend

In December, 2005, I was engaged to be married.

[Spoilers: I did not actually marry this person.]

At that time, I was living in Muskegon, but teaching medical massage therapy in Grand Rapids.  Scott and I started carpooling that fall, because we’re environmentally friendly like that.  Although he had more experience, was a more skilled therapist and instructor, and really just better than me at basically everything, Scott was my teacher’s assistant for this class.  I didn’t know much about him before we started teaching together.  Our first carpool experience was complete hell for me.  It was early, like 7:00 am or some shit like that.  I hadn’t yet finished my first cup of coffee.  I was hung-over (I was always hung-over back then).  He was listening to NPR (and trying to carry on a conversation with me about it).  He was driving like 68 MPH.  I couldn’t smoke a cigarette.  The whole thing was awful.

Regardless, we eventually hit it off.  He was fun to teach with (and good to look at), and he thought I was hilarious, so BAM, we became friends.  I was set to be married in September 2006, but that guy and I broke up around May.  Scott was great, listening to my complaints about the now ex-fiancé, taking me out for coffee and taking me on walks.  (Not like I’m a dog, but, you know what I mean.)  I’m not quite sure what happened, but in the course of about a week, I went from looking at Scott as a co-worker and friend, to boyfriend potential.  He had everything going for him: smart, compassionate, caring, talented, handsome.  I fought it for a while, thinking that getting out of a 5-year relationship and jumping into a new one right away was a bad idea, but eventually we started dating.

And continued, for 6 years.  Now, if my life were a movie, I could tell you that we were madly in love and eventually moved in together and got married and lived happily ever after.  But of course that’s not true, otherwise why would I have this blog??

The relationship was great, though.  Mostly.  Sure there were highs and lows, but overall he was the closest person I had ever considered a soul mate (not that I believe in that nonsense).  We went on adventures together, we loved and respected each other, we loved each other’s families, and we shared similar ethics, morals, and ideals.   So it’s no surprise that, when the relationship finally came to an end, it wasn’t because there was some big blow up or one of us cheated on the other [Truth: He doesn’t know I ever cheated on him.  But it did happen, more than once.  I am not proud.].  I had moved away to go back to school, and we simply just grew apart.  Our lives were moving in different directions, at different speeds.  But this is also why, today, I can say he’s my best friend.

Sure, after the break up (even though it was all my doing), I was in pretty rough shape.  I missed our songs and inside jokes, the closeness of sleeping with someone you love, sharing stupid stories of things that happened throughout the day, having someone in your life who just gets you, is invested in you, wants to know what you’re thinking and feeling.  But after about a year of healing and growth, we were able to connect as friends.  And I wouldn’t trade that for the world.

Not everyone gets our friendship, though.  His now ex-girlfriend hated that we were friends, and all but forbid him from spending time with me (and continues to, because she’s a dumb cunt).  She was jealous that we had a “past,” and was convinced we were going to get back together.  Sorry bitch, but you’re younger, cuter, and fitter than me.  Any of your jealousy is a direct result of your own insecurity.  I am not a threat.  (Also, she was really awful to him during their break-up, thus, being overly protective of him, I hate her even more for toying with his emotions.)

Most people assume that we’re going to get back together.  Why else would a boy and a girl spend so much time together???  It couldn’t possibly be that they love, respect, and appreciate each other as friends…

Even my own mother, bless her sweet heart, doesn’t get it.  I had told her, months ago, that I had invited Scott and the alcoholic to my birthday weekend (the alcoholic and I broke up long before my birthday, but regardless…) and she said, “Oh Deanna, no!  You can’t invite them both!”

So anyhow, now we’ve been broken up for about 4 years.  And I’m in a sticky position that I need a place to live come October, but my options are limited.  My roommate had his mind set on buying a house this year, and his dream is coming true.  He put an offer on a house, they accepted, and he may close on the house by the end of September.  And, despite having agreed to remain roommates when he found a house, he has decided he doesn’t want me to move in with him.  So now my best plan of action is to move in with Scott (he bought a house in GR while we were dating and now has lived here maybe 5 years).  My ex-boyfriend-turned-best-friend.  A dude I dated for 6 years but never lived with.  THIS IS MY LIFE.  So many minds will be blown when I actually move in with him.  Lord help us that we don’t murder one another…

I’m actually looking forward to living with Scott, if I really think about it.  He’s a fantastic human being, one of my favorites, and we really do work well together.  This living situation is (hopefully) temporary, so it’s already been decided that most of my stuff will stay packed up in storage (kitchen things that he already has, and whatnot).  But the other day, he brought up groceries and was like, “We could save so much money if we just go in on groceries together.”  And also, “We’re going to have the best food at our house!  We can take turns cooking dinner and sharing food!”  I hadn’t thought of that but yeah, that’s cool.  We can go grocery shopping together and cook together, like a couple.  Except that we’re not.

I find myself doing things with him that I would normally do with a significant other, if I had one.  We cook together, go out for ice cream, go on walks, discuss daily trials and concerns, goals and aspirations.  If a concert or show or whatever is coming up that one of us wants to go to, we ask the other to come with.  If there’s an event around town that one of us wants to check out, we ask the other first before anybody else, because we already know that we will have fun together.  Besides, we have countless shared interests, chances are we both want to go. 

 

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I recently went to a wedding out of town, and had about a 2-hour drive each way.  Driving home after the event, I grabbed a random CD out of the case in my car.  Most of the discs in there are compilations Scott made for me while we were together.  The CD I grabbed was a mellow mix of singer-songwriter type artists, like what you would hear on a coffee-shop radio station: Imogen Heap, Sun Kil Moon, Ray LaMontagne.  Some of these songs I hadn't listened to in years.  The music made me feel nostalgic for the days when Scott and I were together, how happy we were in the first half of our relationship.  Then, “Paperweight” by Joshua Radin comes on, and immediately I’m taken back to 2007.  Many weekends were devoted to one another, days spent lying in bed naked, talking and listening to music, sleeping and making love.  While I relished the memories, I couldn’t help but feel a pang of loneliness, of loss, of despair that I will never again experience that kind of connectedness with another person. 

I called him a few days later, to see how his week was going, because I've come to realize that he always reaches out to me first.  [I’m kind of self-absorbed like that, and I apologize to each and every one of you for not reaching out to you first more often.]  Anyway, near the end of our 40-minute conversation, he says, “I meant to text you earlier to see how school was going, and if you needed me to cook for you.”  Does it get any sweeter than that???  It’s this kind of thoughtfulness and caring that I’m looking for from another person.  But not Scott, I can’t bring myself to want that from Scott.  He’s my friend, and that’s it.  Totally platonic.  But why can’t I find a guy like Scott???

BUT… what if…  What if he is my most perfect person?  What if I actually have found my soul mate, and I’m just being stubborn?  No, that’s not right.  Scott can’t be my most perfect person.  While he’s a fabulous human being, he lacks a lot of things I’m looking for.  And, let’s get serious: I look back on our relationship fondly, but it was far from perfect.  There were the ultimatums he gave, about my smoking, my drinking, my lack of fitness, etc.  He made light of the issues in my life that concerned me, that brought stress and anxiety.  He all but told me I was wrong for the emotions I was experiencing when I was depressed and lost and poorer than I had ever been in my life.  I spent the last couple years of our relationship pretending to be someone I was not when I was around him, which made me want to spend less and less time with him.  Finally, the holidays came around, and I can remember sitting with my sister in her house, saying that I would rather not celebrate Christmas with him than pretend to be someone I wasn’t.  That’s not perfect love.

I found myself reflecting on these myriad emotions for several days.  I wanted to be sure that I was sure that my emotions weren’t attached to feelings for Scott.  My god, this definitely needs to be sorted out before moving in with him!  But I reflected, and wrote about it, and listened to more of “our” songs, and allowed myself to cry, to feel every emotion that came to me.  The result: I am desperately lonely and have a strong desire to be in a meaningful romantic relationship, but attempting another relationship with Scott would absolutely not fulfill my needs.

It’s at this point that I have to remind myself that love is a choice.  Sure, chemistry is a real thing, that feeling of being truly “connected” with another person.  But love, in itself, is a collection of behaviors that, for the most part, we have complete control of.  While I love Scott, I am not in love with him, and I don’t act on those behaviors related to romance or passionate love.  I don’t feel inclined to.  I don’t want to.  He doesn’t want it, either. 

So, yeah, that’s the state of affairs these days.  As unconventional as it is, I am completely comfortable with the fact that Scott and I will be playing house in the near future.  I get the benefit of sharing a living space with someone whose company I enjoy, who takes pride in nurturing me and providing me with food and a room to stay and a place to park my car, and who also appreciates my company and badass cooking skills.  I am not moving in with my ex; I’m moving in with my best friend.

[Totally platonic.]

Weekend at Nudist Resort

Two weeks ago, I spent the weekend with the Dude, camping at a nude resort, because why not?  I hadn’t done anything crazy and spontaneous in a while, this was the perfect opportunity.  YOLO!!!

I got out of work early on Friday, rushed home to finish packing for the weekend, and waited for the Dude so we could begin our weekend excursion together.  We drove separate, because I didn’t know how late he was going to stay on Sunday and I just kind of wanted the freedom to leave when I was ready (let’s get serious: there is such a thing as too much togetherness with the Dude).  Our journey to the resort was a little rocky; he was a maniac to follow, and we ran into traffic and construction on the highway, but we finally made it to the resort around 6:00 pm. 

I had been super nervous at home, waiting for the Dude to show up.  My main concerns were: 1.) Not knowing the nature of my relationship with the Dude, if he had invited me there as his significant other, or just as a friend; and 2.) Not knowing when “naked time” officially began.  Would he give me a sign or signal when it was time to get undressed?  Or would I just know?  It would be a real shame to get naked too early or too late.  The whole drive there, however, I felt a strange calmness about the situation.  I decided not to worry about anything this weekend, just relax and have fun.   

We parked at the Welcome Center to check in.  When we got out of our cars, the Dude gave me a big smile and said, “Well, this is it!  Just a heads up, there could be naked people around any corner.”  I wasn’t apprehensive at all, just anxious to get settled in and see what this place was all about.  At the front desk, I was asked if I had stayed there before, and upon learning I had not, the receptionist tells me that “Ed” would come by to give me a mandatory “first time” tour of the facilities.  [Side note: everyone in the welcome center was fully clothed.]  We settled our matters there and prepared to drive to the campsite when the receptionist announced, “Well there’s Ed right there.”  I really shouldn’t have been surprised, but I was a little taken aback to turn and see a very portly man in his fifties, balding with little tufts of white hair, and butt ass naked except for some beat up sneakers, standing behind me.

He followed us to our site, and I hopped into his golf cart to get my official tour.  The place was beautiful, albeit not exactly what one would picture upon hearing the word resort.  There were cabins that people live in as retirement homes, a “rustic” camping area in some woods, a clubhouse with an indoor pool and hot tub, an outdoor “conversation pool” with a tiki bar, a small mini golf course, volleyball nets (on grass, not sand), and probably a lot of other things that I’m forgetting right now.  As we were touring the facilities, most of the people we drove past were nude, but not all of them.  Everyone waved and said hi, people here are very friendly and I’m sure clearly know that I’m a newbie, as I’m riding in a golf cart, fully clothed, with Ed.

He dropped me back off at the campsite, and the Dude and I proceeded to set up camp; well, he did, I just watched since he declined all of my offers to help.  I was introduced to the couple we were sharing the lot with, S and E.  S approached me and was very sweet and welcoming (and nude).  She was beautiful; a woman in her 40s, with a lovely smile, unbelievably perky breasts for her age, and a nicely shaped butt (of course I looked!).  Her husband, E, was not nude, but still warm and friendly, and I immediately felt at home.

After we were all set up, the Dude asked if I wanted to go shower and freshen up.  We were both sweaty and gross, and I figured this was the time I was supposed to get naked, so I agreed.  I was expecting him to make the call; when the Dude got nude, I would too.  However, after we rinsed off, he put his clothes back on.  Following his lead, I did the same, but decided not to put my bra back on, because fuck that shit.  We went to a bonfire that night with his volleyball friends, and it was great.  A couple of friends were nude, but it had started to cool off, so most people had at least a shirt on.  We drank and conversed and eventually went to bed. 

The next morning, the Dude started to get some breakfast ready while I munched on granola.  He again asked if I wanted to hit up the showers to freshen up and so we went.  This time I decided it must officially be naked time.  If not now, when?  So I came out of the bathroom, carrying my bag and my towel [one big rule here: you MUST have your towel with you at all times (like a Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: Nude edition); you are not to sit your bare bottom anywhere, for your safety and the safety of others.], completely naked except for my flip flops.  When the Dude saw me, he gave me a smile, as though he were pleased with my decision, even though he was still dressed.  I proceeded to spend the rest of the day naked, except for a couple of times when it got chilly and I put on a cardigan for comfort.

How liberating it is to walk around naked, without fear of judgment or criticism!  I wasn’t uneasy or self-conscious at all.  Freedom from clothing was empowering!  I know I’m not in the best shape, but I didn’t let that bother me.  Most of the people there were older than me, also overweight, but happy.  Never once did I feel the need to suck in, or cover my fat rolls when I was sitting, or check my reflection to see if my outfit makes me look fat.  I was completely comfortable in my own skin, perhaps for the first time ever in my life.  Not once did I think people were ogling me or judging me, no one made lewd comments or gestures.

A couple of observations I made:  Not many people had tattoos.  [I wonder if that’s something in the nudist community, that covering yourself in ink and images is covering one’s true self.  I think I’ll research that.]  Also, a LOT of people lacked tan lines.  These folks are naked ALL of the time!  I love it!  Also also, I never knew testicles came in so many shapes and sizes.  I’m pretty sure I beheld some of the largest, saggiest balls on the planet, no lie. 

Another point of interest: this is a family resort, so there were teenagers, children, and babies.  Now, the kids were dressed for the most part, except in the pool area, where it was mandatory to be nude.  But this didn’t seem weird to me.  Why shouldn’t kids grow up thinking that nakedness is acceptable?  It’s no wonder that kids growing up in this environment tend to have fewer body image issues.  They’re being taught at a young age, from an entire community, that every body is good enough.  One couple had a baby who drew much attention from old, fat, naked men and women.  And no one was fazed by this, because there is nothing wrong with being naked.  Now, I’m not ignoring the fact that there are times when nudity is inappropriate, but the reality is, we as a society have made nakedness “naughty.”  This is the same thinking that drives people to shame breastfeeding mothers; breasts aren’t “naughty,” but we’ve made them so in our overly sensitive culture. 

 

******

So, there are really two parts to this story: the socio-cultural aspect of nudity (read above); and the relationship between two people (me and the Dude, duh).  I asked him Friday night why he had invited me there.  He said he thought I would appreciate the self-awareness and self-acceptance of it all.  Fair answer; I really did.  I appreciated that he knew I would benefit from a nude getaway.  I was curious though if he had also invited me because he wanted me there.  I asked him if he invited other women there, thinking that maybe I was special.  But he had brought former girlfriends, other friends there before.  My presence wasn’t unique. 

It was still unclear what my status with the Dude was.  He introduced me to everyone as his ‘friend,’ but to be honest, I was hoping for more.  I was glad, then, that we had plenty of time to chat on Saturday while it rained (an untimely thunderstorm delayed the volleyball tournament, but allowed us a couple of hours to chat), and in the evening as we sat outside of the tent, drinking wine and letting thoughts roll off our tongues.  Our conversation covered broad topics, such as my upcoming grad program, work, the future.  While he appeared engaged and contributed to the conversation, we didn’t quite see eye to eye.  I went on about how I’m a “helper,” and that’s how I decided on the grad program and career path I’m diving into; he responded with advice about not giving too much of myself, because people don’t deserve it, and I need to focus on myself and not worry about other people so much.  That was disappointing.  I felt like, instead of valuing what I deem to be some of my most admirable qualities, he considered those qualities faults.

I eventually mustered the courage to ask him why he stopped talking to me two years ago, when we were seeing each other regularly and I was so into him.  All he could tell me was, “I don’t know.”   I admitted that I was pretty hurt by his rejection, in large part because he was a deciding factor in my move back to Muskegon.  He said he had no idea, and laughed, like I just revealed myself as a foolish little girl.

Sunday morning proved to be the most telling, however.  He snapped at me, for the first time ever, about something really stupid.  He had asked me if I knew where his keys were, I said no and got up to help him look, giving suggestions as to where they might be.  He snapped, “Dammit, Deanna, I’m an adult, I can handle this myself.”  I was caught off guard; I’ve never seen him angry before.  Not knowing how else to respond, I sat back down on my chair in front of the tent and feigned listening to his friends converse about nothing I had interest in.  I sat and stewed.  The more I thought about it, the more upset I was over him yelling at me.  Plus, I was starting to get some pretty severe menstrual cramps and I was hung-over and generally feeling crappy, so I decided it was probably time for me to go.  I walked over to where he was packing up the cooking supplies, and apologized for annoying him earlier.  He confessed that he was mad because, by trying to help him find his keys, I was implying that he was incapable of doing it himself.  [Oh my fucking god, really?]  He rambled on about trying to be more independent [you’re 47 years old; you’re just now working on this??], and that my “help” was belittling.  I again apologized and explained that I wasn’t implying anything, but I’m a helper, remember?  We discussed this last night.  “Also, I didn’t realize that’s what was upsetting you.  Next time you need to use your words.”   [If he’s going to act like a child, I’m going to talk to him like a child.]

At this point, I’ve clearly reached the conclusion that there will never be a relationship with the Dude.  We’re both entirely too stubborn, and while there is a faint chemistry, there’s no real connection.  And I certainly deserve more than to be with someone who doesn’t value and appreciate who I am as a person.  Simply put, I’m not willing to settle.

Despite the letdown from the Dude, I’m grateful for the experience.  This is a way of life and let me just tell you now, I am all for it.  Getting dressed to head out Sunday morning was so disappointing.  Clothing is such a nuisance!  I did not put a bra on, because fuck that shit.  As I was driving away, I wondered if the people on the road with me suspected where I was coming from.  I stopped at a gas station to get something to drink, and pondered whether the cashier knew where I had spent my weekend.  Honestly, I don’t care.  Going into the weekend, I was hesitant to tell people what my plans were.  But now, I’m happy to say I spent the weekend at a nudist resort, and I’m looking forward to going back, as soon as possible (not with the Dude).  This whole clothes-wearing business is a real downer.