Early in my adult life, I became a serial dater of places. I had a long, happy love affair with Boston, but we plateaued. It was my first such relationship, and I was vulnerable to that pesky, destructive force, the rosy vision of that-which-you-do-not-have. This was enhanced by the romantic allure of Return, and so I left a perfectly good thing, thinking mistakenly that old familiarity brings with it deeper intimacy, and I plunked myself for a little over a year in the hills of my home.
It was well-intentioned, but we were lying to each other, West Virginia and I–we had never had a very honest relationship in the first place–and I had to call it out. I went back to Boston because it offered a tangible, unemotional rationale–a job–but secretly, I just wanted it to take me back. We were happy for a few years, before I left it for New York. I told myself a truth, that New York had something Boston didn’t–grad school–but really, I was just too young to make the kind of commitment Boston wanted.
New York and I were tumultuous lovers. The beautiful moments were all the more beautiful because of the day-to-day-crap I had to put up with. Before, I would have given New York my whole self in pursuit of those moments, relatively few as they may have been. But I have become old and practical, to my great dismay, and I can no longer give so much for so little in return.
And so I find myself in Rwanda, a place I have chosen with absolutely no pretense of practicality. There is really very little work here for someone of my stripe, and I am unlikely to ascend the grand career ladder from Kigali. I am here simply for no other reason than that I want to be–a feeling so infrequent for me that I can’t imagine doing anything except obeying it.
In the beginning, Rwanda and I basked recklessly in the exaggerated joy of young couples. But it has become, like all relationships, one which requires work. I still need things it can’t give me, and I find it difficult to learn not to demand them. Some days, Rwanda is moody and indifferent–or maybe it’s me? Some days, we simply don’t understand each other. And some days, I think it wants me to just leave it.
Which, if this were any other place, I would do. But there’s something here I find so rarely that I can’t do anything but stay. It’s that same thing which has made all of us say, at some point in a relationship no one from the outside understands,
“I know, I know, I know… But he’s worth it.”
This is a fantastic piece of writing… love it.
Ahh…so true. But oh how many different places have felt this way about? And with each new one I feel like I’m cheating on the others, telling myself, “well no, this one is different. This is the one.”
The person above took my comment. Exactly what was going through my mind when I read this piece.
I slyly laugh inside because I found you here, when I find so much out there disappointing.
Oh, Matt and Cooper, do I know it. I keep hoping that one day we’ll be right… which is a sign that perhaps the woozy romantic who began all this crap is a little more alive and kickin’ than I’d like to admit.
And *I* laughed because a) that “but it’s worth it” comment has applied to most of my romantic ties and b) I’m now hoping to land a job in a city that you might call a long-running flirtation. I once went there often as part of a nonprofit job, developed my “favorite” neighborhoods, and even went to far as to marry one of its daughters. Now I don’t know if I’m gonna end up there for real, or staying with my most passionate first love, which is turning away its face and turning into a dormitory for billionaires.
Is the answer civic polyamory?
Civic polyamory! I love it. That is exactly what i have. (…she says, like it’s a disease.)