The List

When I was in my early-to-mid twenties and getting to know my 'needs' through relationships – when a partnership ended – I would add attributes to 'the list'. You know, the list that women, and some men, devise in their mind or journal of what their partner NEEDS to be like.

When one relationship ended and another began, I generally would dismiss every red flag that appeared. My girlfriends would calmly say something like, "I thought you weren't going to date any more men who drink that much?" or "Remember how you said your next boyfriend was going to have a job?" or "Do you think meeting someone who's fifteen years older than you and has never has a relationship longer than six months is a good call?" or "I don't think he's actually single." I became very good at dismissing the warnings and concocting a reason in my mind regarding how and why this person fit the bill. I'd generally give it a good year or more before realizing that the warnings should have been heeded.

I would leave the relationship more broken than I was when I began. Generally, my pride would be incredibly damaged. Sometimes, I would have been taken advantage of financially. My friends and family would have a little less faith in my decision-making skills. Maybe I'd loose some friends altogether in the process. But, even though I NEVER adhered to it, I had my list. I also learned lessons along the way. I may have been stubborn or not always acted wisely when I moved forward, but the lessons were in me.

Then around Christmas of 2012, I went through yet another shitastic breakup – one that I should have seen coming since day one, one that I should not only have heeded the advice regarding but one that I should have been smart enough to see myself. So after that breakup, I ripped up my list. I decided I had set my standards and hopes too high. Essentially, I gave up on love. I'd have to settle.

I reworked the list:
• not an alcoholic
• not abusive
• not severely in debt
• not mentally insane
• well-endowed (bonus)

I decided I no longer cared if the person had 'baggage' – like six children or a hateful ex-wife. I originally wanted a man who was smarter than I and who would always keep me learning, but I gave that up. I decided as a twenty-eight year old women, I was far too old and too fat to attract a good-looking man, so I would be OK with someone who was passable in the right light. I decided a man who owned a home or, shit, had a savings account was asking far too much. I gave up on needing a man who was athletic or interested in health. Good-in-bed and passionate, I let it go – as long as he was decently endowed I would just do the work myself. I thought a good relationship with his family and parents who are still married would be a strong plus, but then I decided to scratch that too, that was cutting out fifty percent of men at least, and I needed options open. A man who likes children and would be a good dad was an original necessity, but I let those go too. I preferred a democrat, but hey, forget it. They were hard to come by in Texas. Someone who's well-traveled or at least had a stamp in his passport. I let it go, no passport necessary. A man who would try yoga or in the very least not ridicule my practice... that was also eliminated from the list. Someone who had his own passions and hobbies – oh well, I decided, no hobbies is fine. A man who doesn't drink a lot. Well, I guess that's not my choice to make. I wouldn't want to seem too overbearing. I'd love a man who appreciates the arts, and isn't all math and science. But, screw it, bring me a computer engineer. I'd love a guy who likes to enjoy fine food and wine – however, I gave that up too. Chicken lo mein and White Zinfandel are eclectic, right? A man who doesn't watch TV or play video games for hours a day would have been nice, I but I gave it up. On my original list, I wanted a man who brushed his teeth at least twice a day. I dropped it, I'll deal with fuzzy-sweater teeth. Originally, I thought it would be great if he put the seat down after peeing. Scratched that off. I had always dreamed of having a man who liked to dance with me and would randomly start to sing out-of-nowhere, but I had never actually met a guy like that except for my Dad, so I crossed it off the list with the decision that men like that weren't a part of my generation. Oh yeah, kind and funny... that would be cool, but I guess I could live without it. Also, I gave up needing a MAN. I decided to keep my options open to women too, even though I'd never swung that way.

So, let's just say I lowered my standards.

And then I met you. And, for starters, you fit my five needs.

Then, I realized you automatically fit a bunch of the other attributes from "the list" that I'd pitched and smudged-sticked away the memory of. As we continued to date, I realized you were fitting into more and more of those desires that I'd given up on. I began to fish them back out of the dump in the back of my brain – checking off checkbox, after checkbox, after checkbox. I told you about my list. You laughed. You had done the same thing. We were each other's list. And more than that, we were even filling the little boxes at the end of the lists, the hopefuls at the very bottom, written lightly in pencil. You were the definition of my list. You were the one I had been looking for all along. You were the man of my dreams.

When I learned about how obsessed you were with dental hygiene, I was tickled. You were dedicated to teeth-cleanings every three months. You couldn't believe I hadn't gone in over a year! You not only knew your hygienist by name (Stephanie) but you also knew her little girl was Sami. You didn't only brush, but you also flossed. You bought my an electric toothbrush for my birthday.

When we began dating, you came to your first yoga class within a month. You told me you'd always wanted to do yoga, you just hadn't had someone to show you how. You'd imagined someday dating a yoga teacher so she could show you the ropes. It had been a pipe dream of yours. As we continued to date, our practices grew together.

You put the seat down after peeing every time.

I remember the first time I heard you sing. We were in your bathroom in Boulder. I was still in the shower, but you were toweling off. You began to sing. I don't remember the song. I froze. I couldn't believe it. My heart started to beat so loudly I thought I'd be able to see it pounding through my chest. I fell in love with you more in that moment. I got out of the shower, and decided to test my luck. I walked over you to hold your hands. You took them, pulled me in, and we danced. Naked. While you sang to me. It was fucking glorious.

And then there was your family. Not only were you close with them and your family very connected, but it just so happens that I've know them for over fifteen years. Your youngest sister is one of my closest friends. She'd sent me a birthday card at dance camp when I turned thirteen. I'd attended your other sister's wedding. I went to the same school as you. Your parents are kind, generous, funny, and classy beyond my highest expectations.

And then, as I met your extended family – I was floored. Over and over. Every single member of your family was incredible. They were intelligent, sophisticated, beautiful, healthy, creative, and doing good in their lives and the world. I couldn't have dreamt of a better family to marry in to. I never thought it was possible to love a family as much as I loved my own – and then I met your family, and I could. After I'd meet a new cousin or uncle, I'd say, "Seriously Ted? Do you have anyone whose not gorgeous in this family? Do you have anyone whose socially awkward? Any black sheep, anywhere?" No. None. Nada. I couldn't believe this was to become the family I would be a part of. This was the family that I would summer with, raise our own children beside, and get to know more and more forever. I was the luckiest woman alive.

And then there was you, my love. Simply you – none of the 'stuff' that you came 'with'. Not the house, the vacation homes, or the bank account. Not the stamps in your passport, liberal mindset, love of music, or passion for sushi. Not even the family or the way you made my heart jump when you held a baby. Just you.

A man who was so kind. Who would reach across the car and rest your hand on my leg while driving, without thought, just to touch me. A man who would look me in the eye and smile with devout love when we were simply chopping vegetables. A man who surprised me on my doorstep in Austin when we were still dating long distance – with roses. A man who would hide polished stone hearts in secret hiding places for me to find when I wasn't expecting them. A man who always said "NO" when I asked if my outfit made me look fat. A man who every time we were sat at a booth in a restaurant would move the menu from across the booth to the same side, and slide in beside me, just so we could be a bit closer. A man who in yoga, would give up the spot in the row he liked and come to the front, next to me, so he could hold my hand in svasana. A man who always remembered to leave the lights on if I was coming home later. A man who would listen when I had something to say, no matter how silly it was. A man who taught me new things about myself everyday. A man with more depth than the deepest floors of the ocean. A man who was willing to change but always stay true to himself. A man who would kiss me softly if I needed it. A man who would kiss me hard if I needed it. A man who was a better man when he was with me, and made me a better woman when I was with him.

And now, here I am without you. Lost. Confused. Unsure. Did something wrong. Did I ask for too much? Was it all a cruel joke? What do I do next? Where do I go from here? How can I live without you? Do I burn the list?