"What's my story?"

I talked with D on the phone a couple of mornings ago, and it was a useful conversation.

She started by explaining just how crazy her life has been lately. Mostly this means that her job, which is always nuts, has been nuts. But she put a bit of a finer point on it by making it clear just how alone she has been feeling. Of course she no longer has her church job, having given that up years ago because she couldn't hold it and also be involved with me. But she is feeling lonelier at her regular job, too, because most of her friends quit last year over the ridiculous administration. D herself was tempted to quit, but tries to be careful and practical; as a woman in her late fifties, she doesn't imagine that she is going to be very employable anyway -- particularly if she walks out on a "perfectly good job" because she "can't get along with management." So she stayed. And she is surrounded by new people who mean well but don't know what they are doing. So she feels isolated.

This is why she has been getting so clingy and demanding about knowing exactly when she and I are going to see each other again; because she doesn't have anyone to talk to. (Well, of course she and I write each other long e-mails almost daily, but there is something to be said for physical presence. Also, we can't fuck over e-mail. I think I have mentioned that sex is a really big deal for D.) It's also why she was insisting recently that we plan out exactly how we are going to share expenses for future visits -- as a way of nailing down the details so that the trips themselves are more likely. When I more or less refused to be pinned down on this question, she called me "commitment-phobic." "Commitment-phobic?" Really? Isn't that what you say about a young man who doesn't want to have to marry his sweetheart, but also doesn't want to give her up? What exactly is "commitment-phobia" in this -- highly non-marital -- context?

Well, "commitment-phobia" may be the wrong word, but she has been experiencing a loss of faith in her job. She used to believe that her job really mattered, in a fundamental sense; and that belief helped her face the 18-hour days and the lunatic administration. Last year she finally decided, reluctantly, that it is just a job. That is freeing in a sense, because she no longer feels compelled to be perfect every single day. But it leaves her wondering what she is doing with her life. Where is the over-arching theme or value or narrative that makes sense of where she is in life? Or as she put it at one point, "What is my story these days?" Added to the loss of her church life and her friends, this deep uncertainty has made things very difficult for her.

As a result, she was pinning more and more of her meaning and self-definition on our relationship. When I backed out of answering direct questions like "What schedule can you commit to for seeing each other?" or "What financial arrangements can you commit to, in order to pay for these visits?" what she began to feel was something akin to, "My God, isn't there anything solid in my life that I can hold onto?" That's a scary thought when everything around you seems to be melting; and once I understood it, I tried to offer some comfort. It's just that trying to pin me down to everything but a ring and a bouquet was a really counter-productive way of articulating her fear. But I'm sure she hadn't thought it out all that clearly ahead of time.

I also told her that I see the potential for going through the same kind of thing myself in a couple of years: maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, ... but maybe once Son 2 starts high school. So what would this mean? If Providence strips away from both of us all the external trappings that have defined who we are for years, ... how do we read that? Where do we go next?

I wish I knew.