I enjoy complicated people. Seeing their complexity makes them beautiful. Their internal struggles, needs, insecurities make them human. I don’t realize this most of the time, but I had an epiphany a few minutes ago. My contrast is Bilbo. Bilbo is not complicated, and I like him, but I don’t think he could ever be my closest friend. He’s simple enough not to be human. Now, I know if I did put more time into our relationship he’d be loyal, available, and excited to spend time with me. But I don’t think our friendship would be fulfilling for me. My wife, on the other hand, is complicated. Her family calls me for answers. I guess they hope that I’ve discovered her secrets . . . I haven’t and I won’t. She hasn’t, and even if she does she won’t let me in, because deep down she knows that the complexity is interesting to me. I’m complicated, too. She calls it secretive. But it’s not that. I just want to be treated one way in one moment, and another way the next. I have triggers, and insecurities, and pleasurable thoughts that are mine alone. As it is with her, I don’t know that I’ve figured myself out either. I do know that if she does decipher me I’ll be less interesting to her. -antiwasp
Filed under: Relationships, Self Actualization, So there I was . . ., Wisdom
