Big news, BCP Friends, so gather round. I have an announcement. I, Tailfeather the Neurotic, am taking the plunge. I am throwing caution to the wind, I am running with the metaphorical bulls, I am skydiving into a kiddie pool filled with Kool-Aid. I am allowing the Boy Person to move in with me. I am nervous.
Never a big fan of commitment, this is a big deal for me. It took eight months of dating before I could use the word “boyfriend” – I actually just prefer to call him my “person” or even “partner,” the latter of which is acceptable in the UK and I kind of like because it makes me think of cowboys in tight Wranglers and weathered hats.
Howdy indeed. Anyway, I am nervous for a number of reasons, the principal of which is commitment-phobia and loss of freedom. Smart or not, I think a lot of my adventures (both real and imaginary) have been tied to romantic relationships and travel. I went to France, met a Swedish boy, and fell in love. We were together for over two years, trans-Atlantic. I have dated men from Scotland, Venezuela, Ireland, Honduras; I have dallied with boys from Israel, South Africa, Italy, Colombia, Croatia, Mexico, Germany, Australia, Palestine, Canada, and Queens, New York. I met a Spaniard in Prague and traveled with him. I have a taste for the exotic and the promises of the unfamiliar, and living in such an international city as London makes the skin on the back of my neck prickle with excitment. My life isn’t on a set course yet, and I savor the buzz of possibility I feel here, surrounded by foreigners and the potential for new places, new experiences.
Much of this, of course, is illusory. Despite a rocky start, I’ve maintained a faithful long-distance relationship with my boyfriend for a year now. We would go anywhere from two to five weeks apart from each other, and I would look around the city at these smartly-dressed guys from Paris or handsome African businessmen or tanned Portuguese tourists and wonder wistfully at what I was missing out on. And then everytime I would see the Boy Person, I would remember that what I was really missing out on was being with him more, and so we would go on, and I would just hold my breath visit to visit, and talk to him six times every day. Also, he is Scottish, so there is the kilt factor.
Och, aye. In actual fact, while my relationships and romances have afforded me wonderful opportunities for travel, the major moves I’ve made – from Texas to a summer in France, college in New York, and the big moves to Scotland and London – have been of my own accord, through school and work. I propel my own damn boat, and it really shouldn’t be any other way, however much I might fantasize about meeting a Great Love and being happily whisked to his estate on the Mediterranean coastline.
Future moves will most likely be under my own steam as well, which is good; you can’t rely on someone else to make your life for you. What I remind myself is that, while I may be limiting my options in some ways, I’m opening the door to many other options. I have someone to explore the city with, someone to have dinner with (now that I will have some more disposable income! Huzzah!), and a great friend to come home to at night. Even while I yearn for a change of scenery, I am always scrambling for some toehold and a reason to keep me in one place. The security offered by his presence is not shameful, I remind myself, and not a sacrifice of fundamental independence.
So, finally, the commitment has been made. After a year of back-and-forth, the Boy is selling his flat, resigning from his job, and we rented a van to drive all his possessions down to London. Next week, I will be – for the first time since freshman year of college – a cohabitant. I’ve been lucky thus far to live in places cheap enough that I’ve never had to share an apartment (and in London, stubborn enough to sacrifice 60% of my post-tax income on housing expenses for the privilege of my own kitchen and bathroom, and the freedom to walk around in my underwear).
(Here are some hot firemen as a reward for reading this long-ass post, for those interested in such things).
Mmm, sooty. My question is this: How have you handled this sort of ambivalence about committing to a long-term relationship? Has anyone else felt this way I described above? Don’t get me wrong, I am excited and I think this is a very good move for me. I’m also grateful to my boyfriend for uprooting himself to come here; we’ve talked about it, and he believes it is a positive step forward in his life even putting aside our relationship, so I’m comfortable he’s doing it for the right reasons. But I also think it’s entirely natural to feel nervous about giving up one set up options (and the thrill of the unpredictable) for the other set of options that comes with stability. After all, it’s not just my life, my time, my income, or my home now – these are the things that I will share with another person daily, and we have responsibilities to one another. This is a new adventure for us both, and I think it will be a good one.
Basically, thoughts on this topic would be most welcome. I feel like there’s such a cultural normative of seeking the coupledom state (the happily-ever-after) that I haven’t really spoken with people much about how to cope with the mutual loss of freedom (particularly in terms of sexuality and mobility) that accompanies it. Again, I realize he is making the same sacrifice as I am, but I’m curious about other people’s experiences: What do you think you’ve missed out on as a result of committing to a relationship, and what do you think you’ve gained?
ButtercupPunch - "La clique, c’est chic!" 
October 13, 2009 at 2:40 pm
I’m totally ambivalent. My career and finances are better off for the absence.
October 13, 2009 at 4:14 pm
Ten years of living on my own say I hear you. Living in a city this expensive and the stress of my current job have made a difference. If I were still in Texas, it would be a different situation: cheaper and less hours. Right now, though, the notion of sharing the bills and having someone else help with dinner and laundry is pretty appealing!
October 13, 2009 at 2:55 pm
Seriously, you’re just begging me to write a whole novel here, aren’t you? The boy moved into my place (warning, there will be some latent issues with that – I perhaps would have suggested moving someplace new together) in March, and while it’s great, it’s still been a huge adjustment (such as Friday’s – Him: “you don’t ever comprimise”/Me: “no, I’m a stubborn stubborn bitch” argument). It’s still worth it though.
I too had never lived with a significant other, and had three plus years of living alone under my belt. I remember the first day, when the boy was setting up his bed (I was willing to give up on that – his was bigger) and he was listening to Phish, and all I could think was “oh my fucking god – what the hell have I gotten myself into, I didn’t know he listened to Phish.”
You hit the nail on the head (for me at least) with the security idea. I still bristle sometimes when he wants to fix something or set up some piece of tech equipment, and my first reaction is to say “well, how am I supposed to know how to do it if you don’t stick around.” I was so scared of getting comfortable with the security, in the fear that it wouldn’t stick around.
I guess the best advice is that you just have to deal with the feelings and the fright as it comes along. I think generally if you make this decision (and are neurotic person like me who so values her space), there’s a damn good reason you’re doing it, so you keep your eyes on that ball, not the “OMFG he likes Phish!” moments.
October 13, 2009 at 4:10 pm
Phish doesn’t actually sound so bad in comparison with the Boy’s Manic Street Preachers albums. On vinyl. Which we will be listening to. On his record player and amp thing, which are displacing my files and picture shelf.
(Christmas gift note to self: Purchase him wireless headphones).
Thanks for sharing! I wrote this post last week initially, balked at posting it because it read so self-involved and bitchy (as well as including an apparent laundry list of conquests, which was unintentional but food for my own thought), and then figured, maybe I am self-involved and bitchy and that’s why this is a challenge for me and I’d rather try to work it out in my head by writing it down and seeing what other people have to say about their own cohabitation situations.
Anyway, I made it a two-parter to keep the post shorter, and I reckon you’ll have some insights on the next bit too.
October 13, 2009 at 4:17 pm
Also – good on you for writing about this/talking about this. I didn’t have many people to talk about this with, as most all of my friends are single/been in relationships for three or four years and still aren’t anywhere near this point, and I felt like such an outlier on this.
October 13, 2009 at 5:45 pm
I have been with my boy for over 3 and a half years now and we do not live together. I recognize a lot of me in what you wrote. I too just like that freedom feeling (which I also know can be selfish). And I get the “OMG why don’t you live together” all the time from friends but it is slightly different since I do have a roommate – she is my BFF since I was 17 so it’s like living with a sister. And I admit it’s easy – much easier than I imagine living with my BF would be – there are many little details, like the music thing for you, that I know would drive me crazy…. so I take the easy way out right now by staying put.
My biggest fear is one of us getting a job in another city – because we are committed and have had the talk and agree we would follow each other – and I hate the idea of the first time I live with him is in a new city. 2 stressful things at once – isn’t that how lots of couples break up?
so, best luck, I can’t wait to hear how it works out for you…. maybe it will make me think about some not-so-easy choices in my future.
October 13, 2009 at 7:45 pm
Remember the other Scottish boy? Yes, that one. You basically cohabitated with him for years since y’all spent the night together almost EVERY single night. It will be exactly the same, except he will have more of his boy things over at your place. It’s no a big deal, so freaking out necessary. If he has too much boy stuff just toss things out when he’s not looking.
October 13, 2009 at 8:32 pm
I was nodding along, then laughed aloud unexpectedly at that last bit. Unfortunately, have bronchitis, so am now coughing up a storm, but the amusement was worth it. Snork. You bitches is funneh.
October 15, 2009 at 12:41 pm
Sneaky! I catch your point, of course. The main difference is that I still had my own space, and he had his, so being together was a choice (and if we had a fight, one of us could leave). Also, everything in my flat was mine and I didn’t have to share. BOO TO SHARING.
October 13, 2009 at 8:58 pm
opps. I meant to say- It’s not a big deal, so no freaking out necessary. Sorry for all the typos, but you you get the gist.
October 14, 2009 at 11:58 am
The boy is pestering me to move in with him again. I told him that I would not move in with him as his girlfriend due to cultural differences (my African parents would disown me and then proceed to die). His response was ” I want to do it on our own terms.” So we’re still duking it out. I told him that I was not going on human layaway (I can see this fool dragging out an engagement for 10 yrs)and that conversation ended in awkward silence.
Best of luck to you!! You have shown bravery and taken the first step, what doesn’t kill you makes you infinitely stronger.
October 15, 2009 at 12:47 pm
Ah, yes. I don’t really understand the objection to living together (assuming the relationship is good and both parties are contributing equally financially and around the house). Can the assumption REALLY be that, as long as you’re not living together, you can’t be having sex?
I guess parents feel like if you’re living together, they have to accept that you’re sharing a bed, and as long as you’re not they can stick their fingers in their ears and hum.
I guess moving in as a “roommate” wouldn’t cut it.
October 14, 2009 at 1:19 pm
You’ll be OK. Just keep in mind that it’s a big adjustment and know that it’s normal to freak out a little.
My boy person is fantastic, and I looked forward to him moving in with me last summer. We’d basically lived together going back-and-forth between our two places, but it was more difficult than I’d imagined to adjust to living in one home. It bothered me when he’d change something around the house, and it took several months for me to switch from thinking of it as ‘my’ space to ‘our’ space. I had to remind myself often that he was making a big change, too, and that he’d given up his own place to try to fit into mine. Having some empathy for his adjustments helped me calm down a lot about my own feelings that my house was being taken over. After a period of compromise and figuring out our new living routine, everything is peachy.
October 14, 2009 at 1:28 pm
J Gold, my boy person rearranges his apt. like every frickin’ month. I don’t think that I will be able to handle it.
October 14, 2009 at 9:16 pm
That was part of the keeping-both-of-us-happy arrangement that eventually got worked out: NOTHING gets moved without my prior approval.
October 15, 2009 at 12:48 pm
That it totally the key to preventing a murder-suicide type of situation. Thankfully, my boy person gets it too. We are lucky girls!
October 14, 2009 at 1:20 pm
So I guess hoping you would be on my team is fruitless now.
October 15, 2009 at 12:49 pm
Miss BAngieB, I am beyond flattered. And you never know – this might be just the thing to send me fully onto the side of light.
October 15, 2009 at 1:13 pm
Come into the light, Tailfeather Ann.
October 15, 2009 at 2:32 pm
I… I see angels! It’s too… BEAUTIFUL… (*swoons*).
October 14, 2009 at 4:46 pm
all normal, all completely normal. lemme put it like this; I’ve been living with this man for over 8 years and I STILL get mad when he eats my food.
October 17, 2009 at 10:59 pm
you buy food for just yourself?
October 18, 2009 at 11:57 am
no, but you know, I’ll get something for me that he doesn’t even like but then he decides ‘he is man he must eat’ and then the whole thing is consumed in 4 mins and no one tells me or puts it on the list and then I weep.
October 19, 2009 at 9:08 pm
I see. You need to be craftier. You need to put it in unmarked boring-looking containers, then label them things like ‘estrogen’ or ‘calcium supplements for women’ or some such thing. or you can always resort to the playground defense (this item has already been licked by me!!!)
October 20, 2009 at 10:33 am
good point. he is very quick to play the 50% Rule on me, too (we are married therefore he has 50% claim to everything) so I need whatever tools I can get to thwart him.
October 14, 2009 at 8:56 pm
I guess I’d feel the same way, if I ever got with a boy. *sob*
But this is about you, not me. And I have a feeling that it’s all gonna be fine. And when it isnt you can blog about it, and we’ll be entertained/supportive.
October 15, 2009 at 12:51 pm
You are hilarious, clever, cute, and have fantastic tits. And the American boys will adore you (if they don’t already).
October 16, 2009 at 5:40 pm
HAHAHAHA! Well, I do appreciate your faith in me.