There is nothing more magical than being in love and living with your partner. Cuddling in front of the fireplace on a cold night while you Netflix & Chill, sex anytime you want it, and having someone to come home to everyday really makes life so much more fulfilling. Not to mention, when you are both share the same goals, beliefs, and interests, living with your partner feels more like a charm than a chore. Honestly, this is the life I currently live. It is bliss in all the right ways which creates a perfect life for the both of us. But it was no overnight process to get to this place in my journey. In fact, there is one time in particular that certainly made me realize living with your lover is not exactly as good as it seems.
There is something dangerous about the ages of 18-25. Being not quite sure about the world you’ve be thrust into. The loneliness of having to live out the perils of making bad decisions with no one to come to your rescue. Ahhh, yes! Accountability. Having to truly learn what that means presents more trauma than healing as you learn what that actually means. And when you’re dealing with men at a young age, accountability is the one thing you have to get right before you both end up in an unfortunate state. Although Darren was 25 years older than me, he seemed to be just what I needed at the time. He was older, mature, somewhat stable, and a quiet soul. There was a balance he brought to my chaotic 20 year old life at the time. It was welcomed! When we first met, he was talkative, joyful, and actually pretty youthful for a guy approaching 50. Like many first conversations, there was plenty of ground to cover so no topic was off limits. We talked for hours before we ended the night. We couldn’t wait to see each other the next night. It was the perfect end to an otherwise boring day. Fast forward a month later, it was almost as if we’d become inseparable. Our countless conversations had become countless nights we’d spend laying together caressing and stroking each others’ naked bodies. It was a moment in my naive life in which I had no idea would require me to actually contribute anything. But hell, I was young and free; who needed responsibilities…right?
Just six weeks into our courtship, I had to move out of my dorm. I had gotten so smitten with the process of getting to know him and finishing out the semester, I hadn’t even found a place to move. So, as luck would have it, he asked me to move in with him until I found another place to live. Without hesitation I agreed! This was an opportunity that I knew in the back of my head would be golden. After all, we got a long so well. I couldn’t have asked for a better temporary living arrangement until I found another apartment. He even helped me move! I guess he was attempting to gain bonus points. The night after I moved in, he told me, “you know you can stay here with me for as long as you want.” “One step at time!”, I replied. He had become in that moment the perfect guy. That is until—a week later. The countless conversations we had in the beginning, the steamy intimate moments we shared earlier in our courtship had plummeted to a dismal drop. Each moment we spent together started to become more and more dull and silent. The excitement he expressed in the very beginning had become a continuous episode of the most boring episode of The Andy Griffith Show. I’ll admit, I’m pretty talkative and I can always find either an informative or entertaining topic to talk about. One sided conversation just doesn’t keep my interest very long—even then! So, I did what any 20 year old would do: avoid having a mature conversation about it and go party with people who understood me! The first night this happened, of course he never mentioned anything to me about coming in late. Neither did he the next night…or a couple nights afterwards. In fact, a week and a half later he advised in a voicemail message, “…so we need to talk when I get home.” It’s a phrase I hate to get with no clarity as to why. I embraced myself to be kicked out with no place to go. Although he wasn’t irate at my detachment, I wasn’t exactly irate at his. When we finally talked, we realized were at a place that gave us comfort and not a foundation. After all, what else could two men with a 25 year age difference have in common other than sex? And that ship had sailed…and SANK! I moved out and never spoke with him again. Frankly, there wasn’t a need to; sinked ships never sail again.
The thing is, living with a man can be very fun and enjoyable. Just like the perfect storm, it takes the right ingredients to create a whirlwind explosion of passion and chemistry. When you don’t have it, you have no chance of ever making it happen. Had Darren and I been two men who could adequately give each other what we wanted, we would have been able to really give each other a chance at making each other happy. As for moving in to quick, yeah—that was a bad decision on my part. That was only because I saw an opportunity and seized it. It was a calculated mistake I’d learned from. But that wasn’t the only thing I’d learn from Darren. In fact he taught me a few things:
- You can’t live with someone while “getting to know them”.
- Establish boundaries prior to moving in.
- Get EVERYTHING in writing if you are not married; protect yourself.
- Make sure you genuinely like someone before you move in with them.
- When you move in with your lover, you will either grow to love them more, or it will decimate entirely.
But ultimately, I learned to enjoy yourself and have FUN! Nothing can be more exciting than sharing a space with someone you want to share space with—especially if it a nice pad.