Now I Understand Everything

One of the questions most frequently asked me, especially by men -- not only the men I've been involved with since my divorce but also male friends, acquaintances, and coworkers -- is, "Why did you marry that guy?"

There are obvious reasons, such as that I got pregnant two months into dating him. But the core question, why was I dating him, is not so obvious. I've had not a few come-to-Jesus moments this year about what in the world I thought I was doing. And there are a bunch of different factors, not least that unrelated personal events that year had left me feeling pretty damn broken and pretty damn alone.

But another question is, conversely, why did he date me? It's obvious that when we met, and he was 23 and I was 30, he was impressed by a)my ass, b)the fact that I had a real, "intellectual" job, c)my coolness and bohemian lifestyle, and d)my literary aspirations. All that makes sense; what doesn't make sense is why, in light of the fact that he has revealed himself to be really not very ambitious and really not very intellectual, at least not in how he chooses to live in the day-to-day, why he didn't early on display the conflict that later destroyed our marriage, which was basically that he ultimately thought I was too conservative, boringly responsible, and not enough of a hedonist, and my lack of appreciation for 'fun' was killing his ability to have same.

(I know that "lack of appreciation for fun" is one of the key characteristics of new motherhood, in general. But even beyond that, I just never liked the things that he liked, i.e. designer alcohol, drugs, being in an altered state. The potheads I know who have kids still smoke pot.)

Anyway, today I figured out why he was attracted to me, and why this caused me to marry a man I eternally regret having to deal with. It all goes back to October 29, 2004. I wrote him an email, which I found by accident today. And in it I discuss not only song lyrics and following the eclipsing moon and the misleadingness of impressions and yada yada yada, but also, and this is key, the fact that I was going with my friend E. to a memorial for her friend who had a)died of a heroin overdose and b)gotten us in to a club where he was doing sound, and hung out having beers with us, shortly before he died.

You see, the ex was impressed by my being more literary and conventional and responsible than him or his peers, but the key was really, I'm convinced, these phrases:

"doing sound"
"heroin overdose"
"got us in to the club"

As E. said on the subject, "He was a romantic. And the fact that you had all this urban glamour and tragedy allowed him to weave about you the idea of a life he might like to imagine."

Seriously. It's all clear to me now. If that poor, conflicted, closeted gay dude and occasional heroin user hadn't died, my ex wouldn't have decided I was "cool" in a way he wanted to get with.

It's a lowering thought. In both directions.