Codependent - A Work of Fiction

Lunch yesterday was at the office kitchen table. Being Friday, there was a lot of talk about the weekend plans sprinkled amongst the usual talk of who was eating what and who wanted to share this dressing and have a bite of that tuna concoction. I was the lone male at table of mostly slightly young(er), single women sprinkled with a couple of married moms. The women are aware I am divorcing and dating and that I am eligible, so to speak. Thus, I made an attempt to just eat my lunch, read my newspaper, and stay stealth.

I’m not going to recreate the exact conversation, just the highlights. I’m not that talented a writer and my memory for exact speech and styling a little foggy on a Saturday morning. But, amongst furtive glances to gauge my reaction, there was a fear being thrown around under the word “codependent”. Again, I buried myself in the paper.

Funny… Codependent. Is it an insult? It’s like it implies desperation, clinginess, and a palpable, pathetic persona.

“I just can’t see him again." ... "He drove me crazy with the always hanging at my place, eating all my food, calling me all the time, the constant IMing, and emailing stupid stuff." ... "He has codependent written all over him.”

I tried to wipe the capital “C” from my forehead before anyone saw it glowing red.

Their gist was crystal: It is bad to be reliant on another person for emotional support and, yes, love. These well educated women all agreed it was a sign of weakness. They shared stories, stories of men with the character flaw of wanting to be involved. And those stories spiraled downward with a pathetic picture of needy, incapable men with little value but for sex and a subject for gossip. The women portrayed themselves as self-sufficient, self-actualized, and strong. Dependence on another was all bad while the resemblance of Ayn Rand in pure female form, all good.

Now, I get this ideal. I’m rather Randian myself in my beliefs of the individual and self. But I couldn’t help but feel their thundering acknowledgements and “you go girls” to each other was counter productive, as if proving how independent they could be toward their potential mate made their bonds stronger somehow. Yet, I swear it wasn’t more than last week that I heard the exact opposite musings, “We had such a great time and he STILL hasn’t called me. No texting. No email. Nothing.” Or, “It’s his poker night. You’d think he would want to be with me on a Friday night.” And the, “I’ll use it as some quality alone time to catch up on my Soaps on TiVo.”

I guess you could say I’m confused. But I’m not. Extremes are becoming much more apart of my awareness in the human daily conflict that is this life. And it makes for great lunch time drama (no TiVo required). I think it is folly to think we can meander through this complex maze without the help and love and guidance and problems and issues brought about by others. I guess my solution here is that it would help if we all just admitted it outright.

I’ll admit it. I’m better with someone in my life than as a lone bachelor. I’ve always known that. I’m a good bachelor, too. I’ve been that guy before and succeeded that way in life. But, I don’t find a single thing wrong with wanting a certain person in my life who spends a chunk of her time wanting the same. If you share quality time, naked or clothed, with someone special I’d hope some sort of attachment follows suit. That isn’t weakness. That is strength. I’m stronger because of her. I am more confident. I’m. Just. Better.

“Mud! Mud!” I look up to a half dozen women looking at me stare at my food. A few snickers and giggles emerged from the other end of the table.

“I’m sorry. I zoned out,” laughing at myself and my day dream state. I clearly tuned them out. “What did you ask me?” I begged as I put my empty plate on top of my paper and sat up a little straighter.

“It must be nice to be on your own again. Do all those boy things without all the responsibilities. Are you enjoying all that guy stuff?” repeated the basic group questioning. I was surprised at the forwardness, honestly.

I smiled. “Oh, I’m not much of a bachelor these days. I’m dating just one, special girl. I guess you’d say I have a girlfriend.”

I’d caught them by surprise. There were a few, deep blinks and a silent swallowing of food as they stared at me at the end corner of the table waiting for more of an explanation. These strong, independent, professional engineers/architects and women weren’t prepared for me to contradict them. And I was about expose their collective façades.

“Um,” I paused and put my food down. I leaned back in my chair. “She inspires me to write poetry. I buy her flowers on as many Friday’s as I can and I think she likes that. I know the exact color of her coffee and to go lightly on the cilantro when I make her fajitas. And you know what, I like all that stuff. And I like learning more. The key, I think, is finding someone else who feels the same as you do and wants to be there on all the good stuff and the bad and still wants to be there, no matter what. I don't think we are codependent. We're too new. But I don't think codependent is a bad word at all.”

"Yeah. Well I wish my guy felt that way." ... and "Yeah, well, maybe." ... and "Hmmm. Mud, you are not normal."

Okay. I can work with that.