What makes a relationship successful? For just about every kind of relationship married couple, parent and child, co-worker, volunteers, dear friends, or a combinations of several of these, we have the notion that success means permanence. The greatest of marriages go from early days to a late grave. The deepest of friendships begin in grade school and persist till the nursing home. Why does this longevity so warm our hearts? Do we stigmatize the bright and rewarding but brief connections? Haven’t some of our most amazing relationships been short lived?
For me, identities are not fixed. They are dynamic. People change. We love biking, have a crash and forever give it up in favor of weightlifting. The things we enjoy doing have a great impact on who we spend time with. We ride waves of habits, but all pass through turbulence that often alters the patterns through which we construct and know ourselves. Our pairings are also dynamic, perhaps doubly so. The character and content of our relationships evolve. How well we can accept and adapt to these changes is a big part of our own happiness, or a measure of our suffering.
Imagine Bob. He lives in rudderless confusion, and never really makes an effort to be vulnerable and grow close to others, to work through frictions or differences — this is avoiding intimacy, and perhaps avoiding the heart of what it means to live. At the other extreme is maybe Jim, devoted to the dogged self-martyrdom of commitment as an absolute, and end itself, regardless of tone or an absence of love. And in the middle lies a complex dance that yields the richest of friendships, marriages and even most trusting work partnerships. It’s a middle way. Those who hold their commitments with integrity, but also lightly enough to know when to let go, these friends seem happiest in weaving their lives with their chosen partner, their circles of friends, their collaborators. These are ironically the most resilient relationships. We need be neither Jim nor Bob.
Another frame for thinking about relationships was given to me by a brilliant mentor, the counselor who helped my ex-wife and I disentangle ourselves as husband and wife. With her help, we established the first steps in what would be our new roles as separate parents; she encouraged us to see the dynamic of a relationship as a third party in our twosome. Two generally kind and admirable people, for a variety of conscious and subconscious reasons, can begin to bring out the worst in one another. There are people in the world who cause us to thrive, to belly laugh, feel inspired, even thrilled. And at the other end of the spectrum, a relationship can lapse into a downward spiral of reciprocal diminishment. Inspiration, enthusiasm, love all bleed out and we are left zombie-like. If we live long enough, we likely touch both these extremes, while mostly remaining in the center.
So now my daughter’s mother and I have a new relationship, the best of Plan B. We have a new trust, a balance and a shared intention to put our daughter’s well-being first, without destroying any chance of our own happiness. We acknowledge that two happy parents are the greatest positive influence on our daughter. Over and over, in books and in counseling, this idea was driven home: The number-one factor affecting our daughter’s ability to be happy, to thrive, and to realize her fullest potential in life is the emotional tone and cooperation of her parents, whether they are together or apart. So this thought guides us, and will even when my daughter goes for three years’ schooling in England, where her mother can be close to her family and be happiest herself. Our shared custody means that for three years our little girl will mostly be in the England, then three years mostly in California and then back to England, a two nation upbringing, a background I expect will give her far more varied perspectives on a larger world.
Some of the other silver linings? Both her mother and I have a lot of self-determination, more than we ever would have together. As single parents, when each of us is with our daughter, we are 24/7 full-throttle parents, without a partner to tap out and ask for help. I think this crucible has made me a better and more engaged father. When I don’t have my three-year old, I can be an independent adult, read and write, catch up on sleep, and get more done. These breaks mean I can be a more energized parent when we’re together.
As a family of three with two separate houses, we’ve built what I think is a strong foundation for our little girl. We’re able to laugh and take hikes, all three of us together, and we also help each other in small ways. I pick up and drop off deliveries for my ex-wife’s business, and she has helped me with small tasks. We have a rhythm unlike most nuclear families, stretching us and rewarding us in ways both planned and unexpected.