Sven's life in Oz

The internet is on the fritz this evening so I thought I would make a head start on a couple of entries that I know I will probably need to think about before I click ‘publish’; this is the first of them. As you may recall, I went for a drink with the Nice Enough Chap a couple of weeks ago and discovered that there is still some attraction. Last Sunday we met up again for some afternoon drinks and, it turned out, a spot of dinner. Whilst I would be lying if I said I was no attraction at all, it’s certainly not the kind of thing that will set the world on fire, and he is actually becoming a valued and lovely friend. As normal, we chatted about life, friends and other things until eventually we got around to love lives. I related a tale that has repeated itself with me a few times – the NEC notwithstanding – where most of the men I have met lately all have one thing on their mind: a long term relationship.

If you could bottle my reaction to those three words and sell it on the shopping channel, any fool with a tv set and a credit card could be an Olympic sprinter. For the record, I’m not running a mile because I’m afraid of commitment, which is the usual accusation, but because I’m not going to waste my time or yours pretending that I’m interested. Life is too short. I’m not suggesting that I’m about to hang a sign on my door welcoming you to Babylon, but I’m also not going to poke anything with a ten foot pole that looks or sounds like it might be monogramming the wedding invites in the back room already. Oh, hell no.

The NEC had two comments: first, I am friendly. Too friendly. And nice. Wayyyyy too nice. I can hear some of you guffaw at the very idea, but hold your titters. I will explore that in another post. For now, let’s stick with the second point: how can I be sure that I don’t want a relationship?

“What if Mr Right were to walk in here right now and you just thought, ‘wow’? What would you do then?” It’s a fair question, and for a moment I thought I might be stymied. I tried to imagine what Mr Right would have to have to be worthy of the title, and that’s when it dawned on me: at the moment, there is no Mr Right for me. Not in a bad way, of course. I’m not planning a lonely demise in my underwear with only my pets and my hardened, bitter heart for company. I’m sure that I’ll meet someone somewhere down the line and things will be wonderful; I just don’t think that Mr Right is an extant individual waiting to be found. There might be more than one Mr Right, and they might only be borrowing the name for a while. There might be just one and it will be the stuff of legends. But I don’t think any of them are out there waiting to realise a destiny with me. Interest and surprise and romance and love all help you grow into Mr Right for the person you meet who is worthy of it; if you are lucky the same thing happens in them, too. Mr Right isn’t born for you: he is you.

Perhaps this is all hopelessly romantic – a selfless devotion that you enjoy and get back in return is pretty Brothers Grimm – but it’s the way I believe it works. Everything we need to make us happy is already inside us, and we just need the right person to make it grow. And this is why I know I’m not ready for that yet. I’ve got things to do on my own, and for the time being I am my own Mr Right. For now, there’s only Mr Right Now or Mr Right, Who’s Getting The Drinks In? And everyone else will just have to wait.