I once overheard someone liken a relationship to a shoe. “If it doesn’t fit perfectly, it’s a disaster”, she said. I don’t know where this woman had been shopping and maybe she’d been living way beyond her means, but at the time I thought ‘disaster’ was quite a strong word. I thought this was a very interesting, albeit flawed analogy – like with relationships, doesn’t everyone try on a pair of shoes before committing to them?
I recently heard the same phrase again and it’s been playing on my mind. I don’t think there are many people that would enter into a relationship if they immediately foresee a disaster. You could only say a thing like that in hindsight after kicking yourself for having seen the ‘signs’ and chosen to ignore them with the faint hope you’d adjust to the differences.
Unlike shoes, the ‘perfect fit’ for a relationship is not easy to find. The last pair of shoes I bought appeared to fit perfectly in the store, but by the time I got to work in them the next day it was a different story – I was in agony and ‘disaster’ was very much an appropriate description of the situation. But still I persevered, with sore blisters on my heels and toes, in the hope that the shoes would eventually mould around me.
If I put the first six months of my current relationship in the context of trying on that pair of shoes, the story is strangely similar. After months of cyber talk and exchanging photos taken in the mirror, we arranged to meet on a day when the cosmos was viciously against me. Cutting a long story short, I turned up several hours late, which he was furious about, but I couldn't smiling – he lived up to the idea I’d built in my head and by all accounts he appeared to be the ‘perfect fit’.
I wasn’t looking for a relationship but very soon after this we met each other’s friends, I took him to Portugal to meet my family, and in a short space of time we got such an overwhelming feeling about our potential together that we bought each other commitment rings and even talked about marriage.
Back in London and with the ‘honeymoon period’ behind us things started to go downhill. The ‘blisters’ started forming and the relationship became uncomfortable to be in. It was far too late to get a ‘refund’, if that were possible with relationships, but even if we could, I didn’t want to – not after sharing that sort of happiness together.
My faith in ‘breaking in’ to my new shoes paid off and although I’m due another pair, they are now my most comfortable footwear. Sadly, I’m not as confident the same thing will happen with my relationship. How long should one give oneself and how much suffering should one endure before giving up hope that things will just fall into place?
I’m living in the hope that we can be that happy again but maybe we’ve outlived this ‘shoe’ of a relationship and it’s time for a new one. Maybe we’re past the point of no return. This is definitely the ‘glass slipper’ of a relationship I want but as hard as I try it just doesn’t fit. So now I understand what that woman meant, but she should have put it better – relationships can be like a pair of shoes you really want – if they don’t fit perfectly, it is a total disaster.
When it comes to shoes a perfect fit is essential, but relationships are far more complicated. Personally, I know that if I had the options of the 'perfect fit' and a 'challenge', the latter would win hands down. My idea of the perfect fit is actually a slightly flawed one because it's the flaws I find intriguing and I'd get bored very quickly without them.
Metaphorically-speaking, I’m not going to start cutting any toes off or getting stupid cosmetic procedures to make the shoe fit, but as a final attempt at reviving the relationship, I’m going to try to put myself in HIS shoes and hope I can see what it is I’m doing wrong...
No comments:
Post a Comment