The Wrong Kind Of Commitment Issues

When I first admitted out loud to believing I suffered from a fear of commitment, the first immediate question from a coworker was, ‘What has been your longest relationship?’  Then inevitably came that awkward reveal of being in a dedicated five year relationship that actually comes up shy on my prior dating history of a whooping seven years. Committing myself to one person in total monogamy bliss has never been a problem for me. Sam is deeply intelligent, caring, ambitious and so charismatic that I look like a hobbit or general recluse next to him.  He is great at jeopardy, knows a bit of everything and is completely useless when it comes to closing cupboard doors after himself or putting empty glasses in the sink instead of stock piling them on the coffee table. I love him and look forward to a future with him. A couple years ago we tentatively talked about moving in together, a year ago we seriously discussed it, the past few months we have casually hatched out our plan of action and in the last week we’ve looked at places, figured out finances and applied for a two bedroom rental in a four floor walk-up in the Village.

If you plug ‘Commitment issues’ into google, the results on the top of the page are, “8 ways to know you’re dating a guy with commitment issues” and “How I ditched my commitment issues…by snooping”. So clearly I’m not in the hip loop when it comes to commitment conundrums. When I reveal my relationship status to people they immediately disregard my fear because it’s not the ‘right’ sort of commitment-phobia. It’s not juicy or worthy of Cosmo and it’s actually more confusing than I gave it credit for when I first jokingly labelled myself with it. But I see it slipping into every aspect of my life and I feel it robbing me of the happiness that I shouldn’t be limiting.

The small commitments I keep this year, like maintaining a tidier home or blogging daily, are stepping stones for the larger ones that can only happen when I start appreciating myself. I’ve never committed to myself because there’s always so much more to be doing. I don’t commit to big ideas or dreams because it feels almost ‘too good to be true’ or too unrealistic. I suppose it’s why I have reservations about moving in with Sam – I will happily, and readily concede to a forever with him but if it happens it’s almost too good of a thing. To commit to living with him means I commit to my hopes for our future together. It’s a strange kind of commitment fear, but it’s a fear nonetheless.

Cheers to a year of keeping track.

Closet Clean-Out

Day 2.

So far, so good. I suppose a two day commitment shouldn’t warrant an applause, but I’m handing out self satisfying pats on the back regardless.

Today I have managed to tackle a few nagging bullets on my to-do list and I’m feeling pretty great about it. (Rule one of this year is going to be appreciate and enjoy even the smallest of accomplishments). Finally I deposited my work bonus cheques, (from Christmas), cleaned out my over-flowing closet, paid a parking ticket that I’ve neglected for weeks and meticulously collected together paperwork in preparation for rental applications. Even now, while typing up this entry, I’m successfully checking off a box on the old ‘Get it Done’ list.

It seems so simple and, (for lack of a better word), lame to be smiling a little broader for de-cluttering a closet, but here I am, beaming. I’m smug and satisfied and it’s completely comical. I feel as though I’m more deserving of the tea and book sitting next to me.

There’s always pride behind stepping up to a responsibility and in this case I’m counting it as a win towards my commitment goal. It’s not like a messy closet is a fear, but watching and letting something become disorganized in my life seems non-committal. I should be committed to bettering myself day in and day out and that shouldn’t need to be through a massive task or daunting goal. Cleaning and tidying my material life seems like a sound commitment considering how easily I shrug off a pile of clothes draped carelessly over a chair with the excuse of being tired. It takes just seconds to hang my jacket up when I get in, but instead it gets tossed onto the pile with little thought because the ease of being lazy after a hard work day seems gratifying. When I look around at the mess accumulating though, I feel drained and irritated. Why not commit to shedding that self-inflicted annoyance?

Cheers to a year of keeping track.

Day 1

At twenty-five, I barely have my SIN number figured out, let alone what I plan to do in life. A close friend recently turned the page on her twenty-sixth birthday, and being the supportive pal that I am, I relentlessly teased her of course, ignoring my own impending 6 month away bday. She groaned about still being in school working on her second degree, and we compared futile stresses about our general futures.

Maybe it’s naive of me, but I am trying desperately to trust the popular notion that I’m part of a generation of time-takers, of ambitious workers who will find where they belong after they have tried the size and style of different jobs and positions. I travel, I take temporary work placements, (which always become permanent offers that I tend to turn down), and maybe, just maybe, I have career-commitment issues. My justification (or excuse), is that my CV is growing brilliantly with my plethora of experiences. Yet, I’m terrified to apply to the ‘real’ jobs – the ones that I may actually be aiming to nail myself to in the long run. The juxtaposition is very real.

As my first blog post ever, welcome to my confused, young-adult existence. I think I intend this to collect my thoughts from day to day. To maybe help me measure my ambitions against reality. And also, to attempt to fulfill a resolution of personal commitment.

Cheers to a year of keeping track.

The Musings of an Amateur Author and Brooding Bibliophile