April knows the bride. Michael knows the groom. Glancing at each other through the reception crowd, their eyes seem to say, “You are kind of cute, and it is a wedding, after all.” April watches Michael approach, weaving his way towards her with a composed stride.  She hesitates before finding his eyes once more; somehow they seem to her brighter than all the rest. His eyes graze her bare shoulders, then slowly climb upwards towards her face. Against her better judgment, April allows herself to look deeper and longer, but abruptly looks away when she feels a stab of pain. Memories flash through her mind of the last six months during which she had endured the gradual loss of her most recent relationship.

Cutting through the ring of wary college friends encircling April, Michael greets her with an exaggerated bow, and then breaks into a wide smile as he gestures towards the dance floor. April had sworn she wouldn’t date for at least six more months, doing her best to focus on her daily routine: walk the dog, go to the gym, do work, cross museums off the “to do” list, do more work, dance with girlfriends . . . but no, not with men, not for a while. Yet, these sparkling eyes and goofy, gracious bow were now destroying her resolve. She reluctantly basks in Michael’s warmth and his subtle cologne.  He is leading—a relief after dealing with two other partners who had wandered around the dance floor like lost boys.

Guiding her into their next full turn, Michael feels the knots in April’s back dissolve.  He executes a practiced spinout and anticipates, waiting a few beats, the question that always came next: “How did you learn to dance so well?”

April’s three closest friends stand nearby, quietly watching Michael as he deftly moves her across the floor. Midway through the song, Michelle, April’s college roommate, observes with horror, “Oh no, here we go again!” All three friends suffered through April’s long string of previous, disastrous relationships. They had even adapted a title for the whole cycle: “The Ecstasy and the Agony.” Her last boyfriend, Joshua, had been just like Lee. Lee had been just like Joseph, Joseph like Tony, and Tony like Sam - her first love.  Those first three wonderful months, her friends would be forced to hear endlessly about how “perfect” he was.  A couple of weeks later, they might ask each other, “How did we miss this guy? He must be amazing!” Inevitably, however, there she would be - their beautiful blue-eyed friend, in tears on the couch, in tears in class, in tears and drunk after midnight, asking them each, in turn, “What went wrong?” 

After Joshua, the three of them finally had their fill. During a five-hour intervention dinner in Cynthia’s apartment, they revealed that her nickname at the fraternity house was “the leech.”  They reminded her of how, during the weeks after she had first met Joshua, she had lost herself in him. She forgot plans she made with friends, cancelled a ski trip, and sat home, instead, waiting for him to call all night. Michelle pointed out that she invariably bought a batch of wedding magazines only a few weeks into each of her great romances; her friends expected her to rent a moving van after the second date. April tried to argue, but they had worn her down; she finally had to admit that she too quickly idolized each of the men she dated. Now, her friends watch helplessly as she relaxed in the arms of this new dark-haired man.  They knew that the worship would begin anew.

Meanwhile, Michael’s oldest friend, David, leans over to the best man and says, “Watch this, the ‘Master of Disaster’ is on the move.” The title was well-deserved. In May, June, and July of his second year in a Chicago law firm, Michael had managed to disrupt the lives of three of the firm’s most promising Ivy League female summer clerks. Somehow it didn’t matter that they were at the top of their classes, tough as nails, and independently wealthy. If there was a vulnerable bone in her body, Michael found it and broke it with his erratic comings and goings.  Dangerously charming, Michael was an addiction to these women. Whoever she was, within a week, she would be hooked and find herself religiously waiting for his call. He never meant to hurt anyone; it bothered him when David told him about the firm’s nickname for him.  Michael defended himself, saying that he needed “space.” He told his friends, “I like women and enjoy dating them, but I just haven’t found the right one.”

April and Michael dance to the next song, and the next, and the next. April’s imagination runs wild. She believes she is falling in love; she wishes she could spend the rest of her life on the dance floor with Michael. She tells Michael what a wonderful time she is having. Fantasies of eloping float through her head, and she wonders if maybe she should move in with him first.

Michael, however, feels relieved when the band finished its final number. He has had enough for one night and remembers all the things he still has to do before bed. He has enjoyed himself and feels attracted to April, but beneath his charming exterior, he feels vaguely anxious about her movements towards him.  He doubts he has adequate time for pursuing a relationship.  When the music stops, he cuts their conversation short, explaining that he must leave.  April suggests they exchange phone numbers and again emphasizes how much she has enjoyed the evening.  Michael reluctantly assents.

April goes home elated.  She brushes away the insights gained from the interventions of her friends and is convinced that this time will be different.  She cancels a dinner date with one of her friends and skips a racquetball lesson, so that she can stay home and fantasize about what she will do with Michael on their first date.  Michael, on the other hand, deliberately keeps himself extra busy - spending long hours at work, swimming more laps than usual, and catching up on unread email.  He wonders now and then if he should call April, but resolves that he is not ready for a relationship.  He does not realize that by the time he feels ready, April will probably have moved on.

            Does this sound familiar?  Have you ever been part of an interaction like this one?  Two people are attracted to each other and enjoy being together, but they are unable to make a relationship work because of a mismatch - one person’s neediness clashing with the other’s fear.  

Why is it so often the case that, “You only hurt the one you love,” when everyone wants a fulfilling intimate relationship?  Why is it such a struggle to initiate and maintain a good relationship?  In this brief encounter between Michael and April, we see the basic steps of an intimacy dance that are repeated by couples in varying scenarios again and again.  Yet, neither partner understands the other, and both are unaware of the impact that they have on one another.

As stated in my previous book, The Power of the Eyes (1986),

Although we are complex beings with many levels of mental, spiritual, and physical reality, only certain socially prescribed aspects of ourselves are exposed to each other’s scrutiny. Generally, we keep close to us what is deep or dark or wounded or passionate.  Our innermost thoughts and emotions are not casually displayed. However, there are usually some persons in our lives—“intimates” like family, lovers, close friends—with whom we can dare to be whole, to unveil our inner being, and to reveal our truest nature. And the most profound intimacy comes when they reveal their essence to us, as well (p. 83).

Each of us has within ourselves a particular intimacy pattern that surfaces when we engage in a close relationship.  The potential range of these intimacy patterns is represented most accurately as a continuum. The magnitude of a person’s need to be close to others determines where she or he resides on this continuum.

References:

Webbink Ph.D., Patricia. The Power of the Eyes. New York: Springer Pub., 1986. Print.

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