The difference between love and like. Something that I haven't thought of often, because the answer, it seems, is somewhat obvious -- common knowledge, if you will. Only now, in the third year of my relationship, and twenty-second year of my life, am I realizing that there is an extreme -- and very important difference between the two emotions that strangely effects the heart, mind, and dynamic of a relationship on a much deeper level than I had originally believed.
As little girls, we all dreamt of fairy-tale endings. The white wedding, the extravagant ball-gown, the happily ever after with a tall, dark, and handsome firefighting, astronaut, doctor, cowboy (at least in my case). As blank canvases, we associated these daydreams with the emotion of TRUE LOVE. Barbie and Ken, Cinderella and Prince Charming, Mommy and Daddy - all couples who seemed, in our five year old eyes, to have the whole package. With love came happiness, success, and a perfect relationship...or so we thought.
Fast forward to day one at Robert Louis Stevenson Middle School. My Paul Frank T-shirt hugged my newly developed mosquito bites in all the right places, and my Abercrombie bell-bottom jeans, which were perfectly and unnecessarily 'distressed,' added some serious sass to my first-day-of-school outfit. I felt stylish and alive, and I couldn't wait to catch up with my friends, get my schedule, and of course, get my first boyfriend. The thing is -- I didn't care who it was -- as long as it wasn't Billy, the kid who constantly blew his nose straight into his hand, and once threw a chair at the principal during an assembly. I just wanted to get the ball rolling on the quest for my future husband. So the Boyfriend Hunt began. Almost immediately thereafter, the concrete thought that I had etched into my naive mind about the 'easy breeziness' and beauty of finding a boy and falling into a forever type of love, was completely shattered. Admittedly, I was too skinny, had a thick unibrow, and I wore the same putrid green T-shirt every. Single. Day. My prospective suitors made their negative feelings about 'dating' me very public and very personal. After being flat out rejected by 3/4 of the 6th grade and 1/4 of the seventh grade, I finally realized that I didn't even genuinely like, or quite frankly give a shit about the boys I had been pursuing. As I grew older and more attractive, and made it past my awkward first kiss (which still makes me squirm when it crosses my mind to this day) my bad luck with members of the opposite sex turned a corner, and my number of crushes, flings, boyfriends, and relationships rose rapidly. I started to get a feel for what I liked and disliked in a boy and I quickly became what I can only refer to now as a "butterfly-enthusiast." I was obsessed with the flutter of emotions that would overtake my insides when my phone lit up with a text message from my newest crush, when I held hands with a cute boy at the movie theater after school, or when my shoulder would gently brush up against his at the picnic table at lunch. There was nothing I enjoyed more than butterflies, which my current relationship, at one point, was FULL of.
Christopher came into my life through a mutual friend in late 2010. Our relationship immediately turned into a terrifying roller-coaster ride that I was thoroughly obsessed with. Through the major ups and the major downs, one thing remained constant throughout the early stages of our relationship: those good ol' butterflies. Whether we were driving way too fast down highway 29 in his beloved Jaguar, or in the midst of a jealousy-induced shouting match regarding an ex fling, my preciously sought after butterflies were always present, because I LIKED him. I liked his 5 o'clock shadow. I liked his spot-on Homer Simpson impression. I liked the fact that he always smelled like he had just stepped out of a steaming hot shower. Most of all, I liked that he liked me.
Within the first six months of our relationship, we traveled to Hawaii, Disneyland, Santa Barbara, and Tahoe together. I LIKED holding his hand as we excitedly jogged towards Indiana Jones while the ice cream from my Mickey Mouse shaped popsicle dripped down my arm. I LIKED helping him put sunscreen on his back on the beach in Oahu. I LIKED shoving a freezing handful of snow down the back of his shirt after a day of snowboarding. I was in butterfly heaven.
Seven months passed before Christopher nervously whispered the words "I love you" for the first time. By this point, we knew all of each other's deepest secrets, had developed close relationships with each other's family members, and had created a to-the-minute daily routine regarding what time we hung out, where we ate dinner, and what we watched on television at the end of the night before going to sleep. Two whole years passed, and we were still hanging out at seven p.m. every night, still going to the local Mexican joint for a shrimp burrito and a carne asada quesadilla every night, and still watching Family Guy before we went to sleep every night. During an episode of what used to be our favorite show, I realized something that sent my heart spiraling into the deepest section of my stomach and caused my throat to tighten in preparation for a waterfall of tears. The butterflies were gone.
His 5 o'clock shadow had become itchy against my cheek, his Homer Simpson impression grew old and overused, and his cologne grew too strong for my senses to handle. I knew both in my heart and mind that I absolutely loved this boy, but the heart breaking truth was that I no longer LIKED him.
This realization catapulted me into a serious funk that I thought I would never get out of. The thought of ending my relationship made me hyperventilate and something deep within my heart told me that, even though the magic had seemed to disappear, it wasn't the right decision. I continually asked myself how I could begin to fix Christopher to get our relationship back to how it used to be -- and then it hit me. The problem was not with Christopher, it was with me.
After some serious introspection and twelve pints of Ben & Jerry's, it occurred to me that it was an extremely unrealistic and unfair expectation to want to feel giddy and perfect with the person I love ALL the time. One of the best ways to grow together in a relationship is through fighting and arguing. The hurt feelings, the ignored calls, the slammed doors -- are all part of exposing true emotions and raw feelings to a significant other. In those moments you are naked, real, and hiding nothing, allowing your partner to see you as you are at your worst. My biggest mistake was confusing familiarity with boredom, thus believing that my relationship was doomed and unsuccessful. In reality, I should be ecstatic that I have a man who knows that I like extra powdered sugar on my Eggo waffles, that I prefer my seat warmer turned up exactly two notches in the car, and who lovingly listens to my shaky renditions of Miley Cyrus' popular ballad, Wrecking Ball, on road trips. As soon as I not only realized but accepted the fact that I was lucky, and not cursed, my relationship turned a corner.
When I was 14, the idea that I had of how my future was supposed to come together and work itself out was completely deformed. Watching 12 Disney movies a day will do that to a little girl. With the incorporation of the ever-popular "Date Night," trying new restaurants frequently and stepping out of our comfort zones as a couple, the butterflies returned. When he kisses my nose - there they are. When he reaches out and wipes the ketchup from my double cheeseburger off of my chin - there they are. When he starts my shower and it is at the perfect temperature - there they are. But most importantly, when I revel in the fact that this person has contributed greatly to the person I am today, has witnessed multiple milestones in my recent life, and has remained by my side through hell and back, there they are -- and boy, am I lucky.
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