Why a good partner doesn’t have to be a consolation prize

By Regine Rauin | When Rooms Tell Stories

 

For quite a while, I had a rather interesting idea of what the “right” man for me would look like.

Not physically.

Emotionally.

I had somehow stored away this assumption:

The man who is genuinely good for me probably won’t be the man I immediately look at and think:

“Wow.”

Perhaps he’ll be reliable.

Intelligent.

Stable.

Kind.

Emotionally available.

And probably about as exciting as a beautifully organised tax return.

That is an exaggeration.

But the basic idea was there:

Perhaps I have to choose.

Between attraction and safety.

Between excitement and stability.

Between the man who makes my heart race and the man beside whom I can sleep peacefully.

And then something rather ordinary happened.

I was shown an image of the kind of man I would actually want.

And I thought:

“Erm… he’s rather attractive.”

That surprised me.

Not because I’m superficial.

 

But because I apparently hadn’t realised how much I had divided my own requirements.

Why do we assume that someone who is good for us cannot also be someone we genuinely desire?

Why do we tell ourselves this story?

“He’s not really my type, but at least he treats me well.”

I’d like to make one small observation.

We wouldn’t say that about a sofa.

“It’s not particularly attractive, but you sit very comfortably on it.”

Excellent.

You’ll sit comfortably.

But you still have to look at the thing every day.

Of course it’s a ridiculous comparison.

And yet it reveals something.

We often treat emotional compatibility and physical attraction as two competing offers.

Why?

 

Perhaps it comes from an old idea of what love is supposed to demand.

We think we have to choose.

Maybe we don’t.

Maybe a man can be stable and exciting.

Warm and independent.

Attractive and emotionally grown-up.

Funny and reliable.

Maybe he can have his own opinions.

Perhaps he should.

Because an equal is interesting precisely because he is not you.

 

I had actually known a man once who came surprisingly close to this picture.

He was attractive.

Other women found him rather interesting.

He was the sort of person people noticed when he entered a room.

And me?

At first, I didn’t think of him as someone I would ever be with.

And then something happened that I hadn’t expected:

He wanted me.

Not theoretically.

Not perhaps.

Not as a project.

He made an effort.

And we became a couple.

And much of it was genuinely, wonderfully good.

The problem wasn’t his attractiveness.

The problem was the unfinished building work.

And I underestimated it.

I thought:

It’ll sort itself out.

That was my mistake.

Not that I found him attractive.

Not that I allowed myself to fall for him.

But that at some point I exchanged reality for potential.

 

Today, I would therefore want two things at once:

I want to desire him.

And:

I want life with him to feel good.

Not either.

Both.

Why should love be a compromise between heart and head?

Perhaps that is one of the nicest forms of growing up:

You no longer have to choose between two extremes.

Not:

“He drives me mad, but at least it’s exciting.”

And not:

“He’s wonderful, but I’ll have to get used to the rest.”

But:

“I like this person. And I like the life I can have with him.”

That isn’t a fairy tale.

 

That’s actually quite a reasonable standard.

About the Author

I'm Regine Rauin, also known as Mystic Maveress.

I read rooms the way other people read tarot cards.

And every now and then...

...I write a book.

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