Musings on Life and Love

Bonnie and Clyde

There’s a book out there entitled He’s Just Not That Into You. You’ve probably heard of it.

I once read that book from cover to cover because I needed something to make me laugh while giving me insight into why I let my last relationship die. I was hoping something in there would explain how a relationship that had started off so promising (in my head, at least) warped  into the living nightmare I was plunged into for almost two years.

Well, the book taught me nothing about that. But, I did pick up a few things that helped me recognize what is now going on with the love of my life.

You see, I didn’t get the early signals that Clyde was really into me. I was too busy being nervous about putting myself waaaay out there on that scary narrow plank known as New Relationship. Thanks to Previous Relationship, I now questioned everything I knew about men.

Clyde is very sure of what he wants, and he goes out to get it. But he’s not prone to talking about his feelings. I, on the other hand, thought that was the only way to communicate.

I also kept thinking our new relationship was going to end at any second, because it was anything but the stuff of Hollywood romance. Well, maybe romantic comedy. What happened was a whirlwind of the kind of activity that could scare any new guy away….

First, I had to move out of my apartment. That meant I had to pack. I suck at packing.

Second, I had to find a new apartment. That meant I was frantically searching for places during the day when I wasn’t working and was super tired by the end of the day when we got to talk on the phone.

Third, I had to shop for furniture. I’d never shopped for furniture. When I first moved back to Los Angeles, I just took random pieces that friends no longer wanted and Frankensteined my apartment together.

Clyde always listened patiently as I described:

• how my progress went with the apartment hunting (I found one relatively quickly).
• how my furniture shopping went (I negotiated great deals and had enough to furnish my new place).
• how I was progressing with the packing (in my head, I was doing GREAT!!).

He gave me words of encouragement and agreed to help me move into my new place. When he came over on the day of the big move, he was expecting a pile of neatly labeled and sealed boxes, all ready to go. What he got instead was my smiling face, a sweaty hug and… a giant pile of STUFF.

For the next several hours, he huffed and puffed and threw all of my stuff into boxes and taped them shut. He moved everything into my car and his car, and then into my new apartment. He single-handedly packed my old life into boxes and moved me into a new life in a new home.

Over the next few days, he slept with me squeezed onto a twin-size air mattress on the floor, so that I wouldn’t be scared in my new ‘hood (I was living kind of in a ghetto). He brought over his power tools to help me put stuff up on the walls, and he bought me cups, plates, utensils and cooking stuff so that I could eat like a human being.

Throughout all this, I kept thinking to myself, “Oh, man, there’s no way we’re going to last. Why would this guy stay with me? I’m such a spazz. I’ve proven to be pretty much incompetent by something as simple as moving….”

All I ever did during this time was flutter around him, offering my help (not that I knew what the hell to do), endless glasses of water, and thank yous for being there.

I’d never thought of myself as a damsel in distress. I’d always prided myself on being self-sufficient and ready to take on the world!!! And yet, here I was, undone by a move.

Fast forward a year-and-a-half, he finally was able to tell me how exasperated he was when we first started dating. He told me that he has helped literally hundreds of friends and family move. He’s moved himself from one end of the country to the other and back. He’s done all this and thought he had seen the WORST POSSIBLE SCENARIO there was to be seen.

Then, he met me.

I was sad, and I didn’t know what to say in my defense (besides “I suck at moving”), but he only laughed and admitted that was when he realized how much he liked me.

He explained that he’s not a man given to wordy declarations of love, but he hoped I understood that his actions were the clues to his affection for me.

He said that had I been anyone else but me, he would’ve said, “Call me when you’re done packing,” and turned around and gone home. But not only did he stay, pack all my stuff up, move me in, and put stuff up on my walls, he also cleaned the scary moldy boxes out of my family’s water-damaged garage. Just for good measure.

And that’s when I realized what I should’ve understood back then. That entire time, his actions were telling me how much he cared for me. I understood then that men and women communicate differently. Women tend to talk things out and work everything out with words. Men usually prefer to take action and show how they feel with what they do. Not to say that men don’t talk (they do), but they don’t talk the way women do.

I made the mistake of thinking our relationship was doomed because he didn’t reveal much about his feelings during those first turbulent weeks. What I didn’t understand was that he was showing me his feelings–with every grunt when shoving packed boxes into the trunk, with every tap of the hammer onto the nails holding up my shelves, and by providing me with the tools I needed to cook and eat.

We’ve all heard the saying, “Actions speak louder than words.” Well, I am now a firm believer of it.

My man might not be very wordy, but he shows me every day how much he’s just that into me. And I tell him every day how thankful I am that he’s in my life.