It's Not Me, It's You.

There have been a couple of pieces that I've written that have torqued, annoyed, slightly offended, or downright angered some readers. This piece will likely invoke one or more of those responses. I make no apology and simply ask you to remember that my mind goes to very different, often dark, and quite often odd places….

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There is no question that things have changed. And by "things" I of course mean dating.

Things were changing even twenty years ago, evidenced by the exchange between Rob Reiner and Tom Hanks in Sleepless in Seattle during which Hanks' character laments re-entering the dating scene. Reiner tells him that now "women are looking for pecs and a cute butt."  That may or may not still be true today, but the means by which women may seek those qualities in a man has changed dramatically. (Likewise for "man seeking woman.") Sure, people still meet in bars. With the advent of the Internet and online services such as Match.com and eHarmony, however, people aren't just looking for love in all the wrong places, they're looking for love on computer interfaces.

Can you find love online? Sure. Why not? You can find it just about anywhere. But, and there's always a "but," what happens when you don't find love? What happens when your online dating goes, well, offline? You know what happens. Inevitably someone will make excuses, over-rationalize, or simply lie about why it didn't work. They'll say all the right things, or all the wrong ones, and they'll try their best to avoid hurt feelings. Let's face though – when it all boils down the truth is likely the exact opposite of what you believed it to be: It's not me, it's you.

I do not mean to offend or hurt with the words you are about to read, although it's possible I will do just that. It is not my intent. I mean simply to share a different perspective. Hell, I'm not sure I totally agree with myself on this point, but each time I ponder the point I keep coming back to the same conclusion. I may be wrong. Lord knows I've been wrong more times than I care to admit. But that doesn't discourage me from sharing what I think, or what I feel.

So here's what I think: One of the greatest lies people proffer while breaking up with someone is the notion that "it's not you, it's me." That, my friends, is a bigger pile of horse shit than you'll ever see, even after the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. It's a flat out lie. Each and every time someone utters those words their noses should grow. Now, I know many of you reading this are thinking that I'm full of it, and that there are circumstances in which it truly is "me" and not "you." You're lying. You may not be doing so intentionally, or even consciously, but you are, in fact, lying.

Imagine this scenario: You've gone out on a couple dates and generally enjoy the other's company. You have some things in common and don't seem to have a problem conversing. Soon, though, you either run out of things to say or begin to realize that perhaps you don't have as much in common as you first thought. Perhaps the initial, physical attraction has waned. Or perhaps you've begun to realize that your desire to simply be with someone, anyone, is an irrational one. Whatever the reason, it becomes obvious that the relationship does not have the legs for the long distance run. So you rationalize. You tell yourself you're not ready. You remind the other how wonderful they are, but try to explain that "it's not you, it's me." Is it? Is it really? Ask yourself that. I think you'll find that the answer is, the vast majority of the time, no.

Our society has evolved (or devolved, depending on how you look at it) to the point where we've become so afraid of hurting other's feelings that we sacrifice our own for the sake of sparing others. Honesty has given way to apology. Why? That is a question I can't answer, yet I know I myself am guilty of the offense. Even now, as I discover the truth lying behind my own emotional façade, I'm sure that I will continue to act in a way so as to ensure others' feelings aren't hurt at the expense of my own. (I'm speaking generally here, as I think the principle transcends dating.)   So, now what?

Let's break it down. The relationship has ended and you're both struggling to determine why. Here's what I think really happens, below the surface, behind the spoken words, that no one is brave enough to admit:

Q:        Why are you breaking up with me?

A:        It's not me, it's you. You are an incredible person. You're witty, intelligent, handsome/beautiful and would make an excellent partner… Just not for me. I don't know why that's the case, it just is. You're fantastic, but for whatever reason, you don't invoke in me the emotional spark that's needed for this relationship to progress. I'd prefer that wasn't the case, but this isn't something that can be forced. It's not even something that can be learned. It's something that needs to be felt, and if you don't feel it, you can't foster it. It's no reflection on you, not by any means. Perhaps those words sound hollow, but it's true. You may be perfect for someone, just not perfect for me. And that sucks. For you, for me, for whatever relationship we think we could have had.  The truth is, though, that we couldn't have had that idyllic relationship, even if we tried, because you're right for someone else, not me. And you will find that person and live a life of "right," even if it doesn't feel that way right now. Simply put, you are just not right for me.

And that, dear readers, is a truth that's difficult to understand or accept. Instead we feel guilty, and make excuses. We create fictions in our minds to explain our own feelings when there neither is nor may ever be a rational reason for how we feel. Feelings are triggered. If you stub your toe, you feel pain. You don't feel the pain first – it is triggered by the impact. You don't feel frightened until something happens to scare you. You don't feel tired until something has occurred to drain the energy from your body. And you don't feel passion unless and until something or someone triggers that passion within you.

You may want to feel it. It may be the only thing you want. Do you want to feel it for yourself, though, or for the other person? That may be another question you can't answer. The fact that you have to ask the question in the first place should be a sign that perhaps things aren't as they should be.

It's not me, it's you.

For whatever reason, or whatever reasons, you are not my trigger. You are not the spark to invoke in me that which I need to feel in order for the relationship to grow and flourish. It may not seem like it at the moment, but it really is ok. There have been times when I was you. It sucks. It hurts. It drives you to your knees and pains you to your core. It may make no sense to you, but it is the truth, the one inevitability that we cannot escape. I've been there. It doesn't make you less of a person, nor does it make you less desirable. It doesn't make you any less worthy of love, and it certainly doesn't mean that you'll never find it. It simply means that you weren't meant for me.

I'm sure there are those that will disagree with this position, and you're free to do so.  I think, however, that if you ponder this notion, you'll find perhaps a bit more truth in it than you may care to admit. Maybe you won't. Maybe you want to say to me "you're full of shit and a prick for even suggesting all of this." If that's how you feel, well…

It's not me, it's you.

© JJ Goodman 2013. All rights reserved.