overcome my fear of commitment

Here is how I overcame my fear of commitment. This is a long, sad, and shameful story. Maybe it will be valuable for someone else. Maybe you won’t make the same mistake I did.

First, here is why I had a fear of commitment. I had very little experience with love and sex. In my few previous relationships, I gave sex very low priority. I was focused on sharing life together. Physical affection of any kind, for me, had to happen only with a solid foundation of a feeling of soul-to-soul connection. I had never “sown any wild oats”. With so little experience, I felt that I didn’t understand what love and sex were all about well enough to make any major commitments. I’ve known plenty of friends who’ve gotten into marriages that were complete disasters. Actually, I had never once in my life even seen a couple that seemed to be happy. Before entangling myself in something like that, I wanted to survey the territory well enough to at least know what I was getting into.

At the beginning of this year, I made a decision to spend a year or two exploring the world of love and sex from new angles. Specifically, to take a more shallow approach: to focus more on having a good time right now, and less on “Is this going to lead to marriage?” before even giving a first kiss. Yes, in the past, I had almost never kissed women, because I wasn’t sure I felt they were marriage material. Is that fear of commitment or what? I decided to make sex a priority instead of viewing it as an unimportant adjunct to enjoying each other’s company.

In April, the fourth woman I dated this year, I kissed after knowing her for one hour. I had resolved to be courageous and offer affection confidently if I felt it, and not worry so much about where it’s leading. (Previously, I had never dated more than three women in a year. So four by April was a record.)

Over the next month, I experienced the most extraordinary connection I have ever felt. All sorts of past dreams started coming true. She brainstormed with me to solve problems together, instead of the foot-dragging that people usually do. She was spectacularly bright. She was creative. She showed me new things—dancing, forms of silliness that even I hadn’t explored, food ingredients that I hadn’t tried cooking with, poetry that I had never looked into, music that I had turned away long ago, her unique and daring sense of style. She brought me out of my limits in wonderful ways. I had things to offer her, which she delighted in: ways to get stuff done and have fun doing it, ways to collaborate, ways to do creative work under pressure, my own artistic/spiritual vision, which no one else had understood before. She had a spiritual approach to life somehow deeply in sync with mine. She and I actually had meaningful philosophical conversations, where both sides hear the other and get a new angle on things to think about. She is virtually indescribable, because she’s genuinely unique. She is not a “type” that anyone could recognize, she’s something that happens only once in the lifetime of the Universe.

She came with some surprises that, at the time, I didn’t welcome. For one, she was a committed Christian—an adult convert. I never cared for religion, and Christianity has always bothered me for a lot of reasons, not least of which that in most people’s lives it’s a hypocrisy generator, with its official shunning of the worldly, material side of life. But her spin on Christianity was like nothing I’d seen before. She had the otherworldly well of strength of a saint, as well as sexiness and style and confidence, with no contradictions or guilt or tinge of hypocrisy. I joined her at her church one day, and got some understanding of her world. I was a little disoriented by it. She had such a spiritual orientation, a spiritual way of making sense of things and navigating through life, it went way beyond what I was accustomed to. It pushed me in directions that felt uncomfortable.

For most of my life, I felt like I had a calling to answer. I wasn’t entirely sure what it was, but I felt like I had a mission to fulfill. In the last year or so, I started to wonder if that feeling of mission was just a source of anxiety, an illusion, something I’d be wise to jettison. I tried to give it up. This new woman threw doubt on my doubts. She’s clearly on a mission, even if she doesn’t know exactly what it is, and that sense of purpose animates her and gives meaning to every moment. Thanks to her, I was re-thinking a major re-thinking.

For graduation in May, an ex-gf had long ago planned to visit me. This ex-gf was very comfortable with sex and liked to play, and I’d been looking forward to that for a long time. The evening she was to arrive, this new woman and I talked, and she asked if I would date her exclusively, even though her religious views would mean no sex before marriage. My first impulse was to stay my course of gaining broader experience in order to become able to make a commitment without looking back. I second-guessed myself immediately, and every other articulable reason I could come up with said I should say yes. But I said no, and told her that I hoped I might meet her again after I’ve had my adventures. She told me I was being incredibly shallow. I agreed. But I stayed my course.

Well, that weekend, I thought about nothing but the new woman and whether she was right, and what I should learn from her “clean living”, as she put it. She had found happiness, and I was living on the fence between happiness and anxiety. I and the ex-gf didn’t have much fun. We slept in separate rooms and got angry at each other. I had to finish a take-home final in one class, but I couldn’t, because I couldn’t focus on the exam for two seconds without thinking of this new woman and what I had to learn from her. The angry, disappointed tone of her voice when I made my decision seemed to speak more than any words. It echoed in my mind for weeks. I still hear it.

I dated about eight more women over the summer. Barely kissed any, because I didn’t feel the inspiration. I sowed a grand total of one wild oat. That was about three weeks ago. The next day, the fog started to lift. I snapped out of it. This was stupid. A stupid waste of time, and it was costing me the best woman I’d probably ever meet in my life. I tried to contact her.

It took a while, but I realized that even her commitment to Christianity was a major part of our connection. She was not “just like me”, she was different from me in ways that called forth new parts of myself, including giving up old, childish ways. She was not just a pleasure to spend time with, she was a catalyst of growth and love. She was a soulmate. I had long ago given up on the idea of a soulmate, because I couldn’t imagine what one was. I still can’t imagine it; I only know what one is from actually meeting one. What I felt for her was love. I didn’t understand it at first, it was so unlike any feeling in my previous experience.

Something else that happened over the summer is that I met a couple who seemed to me to have a good relationship. He was a brainy guy like me, and she was an artsy woman, and they were clearly in love—the quiet, calm, playful kind of love that I’d always hoped for. Watching them, I saw how it can work. I thought: that’s it, that’s what I want.

I had a strong feeling that this special woman had fallen in love with someone else. I’m not sure why, but I had that sense. Even if she hadn’t, I could see her being so angry and disgusted with me that she wouldn’t want to speak to me again anyway. We exchanged a couple emails, but she didn’t return any of my phone messages.

A week or so ago, the full import of what I’d done really started to sink in. Waves of pain came over my body. She was all about sharing life together. That’s what I always wanted! I had always wanted a primarily spiritual connection with a life partner, had pretty well given up on the idea since it seemed impossible with anyone I’d ever met, and yet that was the very kind of relationship she offered. She was the only woman I’d ever met with whom I could seriously imagine living out my fantasy of married life. Plus she brought much more: pushing me beyond what I could imagine or fantasize about or anticipate in any way, making me a better man, expanding my mind and soul. She shared my ethic of always leaving the other person positively affected in any interaction. I failed that—with her, the most important person I’d ever met.

Three days ago, I got a strong feeling that I’d bump into her by chance. I started being very aware of my environment so I wouldn’t miss her when she showed up. Yesterday morning, I wrote her a letter expressing my love and appreciation for her. I didn’t ask to get back together. I wrote only to let her know what she meant to me. If anyone on Earth should feel appreciated, it’s her. I wrote fast and got it to the post office fast, because I thought she might appear at any moment.

Yesterday evening, we bumped into each other by chance. She was polite, and we caught up a bit. She mentioned her “sweetheart”. As I thought.

I didn’t have many words, so I just gave her a hug goodbye. I wish I had said, “I came to my senses a few weeks ago. I figured it was too late. Well, I’m happy for you and sad for me. Now I’m feeling the full force of my own stupidity. You’re a fantastic lady, and I wish you the very best. I’m going to go home and cry now.”

I am indeed now feeling the crushing force of my own stupidity. The Universe gave me a miracle, and I threw it away because I didn’t understand the value of it. Now I understand.

Despite all my pain, anxiety, and regret, she has left me positively affected. Now I feel like I’m finally an adult. Now I have some clarity about what’s important to me. Now I know that miracles happen. And now I know the value of them. I know a tiny bit now of the nature of love. I didn’t use to think that all-out passionate love was a good thing, but I can now say that it’s the best thing there is. Now I know what matters.

And now I know that the great things in life come at great cost. The cost is commitment: commitment before you really fully understand what you’re committing to, or the trade-offs involved, or what you’re going to lose by committing. When it comes to love, you have to go all-out.