Love is not a project
Projects can be fun. But if you’re anything like me, they’re often overwhelming. Hard to start and even harder to finish.
I’ll have a big idea. Make a list of supplies. Maybe even block the time. But then: The sun comes out. The dog needs a walk. There’s pickleball at the park.
For someone so driven—to write this blog, to meet work deadlines, to exercise daily—I seem to have a follow-through problem.
In the blink of an eye, a fun project becomes torture. I’d rather be anywhere else.
Last summer, my bathroom remained half-painted for months. After a recent vacation, my suitcase stayed full until I needed it again. And though I moved to Denver seven years ago, there’s still a stack of boxes. Sealed. In the corner of the garage.
Projects that involve other people can be even harder.
They require commitment. Coordination. Agreeing on goals. Communicating. Leveraging each others’ strengths. Pivoting. Admitting when we’ve made a mistake.
Who among us has fully mastered these skills? Yet to succeed in work and in life—and even in love—it seems to me we need them.
Especially if we want to find a new partner, or stay with the one we have. Speaking of which…
Some time ago, a pretty adorable lunch date hit me hard with a zinger. In a casual tone, he asked: So…Barbara…what are you looking for?
His sunglasses were dark so I couldn’t tell whether he was serious. I detected no smirk, but men on first dates typically keep things light, even if I don’t. Especially the cute ones with comfortable incomes and fully launched kids. Life is simple. Why gum things up?
But I decided to answer for reals. To say out loud—to a seemingly legit prospect—the idea I’ve been honing over drinks with girlfriends for years.
I told him: I want a project. Not the kind where the guy is a mess and needs to be fixed. But rather, the kind that feels healthy and productive. The kind where two people use the skills they’ve developed to co-create a thing they couldn’t have made alone. They show up for the work. Do what they say they will do.
No doubt the IPA was helping, but I was on a roll.
For this project, I need a partner. Someone honest and self aware. Someone emotionally available. Someone willing to commit—at least to the project, if not more.
The project, I said, is love.
Unlike most guys I’ve met in Denver, he wasn’t an engineer or a tech guy. He lived on a ranch in the middle of nowhere. He grew things. Built stuff with his hands. Had a creative side.
I thought he might agree.
He listened. He took off his glasses and looked at me. I can’t remember his eyes. So, yeah, you know where this is going.
He did not say: That sounds like fun. Or I’m your guy. Or Let’s do this!
He said: You really should be writing this down!
So here I am. Using my words, and thinking things through. Again. The guy is long gone and I think I’ve changed my mind.
I guess maybe love is not a project. And I’ve been going about this all wrong.
Instead of looking for a co-worker—or even worse, a client—I should be seeking a friend. A kind and easy play mate. Someone who avoids struggle rather than seeks it out.
Why have I never thought of this before?
