One of the major disappointments of my adult life has been finding out just how little being smart has to do with love. I’ve always relied on my brains to get me through, I’ve always secretly believed that I had a leg up in life because I am fairly blessed in the intelligence department and I figured that would make me good at love. But the truth, the truth that I’m just starting to see, is that being intelligent and being good at love are two entirely different things, and thinking that one thing will make you good at the other is like expecting a world class juggler to be able to perform brain surgery.

It strikes me, in fact, that I was so busy outsmarting my last boyfriend that I stopped really loving him. I was so busy trying to turn him from a random acquaintance into a lunch date into a standing Saturday night date into a boyfriend that I stopped paying attention. I thought that took brains, I thought that took skill. I was so intent on pursuing a tactical advantage that I stopped doing anything else.

On some level, I was just trying to prove that I could. And when that happens – you’ve got a very dead relationship on your hands.

The other day, I finally figured out what I’d wanted from him all along. I had wanted him to stay.  That was it. I had just wanted him to stay forever.


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