After considerable agony, we’ve left a relationship.
We’re on our own now
and, when we can bear to be honest, it’s a little harder than we expected.
We aren’t going on many dates;
the central heating broke down last week;
the shopping is proving a hurdle.
In idle moments, we find ourselves daydreaming,
returning fondly to certain occasions in the recently concluded relationship.
There was that wintry weekend by the sea:
they looked adorable walking on the beach in their thick scarf.
We fed the seagulls and drank cheap white wine from paper cups on the seafront
and felt connected and happy.
We’re newly conscious of the charm of so many things
that seemed ordinary at the time
Ccoming out of the supermarket,
putting everything away in the fridge and the cupboards;
making soup and toasted cheese and watching television on the sofa.
煮汤 烤奶酪 在沙发上看电视
With these thoughts in our minds, we feel weepy and tender
这些回忆在脑海中挥之不去 让人想哭 感觉脆弱
And at points distinctly tempted to call the ex up again.
They would, we suspect, allow us back,
or at least give us a hearing.
What can we make of our feelings?
It might be that we have realised a genuine mistake.
But it’s even more likely
that we are in the grip of a characteristic mental habit of the newly single,
facing the vertigo of independence: nostalgia.
In the middle of the nineteenth century,
Britain underwent industrial and scientific revolutions
that transformed old settled ways of life,
ripping apart communities,
throwing people together in large and anonymous cities
– and dislocating the loyalties and certainties once offered by religion.
In a search for ways to soften the confusion,
artists and thinkers began to imagine what a better world might look like
– and in certain circles, the search turned towards the past
and more specifically,
towards the perceived wisdom, coherence and contentment of the Middle Ages.
While railway lines were being laid down across the land,
and telegraph cables under the seas,
members of the artistic class celebrated the simple, innocent communities
that they proposed had existed in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.
Art works depicted handsome uneducated but happy labourers,
cheerful villagers celebrating harvests
and kindly lords and ladies ministering to the deserving poor.
There seemed to be no violence, alienation, fear or cruelty.
这儿似乎没有暴力 疏远 恐惧或残暴
No one minded not having much heating
or subsisting on a meagre diet of oats and the odd piece of lard.
It had, it was alleged, been very much easier back then,
in the thatched cottages and pious stone churches.
At the heart of the nostalgic attitude is a disregard for why things ever changed
– and might have needed to do so.
For the nostalgic, the past never required alteration or development;
history moved on but for no sane reason.
The complexities of the present moment are in this sense deemed wholly accidental.
They are not the tricky byproducts of a legitimate search for growth and progress
away from what must have been at some level, despite the odd delightful occasion
一定程度上 这些混乱是不可忍受的预先安排 即使其中有一些零碎的愉快时刻
(perhaps at harvest time or on a midsummer morning), an intolerable previous arrangement.
( 也许是在收获季节或仲夏的早晨 )
The nostalgic can’t accept that the present, whatever its faults,
came about because of inescapable difficulties with the past.
They insist that we had already once been perfectly happy,
then mysteriously changed everything for the worse
because we forgot we had been so.
Relationships can find us reasoning no less selectively.
Here too. It can feel as if we must once have been content
and then grew ungrateful through error and inattention.
Yet in locating profound satisfaction in the past,
we are crediting our earlier selves with too little acumen.
The truth about what a relationship is like is best ascertained
not when we are feeling low six months or a few years after its conclusion,
but from what we must have known when we were in its midst;
when we were most familiar with all the facts upon
which we made our slow and deliberate decision to leave.
The specific grounds for our dissatisfactions tend to evaporate.
We edit out the rows, the botched trips, the sexual frustrations, the stubborn standoffs…
我们删掉了争吵 糟糕的旅行 性生活不满 固执的僵局……
The mind is a squeamish organ.
It doesn’t like to entertain bad news
unless there is a highly present danger to be attended to.
But knowing our amnesiac tendencies,
we can be certain that profound unpleasantness must have existed,
for there would otherwise have been no explanation
for our decision to rip our situation apart.
We would never have needed to act
if things had ever remotely been as gratifying
as we are now nostalgically assuming they were.
The portrait we are painting of the relationship
is emerging not from knowledge, but from loneliness and apprehension.
our sense of ourselves as people who could be satisfied with what was on offer
is as untrue to our own nature
as is the fantasy of a modern urban dweller
who dreams they might find enduring happiness in a medieval wooden hut.
The solution to the problem of satisfying our needs
is not to hallucinate that they don’t exist.
It is to square up to them
and use every ingenuity we’re capable of to devise workable solutions for them.
We should trust not what we feel now,
in our weepy disconsolate state,
but what we must have known then.
A simple rule of thumb emerges:
we must invariably trust the decisions we took
when we had the maximal information to hand upon which we made them
– not when we have emotional incentives to change our minds
and mould ourselves into a caricature of an easily-gratified creature.
There were persuasive reasons,
even if – in our sadness – we now can’t remember a single one.
Returning to the past wouldn’t make us content,
it would merely – at great cost to all involved
– remind us of why change was in the end so necessary.
We need to accept that good things did exist,
but that they were no proper solution
to certain of our well-founded emergent needs.
It means accepting that we are as complicated and as difficult to satisfy as we are
– and that the way forward is to accept our characters
rather than assume a simplicity we could never live up to.
We should have the courage of,
and be ready to pay the full price for our true complex natures.
Love is a skill that we can learn.
Our relationships book calmly guides us with calm and charm
through the key issues of relationships
to ensure that success in love need not be a matter of good luck.
For more click the link now.
After considerable agony, we’ve left a relationship.