My relationship with Veronica was doomed from the start. Even before we became a couple, we fought about everything. Not healthy, sexually charged arguments either – although that’s what people called them. We were always angry with each other. Our relationship almost seemed more out of convenience. We had the same major, worked together on projects and had comparable looks. We figured, heck, why not? During our two-plus year relationship, we found many excuses not to break up even though we both knew that breaking up would have been wise. We were co-producers on a show and didn’t want to mess up the work relationship. We had said, "I love you." I had taken her virginity. We had gone on vacation together and didn’t want to take all those pictures off the wall. Veronica knew me better than anybody else in the world. I was scared of losing that constant in my life, no matter how miserable it made me.

Diane was a different story altogether. We got along great from the first moment we met. We just had a natural chemistry. Even before we had met, I was drawn to her. I picked her out of a large crowd in a student film and said, "Hey, who is that?" Later on, I would think of this as a sign that something between us was fated. The relationship between Diane and I was complicated. Whose isn’t? We were never officially together, although there were a few select evenings. The night we drank a bottle of wine by the Charles River in Boston and talked into the wee hours. The night we first kissed by that same river. The night I returned from Los Angeles after several months and we made love for the first time. Yet amidst all this, Diane was flaky. She was the classic case of "doesn’t know what she wants." She was involved with somebody else, but said that she wanted to be with me. She said that she loved me truly, madly and deeply one day, but then would cancel a date the next because she had to clean her apartment. The more my mind nagged at me saying, "She can never be what you need her to be," the more my heart cried out, "Don’t give up! This is fated!"

Logically (to me anyway) I did have my reasons for persevering. With Veronica, more than anything, I didn’t want to be wrong. She was my first really serious, long-term girlfriend. She was the first girl I had said, "I love you" to and meant it. We had history. That’s what Veronica always said. "We need to stick this out because we have history." It had made so much sense every time she said that. We had come way too far to admit to each other – and to ourselves – that we had somehow wasted this much of our lives, failing to figure it all out. I had once told her that I would marry her for crying out loud! How could I end something like that?

Diane did just the right amount of wonderful things to keep me thinking she was perfect in every way. She would make a promise that this weekend we would just jump on a plane and fly off to Colorado together. (She worked for an airline and got cheap tickets.) She filled me with such hope for the two of us. I wanted to do everything with her. Road trips, camping, football games, crossword puzzles. Maybe I was too afraid to admit that I was wrong about this too. Maybe this strong feeling of "meant to be" was false. Maybe she just didn’t have it in her to be all that I needed her to be. Because inevitably, by the time the weekend came around, other plans had come up and our getaways to Boulder, New Orleans, Los Angeles were always postponed, never to be rescheduled.

No matter how much we resist, finally we have to give in to what we know we must do. The Band-Aid approach always seems like the healthiest way to end a relationship. One swift, definitive action so you don’t lose your nerve a few days later. But like a heroin-addict who quits cold turkey, there is still a period of de-tox. Even after breaking up with Veronica, we tried to remain friends for over two years. It took that long to figure out that we just weren’t good for each other’s lives, period. It seems like it should have been easier to get over Diane since I had moved 3000 miles away. But to me, distance was a non-issue. I would have moved back to Boston in a heartbeat if she had asked me to. So in each case, I slipped back into my old ways. Veronica and I became "friends with benefits." I wrote Diane letters telling her how much I wanted to be with her, and once again we made plans to meet somewhere in the middle courtesy of her handy flight benefits. Predictably, the savage arguing began once again. The romantic excursions were once again postponed. Once again, I found it impossible to let go of this person who had been a major part of my life for so long. And once again, I could never let go of this person whom I felt fated to be with for the rest of my life.

To let go is to admit failure. It means something didn’t work out. It means, in effect that you weren’t good enough. Rather than let go and cut our losses, we often strive and labor to prove that it’s not true, to prove that we are invincible, impervious to wasted time. So we remain; in no better position than we were before. I feared that I would never find another who knew me as well as Veronica did. I feared that I would never love again the way I loved Diane. I desperately tried to hold onto both. But, the harder I held on, the more it all seemed to squeak just beyond my grasp. I did finally concede defeat. It was quite scary; first to admit failure, and then to knowingly and willingly let what I had been striving for slip away. In the end, I left it up to blind faith. Call it fate, karma, God’s Will. Whatever. I simply had to trust that letting go was ultimately necessary in furthering my quest of finding the one.

PART III - "EMBRACING FREEDOM"