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From The New York Times, I’m Anna Martin. This is the Modern Love Podcast.
I watch a lot of romantic comedies these days, and my thing is, it’s like I’ve been watching them, and I, too, this dating advice sucks.
I don’t take this matter seriously. But when I was younger, I somehow did. When you’re young and impressionable and don’t have much romantic experience, you can sometimes rely on movies to give you an idea of what dating and love might be like. At least that’s what Garrett Schlichte did. This week’s article is authored by MacLeod Andrews.
“I don’t know Garrett,” my sister said on the phone.
“I just really like him. I go crazy every time I see him, you know?”
“Oh, yes, I know, girl,” I said. “Being there.”
But did I exist?
My sister is 14 years old and has just started her freshman year of high school. I’m 28 years old and at the bottom of my professional ladder, still trying to figure out what I want my life to be like.
My sister is exactly half my age, but every time we talk, we become more alike mentally and emotionally, which doesn’t bother me at all. Many young girls these days seem to me more developed, more powerful, and more in touch with their emotions than the average person. The way I see it, the younger I am, the more likely I am to be a better person.
But that day, I had never felt so far from the person on the other end of the line.
“We made eye contact,” he said, “and then he waved at me and I waved, and then I had to turn around and walk away because I was absolutely blushing.”
When he finished speaking, I started to cry. I made up a clumsy excuse to end the call, something about getting the job done, and then I sat on my bed with my head in my hands and let the tears drip down my cheeks onto my gold-painted toenails.
“Thank God I painted them,” I thought, “otherwise it would look absolutely ridiculous.” Why was I crying?
My sister was only 4 years old when I left home. I visit often and talk on the phone several times a week, but there are some things digital communication can’t make up for. It’s better that I’m not there to help with the math homework I suck at, but I wish I could be there to understand your reading and pick out your graduation gown.
I was also crying out of gratitude that he wanted to talk to me about this funny love affair. But most of all, I was crying for myself, for the 14-year-old me who had never experienced what my sister went through.
When I was in the second grade, I once got in trouble for proposing to a girl with craft paper cut in the shape of an orange heart. She wore a pair of leopard print platform shoes to my birthday party, so naturally I thought we should be together.
They laughed when his parents were called to a meeting with our teacher in their minds. I don’t know if my father was more relieved or proud. At least I stopped talking about leopard print platform shoes.
As a secretive queer teenager, I wanted to make sure I wasn’t in love. For me, there was no grade passed with friends in class, no flushing after brushing hands. I’ve used movies, music, and books to mourn my teenage love life over and over.
Without the opportunity to personally experience romantic relationships, I was left on the sidelines to learn from the wonders. I learned from Julia and Reese and Bette and Angela and Sarah Jessica and Mindy and Meryl and Diane. I memorized scenes from romantic comedies and read the dialogue in the dark, in my bedroom, with the door locked, tears streaming down my eyes as I tried to evoke emotions I longed to experience in real life.
When I woke up the next day, I was recreating the Oscar-winning moments that left me empty in the mirror. I was trying to catch an innocent new version of love. When you’re young, you learn about romantic feelings without the pressure of the rest of your life. You live in a world where questions about settling down, who the exes are, and when you can move in are largely inappropriate and impractical.
My sister can embrace her teenage loves and have fun so she’ll be able to develop an emotional skill set that I didn’t have in my 20s and was still lacking. Ten years before I allow myself to admit that I have these feelings, he will be able to process the electric attraction and aching jealousy.
She will sing about her first love instead of smothering it like a secret. Our parents pepper him with advice and concern, and they’ll be there to comfort him the first time he’s heartbroken, a rite of passage when I need it.
The first time I had a real relationship fight, I was 24 years old and it was as stupid as my boyfriend making us late for a movie. I had zero skill in how to deal with conflict – any conflict in a relationship – and I knew it.
“I am sad!” I wanted to scream.
“Sorry, I don’t have any practice in this. Sorry, all those movies and songs don’t help when it comes to the real world. I’m sorry I didn’t hold anyone’s hand until I was in my 20s, and I didn’t kiss anyone I cared about until then. I’m sorry now that you’re the one I had to find out about.”
I didn’t say any of these though. I just sat there, wishing I had a different adolescence.
The movies and television shows I learned about were full of great women, but they were all straight characters, all straight relationships, all straight love stories, and all straight rules. Yes, love is love and yes love wins (sometimes!). But also, yes, love and relationships are different for queer people. And so are the rules that govern them.
While I appreciate the ever-growing pool of queer love stories, watching them in adulthood doesn’t quench my deep thirst for the direct experience I felt in my youth. Watching a love story doesn’t make up for joining your own story.
The last time we spoke, my sister said, “I have straight A’s and now I think someone else is in love with me.”
I felt an urgent urge to advise her, to tell her that at her age she should take notes before romantic interest, but I stopped myself. We must have the perfect ability to celebrate two exciting things at once without having to embarrass one of them. Anyway, who am I to give relationship advice?
“I don’t think I love him,” she said, “but I think we can be really good friends. I’ll figure it out.”
Yes, it will. Yes, it will.
I’ll probably have to wait another half decade before I can give my sister any helpful relationship advice. And by then he’ll probably be so far ahead of me that he won’t even need it. Until then, I look forward to learning with him, separated by age and distance, but linked to the idea that one day each of us might find our perfect love.
When we get back, we’ll hear a Tiny Love Story about longing to be closer to someone you love.
I’ll just check to see if this still happens. OK.
Hello, my name is Lucy Coulson. This is my Little Love Story:
“I look at your girlfriend with envy. She knows him as I do. Tell me about him, I want to say.
Tell me how you like your coffee, when was the last time you cried, how you looked when you slept. Tell me how you said good night, wrote poems, or how it was with your family. Tell me what you said about his childhood, his family, his sister. Tell me if you want children, dogs, houses in Japan. Tell me about your theories about life, about your nightmares, about your secrets.
Please, I want to say.
Tell me about my brother.”
My brother’s name is Declan. He is 3 and 1/2 years younger than me. I am 29 years old, I just turned 29 and he is 25 years old. We were very close growing up. We used to do it right before Christmas – and Christmas Eve, we’d sleep in my bed. And I remember when that stopped, that’s when things started to change a lot.
I feel like we had a childhood together in my mind and then we skipped the middle part. I had a good five years without knowing him. He was about 16, 17, so I, yes, would have been about three years older than him. He started struggling with an addiction and pulled many things out of his life. I guess he wasn’t there anymore physically and mentally.
And in the midst of all this, I decided to go to Copenhagen for an exchange. And when I moved to Copenhagen, I guess that made emotional distance physical, because suddenly we were 15,000 kilometers apart. And not the best in communication. So at least digitally. It was really hard because all of a sudden I was away and we didn’t talk anymore.
I didn’t know him at all. Coming home once a year for a few weeks – and he always did very well with the ladies, never had a problem there. He is somewhat attractive. So actually I would come home every year and I would have a new girlfriend. And I remember looking at them in awe, almost like, wow, how much you know.
You know so much that I couldn’t even imagine knowing about my brother. I don’t know, yeah, like how he talks to you and what kind of person he is when his family isn’t around. And that’s where this story was born.
I think our relationship has kind of reached its second phase, or I guess you could call it the adult phase. Maybe it was around the time this story was published.
He was really impressed by it. In a way, I think it’s an awakening for him. I remember we were texting about it, and she kind of fell silent. Then I got some messages from him saying that I deserved better and that he wished to be a better brother. I also let her know that I don’t blame her for anything that happened between us.
As we are getting closer to each other, I don’t think many of the questions I asked have been answered. But somehow, they didn’t need to be. I know we left this behind. And I don’t need to know his secrets. I don’t need to know about his lifelong goals because knowing him is enough now.
Modern Love is produced by Julia Botero and Hans Buetow. Edited by Sarah Sarasohn. This episode was mixed by Elisheba Ittoop. The Modern Love theme music is by Dan Powell. Original music throughout this episode by Dan Powell and Marion Lozano. Special thanks to Ryan Wegner at Mahima Chablani’s digital production and Audm. The Modern Love column is edited by Dan Jones. Miya Lee is the editor of Modern Love projects.
I am Anna Martin. Thanks for listening.
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