Two months ago, I wrote about how much I loved my boyfriend. I described our unique approach to an open relationship, and how happy it made us both to structure a life together in this way. Sure, like all couples, we had our issues. Sometimes he felt secondary, and at times, I felt like I was being smothered. We were both fully invested in being open and together, but often, these issues would arise when we went out and I shamelessly flirted with others while he didn’t (I once drunkenly fucked a woman in the bathroom while Ryan waited — obviously not a shining moment of mine).

So, we worked on finding a middle ground by having healthy ongoing conversations. We spoke openly and honestly, and neither of us blamed the other person (relationship therapists around the globe would be proud). Even with having these difficult, mature conversations, however, something still felt off. This uneasiness eventually led me to ask myself: is this just the honeymoon phase dying, or is my relationship over?

This is a quandary I have struggled with countless times over my dating career. How do I know when my partner and I are just “settling down” in our relationship, and when it’s time to move on? If things are just getting familiar, then all I need to do is grow accustomed to this new phase and learn how to navigate post-honeymoon life in a mutually fulfilling way. Couples do this all the time; but what if my feelings are an indication of something more?

Doing the things! Taking the photos! 🇬🇷 pic.twitter.com/2yI66ajSGE
— Zachary Zane (@ZacharyZane_) June 20, 2022

Like most millennials, I have anxiety, and the thing about anxiety is you never feel comfortable. This discomfort presents a challenge, certainly, but it also motivates me to get shit done. I think I am the only freelance writer in the world, for example, who has never turned anything in late, because I worry that if I wait until the last minute, something bad might happen. This type of thinking also manifests in my relationships: in the early stages I worry that I might mess things up somehow, which makes me very attentive, supportive, and communicative. But, after dating someone for a while, when I know things are going smoothly, I get comfortable. Comfort is obviously a positive thing, as long as it doesn’t turn into complacency or laziness.

The issue arises when I cannot decipher between comfort and stagnancy. Because the phenomenon of being comfortable is still relatively new to me, I often find myself conflating the two. Relationships evolve — we all know this. Obviously, there will be ups and downs. All relationships will experience times of excitement and times of familiarity, but if you are not growing in it (especially in your 20s and 30s when there is still so much left to learn and do), then I don’t think it’s just a matter of the honeymoon phase ending, but rather of not finding the right match.

So, I broke things off with Ryan. This was a tough decision because we were happy and in love, but I know it is better to break up now than to wait another two years. It took me a while to realize that with him — comfort had become stagnation. I did not feel like I was growing as a person or as a unit. I was not learning anything new about myself by being with him, and I did not feel challenged or motivated to do more or be more than I already was. I was not becoming a better person with him; instead, I was staying the same. And I do not want to be the same person I am now in ten years. I want to mature, do more, and be better. So, no matter how much I love(d) Ryan, he ultimately just was not the right man for me. It sucks, for sure, but I need to continue evolving on my journey. I am not the man I want to be. Not yet, anyway.

Published Jan 1, 2020
Updated Jun 13, 2023