Mating in Captivity, pt. 1

I'm reading the fabulous book "Mating In Captivity:  Unlocking Erotic Intelligence" by Esther Perel, who is a couples therapist in NYC.  I like this book because I love her approach.  This is a not a how-to guide for successful relationships (at least, it's not yet-I'm only three chapters in).  It's about how we have two major drives:  one is for the unknown, and one is for stability.  When we first get into a relationship with another person, we are exhilarated by all their thrilling, mysterious qualities.  Every gesture is compelling, every movement gives us another little hint into their being.

So what do we want to do with all this newness?  We want to be sure that it is ours, fully and completely.  We wish to domesticate it, to fuse completely with the other.  We want to know every secret so that there are no surprises.  And once we've figured it all out, what do we want to do with all this newfound knowledge?  Does it compel us to feel more intimate?  Of course not-this causes us to be bored.

I made the mistake of starting this book on the same day I saw "Vicky! Christina!  Barcelona!" (wouldn't recommend pairing the two activities-I felt a bit bleak about love that day-but I kept reading and felt better).  Perel says that we try to bridge the fusion with others as a way of dealing with our own discomfort at being alone or separate.  If we can learn to exist with our anxiety without the need to rush toward another, we can actually continue to keep the erotic and intimate connection in relationship because we can see the other person as a separate being, still full of mystery.

I've often had this conversation with friends who say that it is easiest to be either completely enmeshed with another-or completely uncaring.  What seems most difficult is the attempt to be fully engaged without losing oneself.  This applies to all our relationships (romantic and non) with people in our lives-allowing ourselves to coexist with others while resisting the urge to completely traverse the space between us.  

In "Before Sunset,"  the Julie Delphy character says that God is witnessed in the space between two people, in our attempts to understand one another.  I love the idea that by resisting the urge to feel that space, we actually have the space to see others (and ourselves) anew.

Here's my question to you:  how do you regard the space between you and others?  Do you rush to fill it?  Or are you so far away from others that the distance is too far to traverse?