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Q and A: My significant other is jealous, and I think that’s unreasonable. What do I do?

The Q: My significant other is jealous, and I think that’s unreasonable. What do I do?

The A: When I was 20, I sort-of-dated a bassist in a rock band. From behind merch tables in crowded church halls, I watched him sign posters with Sharpies and take pictures with fans. While he stood and smiled surrounded by flirty girls, I pretended not to feel what I probably usually felt: mildly jealous.

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To be jealous is to “feel or show suspicion of unfaithfulness in a relationship.” To express jealousy is, in my observation, on a lot of peoples’ unwritten lists of “what not to do while you’re dating.” We are probably hesitant to express jealousy while we date because the phrases “jealous person” and “unreasonable person” are often — and wrongly — used interchangeably. Continue reading “Q and A: My significant other is jealous, and I think that’s unreasonable. What do I do?”

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The Lost Art of Moderation

You’ve probably heard of the Stanford marshmallow experiment. In the ’60s and ’70s, Walter Mischel — a psychologist at Stanford University — put one preschooler at a time at a desk on which he had placed a bell and a couple marshmallows or other treats equally tough for a kid to resist.

“The researcher told each child that he had to leave, but that when he returned, she could eat both marshmallows,” wrote Michael Bourne in a January 2014 New York Times Magazine article. “If she wanted one marshmallow before then, however, she could ring the bell and eat one, but not both.”

Once alone, the children stared at the marshmallows, or sniffed them, or buried their faces in their hands while they pined, or ate the marshmallows like all that is good depended on their digestion. The study, which discerned differences between people who delay gratification and people who don’t, points to an important truth: We are not unlike preschoolers who are left alone with marshmallows.

We have urges, desires, interests, instincts. We want stuff, like to flirt with or date somebody. Some of us are inclined to get or do what we want as soon as we want to get or do it. Few of us consider this: like for the preschoolers who agreed to wait 15 minutes because it meant two marshmallows instead of one, there are good reasons to delay action, even if what you want’s within your reach.

But we resist it because moderation is a lost art.

Continue reading “The Lost Art of Moderation”

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Q and A: Doesn’t cohabitation work for some people?

Last year, in a guest post called “On Moving In Together” on Devotional Diva, I challenged the practice of living with a significant other before your wedding.

For some, I wrote, “cohabitation is a litmus test. If it works, you get married. If it doesn’t, you don’t. Because (for them,) it’s better to say ‘I’ll love you if…’ instead of ‘I’ll love you despite what’s yet to come…’ For others, cohabitation is like a practice run. If you like it, you commit. If you don’t like it, you call it quits.”

A response to the story sparked this, the latest installment of Q&A:

The Q: “What about couples who live together, get married, and are together the rest of their lives? Couldn’t you argue that it works some, but not all, of the time?” -Corinna

The A: I am certain there are couples who cohabit, marry later, and live as happily ever after as humanly possible. But I won’t argue that it therefore works for some and not for others. This is because “living together before marriage” is not the “it” that works for the couples whose marriages last. Love is the only “it” that works. Some couples who cohabit have it, and others (I’d argue most) don’t.

Click here to read “On Moving In Together.”

[callout] Q&A is an occasional feature. If you have a Q, I can come up with an A (and if I don’t have an A, I’ll find somebody who does). To submit a question, click here. No topic is taboo (although I can’t promise I will answer every question). Click here to read all the posts in this series. [/callout]

A version of this post originally appeared on the blog in 2013.

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The Lost Art of Discernment

I smiled at the face on my computer’s screen — a MySpace profile pic of a Christian boy with bright eyes and a bass guitar.

He was 21 and part of a band made up of a handful of my friends. I was 19 and had seen enough to come to a quick conclusion:

I should date him.

We texted and talked, and felt tethered to each other before we ever met face to face. I chose him, and he chose me, and we forged onward, determined to share life without discerning whether we should.

This is because discernment is a lost art. We cross paths with a person whose gaze raises our heart rate, whose humor gets us every time, or who gets us. We are physically attracted to him or her, and mentally distracted by his or her presence (or absence). We decide with haste to date him or her based mostly (if not solely) on what we feel when we first meet, without acknowledging dating’s purpose: to discern marriage.

The result? We aim in dating to maintain the warm, fuzzy feelings that brought us together. We date without discerning. But discernment is an art we can bring back, if we ask important questions while we date, including but not limited to these:

Do I know the truth about this person? Continue reading “The Lost Art of Discernment”

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The Lost Art of Conversation

You know what’s weird?

I’ll tell you.

I answered the phone at work once, the way I do…

“Tampa Bay Times!”

What’s supposed to happen next is standard procedure: the person who dialed my desk explains why he or she called. But this day, my greeting didn’t elicitan explanation. Instead, it elicited silence. Awkward silence.

So I broke it: “…um, is there something I can do for you?”

“Yes,” the woman said.

Then the woman stopped talking. So I spoke again:

“…um, can you tell me what it is that I can do for you?”

“Yes,” she said. Then she stopped talking again. Continue reading “The Lost Art of Conversation”