Is the Grass Really Greener?

There are relationships we should walk away from.

Some become destructive. Some become unsafe. Some simply reach a point where whatever once held two people together is no longer there.

But I sometimes wonder whether walking away can also become the easier option.

Not necessarily the better one.

Just the easier one.

Relationships change.

The person we fell in love with changes.

We change too.

Life gets involved.

Work. Money. Children. Mortgages. Illness. Responsibility. Familiarity.

The conversations that once lasted until two in the morning can become discussions about who is picking something up on the way home.

The person who once seemed endlessly fascinating becomes the person whose stories we have heard before.

And somewhere along the way, another person can appear.

Someone new.

Someone who listens.

Someone who laughs at our stories because they haven’t heard them before.

Someone who seems interested in what we think.

Someone without twenty years of arguments, disappointments, compromises and history attached to them.

And suddenly the grass on the other side of the fence can look remarkably green.

Perhaps it is.

But there is something slightly unfair about the comparison.

We may be comparing the beginning of one relationship with the middle — or even the difficult part — of another.

The new relationship hasn’t had time to accumulate dirty dishes yet.

It hasn’t had the arguments about money.

Nobody has forgotten an anniversary.

There are no old wounds waiting quietly in the background.

Nobody has spent twenty years discovering precisely which buttons to press when annoyed.

The grass hasn’t necessarily proved itself greener.

Nobody has walked on it yet.

And perhaps there is another question worth asking before we climb over the fence.

What are we taking with us?

Because wherever we go, rather inconveniently, we take ourselves.

If we felt unappreciated in one relationship, will we eventually feel unappreciated in another?

If we stopped communicating, will changing the person automatically make us better at communicating?

If we carried old hurts until they became resentment, will those disappear because the scenery has changed?

If we needed to win every disagreement, will the next person somehow make that need disappear?

Perhaps.

People affect each other differently. A relationship can bring out parts of us that another one never did.

But perhaps not.

Sometimes the problem really is the relationship.

Sometimes the problem really is the other person.

And sometimes, uncomfortable though it may be to consider, part of the problem may be us.

That doesn’t mean we should remain in an unhappy relationship simply because we might share responsibility for its problems.

Nor does it mean every relationship can be repaired.

Two people can grow in different directions.

Trust can be damaged beyond repair.

Love can disappear.

And sometimes staying together can cause considerably more harm than separating.

But I wonder whether we sometimes make a decision about leaving before we have really understood what it is we are leaving.

Are we leaving the person?

Or the way the relationship has become?

Are we looking for somebody else?

Or are we looking for the way we feel about ourselves when we are with somebody new?

That may not be quite the same thing.

There is an intoxicating quality to being seen through fresh eyes.

For a while, we are new again too.

Our stories are interesting.

Our opinions haven’t been heard a hundred times.

Our faults haven’t become familiar.

Perhaps we even rediscover parts of ourselves that disappeared somewhere beneath responsibility and routine.

That feeling can be very real.

But new eventually becomes familiar too.

Life eventually gets involved again.

There will be responsibilities.

There will be disappointments.

There will almost certainly be dirty dishes.

And eventually two new people become two people with a history.

Perhaps that is when we discover whether we found greener grass — or simply another field.

There is another part of walking away that I think deserves consideration.

Relationships rarely exist entirely between two people.

There may be children.

Families.

Friends.

Shared histories.

Traditions.

People who love both of you and suddenly find themselves standing somewhere in between.

That doesn’t mean two people should remain together for everybody else’s sake.

That can create its own misery.

But neither does it mean that ending a long relationship happens in isolation.

There can be consequences extending far beyond the two people making the decision.

Which perhaps makes the decision worth taking slowly.

Not fearfully.

Not indefinitely.

Just honestly.

Have we said what needed saying?

Have we listened?

Have we dealt with what happened between us, or simply accumulated it?

Have we tried to repair what can be repaired?

Have we looked as critically at ourselves as we have at the other person?

And perhaps the hardest question:

Are we walking towards something better — or simply away from something difficult?

I don’t think there is a universal answer.

Sometimes walking away may be the most courageous thing somebody can do.

But perhaps sometimes staying, talking, changing, forgiving, compromising and rebuilding requires courage too.

And maybe a relationship doesn’t always have to return to what it once was in order to survive.

Perhaps it can become something different.

Older.

Less exciting perhaps.

But deeper.

More understanding.

More forgiving of the fact that neither person turned out quite as expected.

I don’t know.

But before deciding that life would necessarily be better on the other side of the fence, perhaps it is worth looking down for a moment.

Maybe the grass we are standing on doesn’t need replacing.

Maybe it needs some attention.

And if, after everything, we still decide to climb over the fence, at least we may understand why we are going.

And what we are taking with us.

A conversation shouldn’t be one-sided.

You may agree with some of this, disagree completely, or have an experience of your own to share. Either way, I’d be interested to hear what you think.