I Want Me!

Can asking a simple question offer telling signs to avoid a war?

by J. Corbett Holmes

My voice is loud. It can overpower almost anyone is a room—if I want. I’m good at projecting, good at appearing extroverted and self-confident—if I want. For years people told me how much they admired my self-assurance, my leadership skills. So much so that eventually, even I believed it—until five years ago anyway.

Then, on what appeared to be just another day, a question—four little words—changed my life forever.

Seated beside my then boyfriend on a visit to the marriage and family counselor, as a last-ditch attempt to work out the issues in our war-torn relationship, the other shoe finally dropped—landing with a hard plunk on my (supposedly) confident footing. Ouch.

“Jim … What. Do. You. Want?” came hurling across the room—in the form of a yell—to my side of the infamous therapy couch. You might be wondering why the shrink was yelling. She had to. Why? Because apparently she’d already asked me the question several times. Unintentionally I hadn’t even heard it. I was busy focusing on my boyfriend. Lucky him.

Startled by her shouting—without really thinking—I blurted out, “I want to write books—and paint! And live at the beach!”

What? Where the f--k did that come from?

A moment of silence engulfed the room—taking with it the last breath uttered from my old life, the old me. It was so quiet you could hear the foundation of my/our relationship crumble into a pile of rubble on the floor between us.

Not until that day, when the psychiatrist hurled the question at me, had I ever truly stopped and thought about it. In the complexities of how I viewed the world, the question was so simple, I’d never really considered it. All of a sudden, the roses had a beauty, their smell potent with the aroma of discovery—despite a few thorny conclusions. And even though I took a licking that day—like a Tootsie Pop—I discovered something hidden in my middle. A secret taste, different from the outside I’d looked at for years.

This may all sound simple to you. Even basic. What’s the big deal? It’s just a question.

Yet, what I learned that probing day was this: Life is a transitory series of questions, filled with moments when it’s important to stop and answer.

Recently, several months into a new liaison just on the other side of infatuation, as my “special friend” and I attempted to iron out a few kinks, I realized that, yet again, I’d not stopped to ask the “What do I want?” question. Then I came to realize, neither had he. And that became another question: When is the right time to stop and take stock, ask the appropriate questions? Every day? Once a week? Monthly? After an orgasm?

So I decided to ask other people what they wanted out of life:

“I want to be happy and calm in life, in my relationship. I heard someone in my office fighting with her husband on the phone. Things shouldn’t be that hard.”

“I want to love and be loved.”

“ I want a job—OK, kidding. I want a boyfriend, a relationship where I don’t have to sleep with him every night.”

“I want someone who’ll hold my hand in the car.”

“That’s a stupid question. A million dollars of course. Seriously? I want someone who will be kind to me.”

“I want to know I can get mad and he will be there the next day.”

When I was young, I knew what I wanted. Of course, when I was young I knew everything. Then, along with every birthday, every relationship, every job, I started to know less and less. And although there was self-examination, I never got in the habit of asking the question—especially when it came to my relationships.

Perhaps it’s a question of time, of maturity. Perhaps as you proceed through the course of things there are telltale signs. Most I asked—including myself—only questioned in times of unhappiness (i.e. feeling overworked at the office, overwhelmed when paying bills—your paycheck spent before you even get it, when you look around and yet another friend has achieved one more piece of the American dream or found their soulmate and you’re still alone). Like an earthquake, only when we are shaken to our core by something painful, or difficult, do we generally stop to ask the simple question: What do I want?

As for my latest relationship (yes, it’s over), “post pondering,” I wondered about the question, the man, the union. Could I have asked it earlier? Maybe. Then why hadn’t I? Because I was too busy having a wonderful time with an amazing guy. But eventually we had to get back to the business of daily life.

To be in relationship is to be among the living. It is the natural order of things. Thus for different reasons at different times, different people posses varying potency. Every day, whether we notice or not, we’re working on our relationships skills—be it at work or with family, friends and boyfriends. We’re in a constant conversation—always exploring, questioning. Or are we?

Fast forward five years after my couple’s therapy session and things have changed. A lot. A few boyfriends have come and gone, the first book well underway—my writing a continual process—the painting and the beach house also in the works. And although I’m still figuring out the best times to stop and question, I’m constantly reminded (provoked by that day) how essential it is to stop and ask. Because to me, now more than ever, with our relationship opportunities being scrutinized, as an individual as well as a community, pondering the question within our evolving narrative is essential. Why? Because if we don’t ask and we don’t tell (and we know how that’s turning out), we will simply end up prisoners of war within.