Enter The No Morphing Zone

I once wrote a story called "The Eight Hour Lunch". It was about meeting a marvelous, charming, funny, intelligent man named William for a lunch date. It was supposed to be just lunch, but it turned out to be an entire day of talking, laughing, driving, watching the rain, drinking coffee, trying on shoes, browsing for books, looking for a discontinued men's cologne and eating both lunch AND dinner together.

In my story, I write about how William and I have a conversation about how sometimes we would find ourselves "morphing" in relationships. His. Mine. You know, morphing? It's when you don't simply say what you mean because you feel that might hurt or upset the other person? It's when you agree when you really want to disagree? It's when you want to please, all the time? (Who me?) It's when you lose yourself to someone else? It's when your needs are practically non-existent? It's when you want to be the perfect match for them, no matter what? Morphing, as William and I discussed it, can happen gradually, with your full knowledge. And sometimes it just happens without any premeditation on your part. But no matter which way it does happen, inevitably, you will find yourself in a relationship that isn't satisfying, because you never made it clear who you really were or what you ever needed or even wanted.

And this isn't only in romantic relationships, it applies to all of your relationships. Friends. Family. Bosses.

At the time of this discussion, I was strongly considering taking a job across the water (and away from having to drive by the Zen-like house everyday. Look, there's absolutely no other way out of my complex, but to drive by his house. Everyday. Every single damn day. Ugh. And we think the Gods don't have a sense of humor? HA!) to become a GM of a men's clothing store. But here's the thing. I believe I was only taking the job to 'morph' into exactly what my prospective boss wanted. I wasn't taking the job because I WANTED to take it. It became more about being the 'perfect' employee for him. Because of the 'morph', I was willing to take a job that I was overqualified for, to move my children and myself 30 miles north; across the water, away from my friends, my family, the school, the community, my entire life. This comfortable place that took me 5 years to build. So I almost morphed.

Almost.

See, morphing isn't just about pleasing someone...it's about how it makes YOU feel inside. Morphing makes you the perfect person for THEM. Morphing makes you anticipate what THEY want. And when you do that? The crowds go wild for you. They can't get enough. And when I was morphing into the perfect GM for this job, it felt great for someone to go on and on about how talented I was. It was exhilarating. Like a drug. And even though it wasn't the right job for me, I was high on the adulation. So I almost morphed.

Whew. I came to my senses and didn't take the job. But it was close.

And of course, me being me (I think, therefore I don't sleep...) after talking to William about the morph, I just couldn't stop thinking about it. I thought about how often I have morphed in other relationships. And what has happened after the morph...

Look, I am not talking about the compromise. I know all about the compromise. The compromise is a damn fine thing. No one hates the compromise. I am talking about something else entirely. It's like painting, and blending yourself to the point of being another color.

Hmmm.

It was good to finally have a name for it. Morph. Morphing. Morphed. Now the voice (hey, at least it's not voices...) in my head can name the behavior that I wanted to avoid. 'Rose, don't morph. Don't get back on that motorcycle. Don't do it.' And that in itself? Delightful.

Although I don't have any definite answers about how NOT to morph (but I am working on it), at least it has a name. I can define it and recognize it and know when it's about to rear its' ugly head. Hey, maybe I am simply taming it? Who knows. But what I do know? I don't want to live in the morphing zone ever again.

And what about the story I wrote of William and the Eight Hour Lunch? Well, in the end of the story I realize that on that day he might have simply been morphing for me. (And believe me, he did a fine job. Truly.) But then later when we made a pact never to morph in a relationship again? Well, as luck would have it? I never heard from him again.

Ah, the power of the No Morphing Zone. It can be a lonely, but virtuous place.