The problem with butterflies

Previously, my only standard has been, “Does this person give me butterflies and make me feel good about myself?” Predictably, these relationships have never lasted (or ended) well. The problem is, butterflies feel so nice, don’t they? That serotonin hit when a message pops up on your phone or when they randomly pop into your head is truly addictive. But, at around three months in, the butterflies have gone, and what’s left does not form the foundations for a lasting relationship. Oh, that standard is perfect for a brief fling, a one night stand, no strings attached—simple instant gratification—but I’ve been applying the success criteria to a situation that requires something altogether different, haven’t I? I’m only just realising (accepting, really) that you can’t build a decent relationship on butterflies. (I just googled, “How long do butterflies live?” The average is two to four weeks, though in rare cases they can live for nearly a year. The perfect analogy for relationships I’ve had! Is this why they’re called butterflies? Because of how fast they die, rather than the fluttery feeling of excitement they trigger in your belly?)

I’d like to be in a situation where I’m excited to see someone; where there are genuine knots of anticipation… that feeling when you feel a little bit sick with nerves until you’ve had the first few sips of wine. However, I also want them to be pretty sorted. I don’t mean I’m looking for perfection, god knows I’m certainly far from that! I’d just like to be with someone who’s in the same ball park as me: someone who has a job and their own home, someone who is able to drive, and has interests outside of drinking/porn/playing X–Box, and someone who, if they are a parent, has kids who are by now pretty much independent of them. Oh, and someone who’s not a dick. That’s important. The most important. Total lack of dickishness is imperative.

“Yes! Yes! That’s what I’m saying!”