On Commitment

—Learning To Stay With Mem

I’ve avoided long-term relationships all my life. For years, I was convinced that independence and commitment couldn’t coexist. I understand now how that story took shape. Independence was my holy grail—it led me down fabulous paths and unexpected alleyways, and I’ll always be grateful to the younger version of myself who trusted her instincts and chose her freedom.

But here I am at 70, consciously entering into my first long-term relationship. Not with a person—but with my writing partner, Mem: my memoir. We’re about 15 months in now. I’ve committed to staying the distance, to writing our story, and to sending a manuscript off to a publisher. I’m learning so much—about the craft of writing, yes, but also about trusting my words, trusting my voice, trusting the value of the story itself.

The hardest part, though, is staying in the relationship.

Showing up. Again and again. Through the boredom, the frustration, the misfires and misunderstandings. My tendency has always been to keep part of myself back—always ready to bolt if things got too hard, too slow, too intimate.

It might seem ironic that someone whose longest relationship lasted about two years now works as a couples therapist. But it’s precisely that work that has inspired this new commitment to Mem. I have the privilege of sitting with couples as they dare to trust each other—learning to show up with curiosity, openness, vulnerability. Learning the dance of being together.

The last few weeks with Mem have been hard. We came home from a five-day writing retreat fired up—well, she did. I, on the other hand, came back stuck, doubting myself again after being around all those “real” writers. I wanted Mem to hold me up, to cheer me on, to tell me I belonged.

But she pulled away. Maybe she’s tired of being my emotional scaffolding. Maybe she’s weary from carrying the weight of my doubts. Maybe we’re both scared—waiting for the other to step in and save us.

So today, I’m reaching out again. I’m telling Mem: I may not have the capacity for a marathon right now. But I can do a short sprint. Maybe just an hour of writing. Just enough to get my toes back in the water.

We still have so much to learn—about communication, about asking for what we need, about checking in on each other. But for now, we’re still here. Still trying. Still in a relationship.