My partner had a family commitment, and I wanted to see her. Instead of asking her to cancel it, I kept wondering whether we could spend time together around it. Somewhere along the way, my love life acquired a one-person scheduling department.
From “I'm free” to a sudden family errand
She said she had no plans, so I suggested going out. Then something came up: she needed to help a family member study.
Fair enough. I floated another idea. She couldn't do today, but suggested a different day. She also apologized on her own for having such a packed schedule and not being able to put our time together first very often.
My reasonable brain understood. My less reasonable brain was waving a tiny sign: “But I want to see you!”
I wasn't trying to take her time away. I wanted to combine it
At first, I thought I wanted to be a higher priority. But the more I explained myself, the more specific the wish became.
If she wants to go somewhere, could we go together? If she has something she enjoys doing, could I join? Could an existing plan sometimes become shared time instead of disappearing from the calendar?
In other words, I wasn't always asking for a bigger slice of her schedule. I was asking whether two people could fit into one slice.
That has limits. Having your partner present while you tutor a family member might be distracting or inappropriate. I don't know what responsibilities she had agreed to take on. Some activities simply belong to her and her family.
Still, when it does make sense, why not try? Apparently, my solution to a crowded calendar is to look for the “merge events” button.
My inner invitation machine has no off switch
I caught myself thinking of Lejat from the manga Hyperinflation, a character who keeps coming up with elaborate ways to draw someone into spending time with him. His motives in the story involve strategy; mine are much less sophisticated.
I miss my partner. That's it.
I find somewhere interesting and invite her. I think of something we might do together and invite her. One idea doesn't work, so my brain opens another planning tab.
There is an important condition: an invitation has to remain easy to decline. Coming up with options is my choice; accepting them is hers. A stack of suggestions shouldn't turn into a stack of obligations.
“She never invites me” is a flawed measurement
For a second I wondered why I was almost always the one suggesting a date.
Then I remembered: I suggest things ridiculously fast.
A place catches my eye. I message her. I suggest a day. Sometimes I have the backup plan ready before she has had time to consider the first one.
When one person is consistently first, the other person's lack of invitations says very little about what they would have wanted to initiate. I'm not measuring a lack of interest; I may simply be outrunning the opportunity to see it.
There's no need to manufacture a silence test. I enjoy asking her out. What matters more is whether we can actually agree on time together and whether she offers workable alternatives.
She feels safe saying what she wants. I want that freedom, too
She didn't simply refuse. She suggested another day and apologized without being prompted. Later, she said she liked that she could voice her wishes without worrying that I'd dislike her for it.
That meant a lot. It suggested she had noticed the respect I was trying to show.
But respect needs room for both people. If the replacement plan keeps falling through, I can say I miss her and want us to protect some shared time. Neither her family nor my disappointment needs to be turned into a villain.
After all that reflection on family, boundaries, initiative and scheduling, my final thought was hilariously short:
I WANT TO SEE HER.
Six paragraphs of strategy. One sentence of actual motivation.
