Why Do I Always End Up with Bad Boys?

I once had the perfect boyfriend…

Derrick first impressed me when he grabbed onto a telephone pole and turned his body completely horizontal, defying gravity as he held himself parallel to the pavement like a flag on a flag pole. Derrick was an athlete.

Later that night Derrick bought dinner for me and six or eight of his friends and then continued to pay the bar tab as we all danced late into the night. Derrick was rich. Derrick also was clearly the alpha male of his group.

I later found out we had both studied mathematics in graduate school. Derrick was highly educated and very smart.

Derrick and I kept in contact after I met him that night in Mexico via email. Derrick lived a few hours away from me. We emailed almost everyday for a month. We talked about books we had read, postcasts we liked to learn from and the lessons life was teaching us. We discussed spirituality and how to be the best kind of human beings we could be. We discussed how to find happiness and the reasons we were put on this plant. We questioned each other about what is behind all of this and how we can access more of that force. Derrick was enlightened and awake.

Eventually we made it a priority to spend time with each other, which was hard for both of us. Although Derrick’s business pretty much ran itself, he had two young teenage children and an ex-wife who still depended on him. I had my yoga studio which required constant attention. But we were drawn to each other like magnets.

He Needed a Project, I Needed Help

Derrick told me how his ex-wife had crushed his self esteem. He told me how his ex-wife was a woman who didn’t love herself and constantly tried to belittle him.

I told Derrick about my own self esteem issues, how I struggled with an eating disorder and a need to always prove myself to others.

Derrick needed me, he needed a project. I needed Derrick, I needed strength. And before long we began to suck the life from each other.

Derrick exhausted himself telling me I was beautiful, showering me with affection and gifts. Constantly touching me, complimenting my brain, my body and my athletic abilities.

Derrick was very successful with his business, he had also done a lot of personal internal work. Derrick was at a good spot in his life.

I was struggling financially, but I too had done a lot of personal internal work and was moving toward a good spot in my life at a pace I enjoyed. I didn’t have it all figured out but I liked it that way. I was enjoying the journey.

Derrick was at a place where I wanted to be. And he knew it. And he got off on trying to get me there.

He constantly had advice for me, ideas for my business, books to read, questions he wanted me to consider and discuss with him, always with a lesson behind it. He cared a great deal for me and he wanted to see me become as successful as he was.

I couldn’t figure out why I wanted to cry when he made me copy quotes from his quote journal into mine. I felt like I had homework every time he gave me a book. I was expected to have a report to give back to him by the end of the month on my required reading.

Of course, I could have said no. But I couldn’t find my voice.

Coach

One night he took me to play pool. Derrick was an expert pool player. I was lousy. Derrick really enjoyed playing pool because he almost always won. I hated playing because I almost always lost but I loved to watch and just hangout.

Derrick wanted me to have as much fun as he was having, which I was, but he didn’t get that. So he took it upon himself to teach me how to play pool well. He taught me how to hold the stick, how to make a bridge hand, how hard to hit the ball, what angle to choose etc.

It was overwhelming, I hated it. I said I didn’t want to learn and I wanted a break. He said,

“But that’s coachability!”

So I felt like an awful pool player and an awful student. He assured me I was neither, he told me it didn’t matter, none of it mattered and I was just fine looking cute in my skinny jeans and heals over there on the bar stool and I didn’t need to do anything to prove I was worthy of his affection and attention. He just wanted me to have a good time, that’s all.

And after that night I refused to play pool with him ever again.

But the coaching didn’t stop. And I’ll admit it, he was always right. He was an expert in many areas that I was still learning, and indeed that is what drew me to him in the first place. His goal was to increase my self esteem by helping me to become great.

But all he was doing was reminding me how much work I still had left to do. He just kept showing me my flaws.

It was the same in bed too. He wanted me to “relax and open up.” He had very strong masculine energy and he wanted to experience my most vulnerable feminine energy. But I wasn’t ready to give it to him. And so he tried to explain and coach through his body how I needed to be. He just wanted to please me. But I felt flawed.

Eventually it became a chore, just another area of my life to improve. Something I desperately wanted to get better at but just couldn’t seem to make the leap intellectually or internally. And eventually I began resisting him.

He wanted to spend more and more time with me. I wanted to spend time with him too. I knew he could offer me so much. But after just a few minutes together I would be exhausted. I listened to all he would tell me and tried so hard to enact what he was saying but try as I might I could not become perfect. And I began to pull away. I began to rebel.

We were walking along the sidewalk when he said,

“Be Careful, the sidewalk is uneven up there.”

I could clearly see the sidewalk with my own two, perfectly functioning, eyes.

So I closed my eyes and walked backwards making a show of ignoring his council.

He would say,

“You need to let down your guard and listen to your heart more.”

Need to? I don’t need to do anything!

And I would become more rigid and insist all the more on following my daily routine.

The longer it went on, the less attractive Derrick became to me. He reminded me of my Mom, always trying to improve me.

He liked me because I was a rebel

The first night I met Derrick, I had driven across the Mexican-American border alone, gotten lost in Tijuana before finally finding my way to a volleyball tournament in Rosarito Beach where I had some acquaintances playing  in the tournament who had invited me to check it out. I had no idea where I would spend the night, I had never driven in Mexico nor traveled alone in Mexico before and I really didn’t even know the people I was going to hang out with. I was just wandering the street alone looking for some dinner when I first met Derrick and his friends. He randomly invited me to join his group. Dinner in a foreign country with a bunch of strange men after we’d all been drinking all day? Fuck yeah!

That evening we danced until the early hours of the morning and I threw all caution to the wind when, without any other place to stay, I agreed to sleep in Derrick’s bed.

I was young, wild, stupid, uninhibited and free. And Derrick was drunk off of it. He was 18 years older than me, with responsibility, success and experience. Experience that he so badly wanted teach me so I could avoid some of the mistakes he had made.

And he nearly crushed the very thing he loved most about me, my wild heart, my unbridled spirit.

Bad Boy 1

Eventually I left Derrick for a guy who had one year sober and lived in his van so he could surf more. He was dangerous, simple minded, broke and a ridiculous amount of fun.

Bad boy 2 – It gets worse

The next guy I would fall hard for would be an active alcoholic, even more broke and even more dangerous. Like dangerous to the point of almost killing ourselves in a car wreck, in an earthquake, on a motorcycle and in the waves. Dangerous like machete fights and people showing up at the front door with guns and the Mexican cartel looking for us. When he was drunk he was verbally abusive and physically aggressive.

And the sex was unbelievable, drunk or sober.

Of course we crashed and burned. He wasn’t the first alcoholic I had dated and I went in with my eyes wide opened. I knew exactly what I was getting myself into: a dangerous situation. And I loved it.

The bliss of heartbreak

I also loved it when my heart broke. When I knew it was time to leave. I cried for three days straight after I left him. And I enjoyed every single one of those tears knowing that pain is the mechanism by which we know joy. To be honest, I think I still am in love with him, or the idea of him. But obviously I had to leave, it wasn’t sustainable.

Bad Boy 3, legit bad

The next guy was just as bad. And I fell hard for him too. Money, industry clout, a mansion on the beach on the north Shore of Oahu, he had it all. He also had a temper, a reputation for being feared, a very secretive past. He had me followed by “his guys” when I went out at night, “For my protection.” He told me where I could surf and where I could not. He told me when we would have sex and when my job was finished. And I loved it.

I also rebelled every chance I got. I didn’t fear him. Everyone feared him. I had him under my spell. And he loved it, we both did.

Another Beautiful Heartbreak

But my rebellious spirit took me away from him. He invited me to live with him, where I could wake up in his bed and see one of the most famous surf breaks in the world right out the front window. But I had other worlds to explore. I cried the entire 27 hour journey to Indonesia after he dropped me off at the airport. I knew we were not right for each other, that we were each feeding the other’s vises. As much as I loved it, I knew the harm I was inviting into my heart. Each tear burned with pain so sweet that I craved more. I cried as my heart once again shattered. And I savored the feeling.

The Perfect Man take 2

I recently met a guy so perfect for me. He’s a big wave surfer. Educated, well read, wealthy, profesional, athletic, healthy, and oh yeah, sober for 18 years. He’s also done a lot of personal work. He is awake and enlightened.

And he wanted to teach me; how to surf big waves, how to have better self confidence, how to let down my guard and flow more. All things he has learned, all things I really want to learn.

But they are all things I am learning in my own time, in my own way. I don’t need a coach. Sure a helpful piece of advice is appreciated, especially for surfing, but I don’t need to be told what to do. I already know what to do, I just don’t want to do it.

I want to be wild. I want danger. I want drama. I want to break the rules.

If there is one thing I don’t need it is more “shoulds.” The only things I care about are “wants.” I want to live my life.

I hate being told what to do. I know I know I know…”That’s coachability.”

But when the new guy wouldn’t stop using the words, “You should, you need to, you have to…” I wanted to lose my shit.

You know what? Fuck being coachable! I don’t give two shits about what you want to teach me! I don’t give two shits about getting “better” at a damn thing. I don’t need self improvement. I don’t need to change. I need to live, goddamnit! Leave me the fuck alone and let me be! This is my journey, so either sit back, watch me live it and appreciate me for the life I have or get out of it!

I live for the heartbreak

I take a lot of wipeouts. I surf waves I’m admittedly not ready for. I’m ready in a way. I’m ready in the sense that I don’t put others in danger and I take only risks which I am certain I can handle the consequences of. But as a result I take a lot of heavy wipeouts. I’m prepared for them. I practice breath holding, I am flexible to endure the torque on my body and I am physically fit with enough ocean experience to get myself out of a bad situation. I am physically and mentally strong enough to endure the consequences of a wipeout.

I love to wipeout. I love the feeling of surrender. I love to be under the water. I love having only myself to rely on to get back to safety as wave after wave threatens to rip me in two. I love putting my strength to the test, pushing myself to the edge of what I am physically capable of. I love the punishment.

Without the punishment I would have never felt that soul electrifying feeling of getting barreled: the ultimate expression of union with danger.

And that’s why I can’t date good guys. Because I crave the high. How would I ever know the high without the low. It turns out, I actually crave the heartbreak too!