Relation-shit: advice to my younger self

There used to be a location of the now-defunct restaurant chain Bennigan's right off the west side of U.S. Highway 35 at the entrance of Round Rock, Texas - the town I grew up in. As a member of the marching band in high school, the Bennigan's and the Ihop were popular post-football game locations for high schoolers to congregate. These were the days when I would happily eat a second dinner of chocolate chip pancakes and not think twice about the potential health ramifications.

My visits to Bennigan's were many and I don't remember all of them. But I do remember sitting in an almost-empty Bennigan's after a football game in the fall of 2006, with probably about seven or eight of my peers. Among them was a senior baritone player who I'll just identify as "M." 

M was (and I imagine still is) attractive, popular and talented. He was an excellent baritone player and an even better piano player. At our annual band Christmas party, or any event with a piano ready and available, someone would undoubtedly exclaim, "M! Play Charlie Brown! Play Charlie Brown!" M would promptly take to the piano and bust out a rendition of "Linus and Lucy" that sounded perfect to our teenage ears.

In other words, as a 15-year-old who was already intimidated by anyone with the tiniest amount of confidence, I was severely intimidated by M.

That night at Bennigan's, M had a date in tow with him. She was my age, a member of the drill team. I didn't know her well, but she had been in my integrated physics and chemistry class the year before. Not the brightest bulb in the package, but she was pretty and could dance. I didn't think she was good enough for M; and suddenly, I was mad at both of them.

M's attitude toward drill team girl could only be compared to Thumper's reaction to a female bunny in the Disney film, Bambi. She told the waitress she wanted water, and M gazed at her with a big, fat grin on his face. He acted fascinated by every word that came from her mouth. I was disgusted, yet envious.

If I could go back and tell one piece of advice to my high school self, it would be to not worry about dating relationships. I was usually the only person in my friend group without a significant other. That was a big deal to me then, but it shouldn't have been.

At some point during the night, the restaurant staff began playing "Closing Time" by Semisonic. We took it as a cue to leave.

I couldn't drive yet, so my dad picked me up from the Bennigan's. We talked a bit about the football game, and at some point I brought up my disgust with M's infatuation with the drill team member.

"He agrees with everything she says," I said, rolling my eyes. 

My dad laughed.

"Just wait," he said. "In a few months, he'll be disagreeing with everything she says."

My dad may have just been saying this in passing, but it's something that I have remembered over the years. And it's something that makes better sense to me now.

As a high schooler who had never been in a serious relationship, I couldn't imagine that having a significant other would be anything but great. It seemed like the solution to my problems. I wasn't very confident, and the idea of having a guy who thought I was pretty and worth being around sounded awesome. I also didn't want to have to make my own homecoming mums.

At one point in high school, after seeing the majority of my friend group be doted over while I was passed up, I was convinced that I would be alone forever. But that changed, it seemed, almost immediately after I graduated high school. I've had a few relationships since then.

Had I not idolized the idea of having a boyfriend, and had I not seen it as the solution to a few of my problems, I probably could have avoided a few terrible dating experiences.

I don't consider any of my three previous relationships before my current one to have been "failures." My previous relationships were many things. Above all else, they were learning experiences. In order for the relationships to have succeeded, I would have had to do something that I didn't want to do: Buy a new car. Continue to be pelted with criticism veiled as "advice." Keep someone in my life who ignored me for about two whole months with no explanation, then expected our relationship to pick up where it left off.

If I had done any of those things, then I would have been a failure.

I recently realized that my current relationship is the only relationship I've had in which, by entering into it, I haven't been looking to fill a void. This has made a huge difference, for the better.

I wish I could go back in time to that night at Bennigan's, grab myself by the shoulders and tell 15-year-old Ann to snap out of it. Life doesn't begin and end in high school. You won't be alone forever. You're looking at boys with rose-colored glasses. You will learn that relationships are great, but many times they are not great. I am still figuring them out.