Martin Kihn
1 July 1998
Cosmopolitan
Vol.
225, No. 1, ISSN: 0010-9541
Making a romantic commitment is like riding the Boomerang
at Great Escape--it's too expensive, it takes forever to get there, and there's
always that moment right at the top when you think, I am going to die.
Okay, commitment isn't exactly like the Boomerang: It has
no height requirement.
Don't get me wrong. I'm a born romantic. I like to cry. I
often do. But two months before I was to marry Julie, I started feeling ...
something. I couldn't figure it out. Zoning out at work, ambling into traffic.
It wasn't until I felt my heart racing in a stress-free yoga class that I
realized what was up: I was freaking out.
Whether it's walking down the aisle or just picking up a
toothbrush for her place, men freak. And it can be a jarring journey for the
women in our lives--you may well wonder why your once-steady man is now a
raving lunatic.
It's a craziness that sets in when we sense we're slipping
closer to commitment. But just because we're freaking out doesn't mean we're
having doubts about where the romance is headed. Like most men, I knew what I
was doing: marrying Julie was absolutely the tight move.
Said my heart. My bead was another story. That's where the
freakout started.
First, I heard voices. Many were mine: Now you'll never
rough it in Ghana. Then again, some belonged to that enemy of romance: my pals.
"Don't tie yourself down," said Mark--actually,
pleaded.
"Why don't you just move in with her?" asked
Robert.
"Go to grad school." (That one was my dad.)
And leave it to Randy to say, "You could do
better."
Could I? Now I would never know for sure.
That leads to the second reason guys bug out. I think we're
programmed, genetically, to want to spread our seed--uh, screw around. And
that's why when it looked like my seed--spreading days were over, I found myself
in the street comparing babes to my bride-to-be. She's taller I was thinking.
She has bigger boobs. And worse, I started to push the boundaries a little: One
night I was talking to a female friend who had red hair--the same shade I tell
Julie she'd look good with--hand I noticed my right hand lingering on her back.
That leads me to the third reason why men wig out: We're
afraid we'll fad at monogamy. That we don't have what it takes to keep it
zippered. It's a big challenge, a long hard road. Every man who makes a real
commitment is embarked on a long and dangerous journey, bracing to face enemies
he can't foresee. And he wonders, Can I pull this off?
My freakout wasn't so bad, though I was not the only one
who noticed my hand on Red's back. But Julie wasn't sucked in by the undertow
of my freakout wave; she rode out the storm instead, which is why she enjoys
the calm we now share. She somehow knew--as all women should know--it's during
that neurotic time that a man comes to grips with the fact that he can survive
the long, monogamous journey ahead.
As for me, we just celebrated our fifth anniversary. We've
had our ups and downs, of course, but nothing quite as rocky as my
commitment-to-romance jitters.