This summer, Mike and I tried a Cohabitation Experiment: sharing an apartment for the month and a half I was in New York.

Said experiment was an epic failure.

Why was it a failure? Well, really, we just weren't ready for it.

But that's the easy answer. Plus, who didn't see that coming?

The girl: not-so-long split from a long term marriage, terrified of relationships in general, overly-analytical and prone to panic. 

The guy: has never lived with anyone before, equally skittish of a Relationship-with-a-Capital-R and all that might entail.

Obviously this was going to end badly. But just leaving it at that wouldn't give us much to discuss, would it? And who wouldn't rather pick apart all the little nuances?

Plus, in all seriousness, this "failure" was, in many ways, really good for this relationship — at least, from my end. In trying to figure out just why I had such a hard time, I think I'm in a much better position to move forward.

Having all your neuroses jump up and down on your head all at once does wonders for figuring out how to deal with them. At least, once you're done panicking.

You fall into a pattern, in a long distance thing. It's not real life, so much, when it's only a week, two weeks at a time. Real life is on hold. So when, suddenly, you're in the relationship and in real life, and sharing an unfamiliar space, and not on your regular schedule...well. Things get confusing.

But with some thought on this, with some distance — I'm less likely to make the same mistakes again.

Next Post: Specifically, balancing.