My travel schedule conflicts with certain important dates for A: one week, in particular, when he’s wanting support and I may not be able to be there. As we went over our calendars recently, that weekend was a sticking point. The solution we arrived at, in conjunction with A’s out-of-town partner, M, was for M to plan a longer visit—which she’s overdue for anyway—for that week. The ability to make these sorts of arrangements is one of the reasons I love having metamours. I jokingly say (never within A’s earshot) that it’s like having someone you can always rely on to feed the cat.
I remember the first time I felt compersion. A had just been to visit M, about three months into their relationship, and she posted a picture on her blog of the two of them. He had an incredibly serene, blissful smile on his face. It was the first time in years I could remember seeing him that happy. I felt a rush that was nearly euphoric—it took me quite by surprise. I’d imagined compersion as a warm, happy feeling, but one that was more cerebral—not a visceral, physical emotion like lust or love or rage, which it was, for me. (I want to know why this happens. I would love for someone to study the phenomenon of compersion in depth, someday, the different ways in which people experience it, and how and why it might have evolved.)
A has two other partners, M and R. The three of us call ourselves “Team A” (which sounds much better when you insert his real name). I like that idea: that we’re all on the same team to support (and enjoy) this amazing person whom we all love.
I love that I’m not the only person A has to support him. I love that he has other people to bring joy into his life, and I’m immensely grateful for the opportunities they’ve provided him to grow and change. I love watching his relationships with them unfold.
