Both Sides Now

I wrote this last week, but internet was out and didn't have a chance to post it. At the moment I seem to be throwing myself back into the internet dating world, and have several dates lined up. And all the men have to compete with "John", but sooner or later, maybe something will click?

John said “Watch the pot” (referring to the soup reference from the previous entry), and all that goes through my head is “A Watched Pot Never Boils.”

But a couple of nights' sleep (isn’t sleep a wonderful thing?!) has given me a little more perspective. I think I know what I want (and that is a powerful thing, isn’t it?). I want to not have regrets about John in a few years. In a few years, if we aren’t together, I want to look back on him fondly and exchange Christmas Cards. What would destroy me is if he turns into another replay of Edmund. But John is no Edmund. Edmund, I think, was using me to boost his ego. Edmund had a great difficulty getting date. John could actually get dates quite easily and doesn’t need some chick to boost his ego. Furthermore, John and I have talked about this situation openly.

If I look at it from his side, I see that he has invested a lot of time and energy. And if I were to guess his most kind (and he is kind) response to my last entry, he would say “Yeah--the J-Girls were a disaster--isn’t that a good reason to try this a different way? I care about you--it is a chance, and you have to assess whether the possible risks outweigh the possible gains.” And if he asked me that, yes I would say the rewards outweigh the risks. I think

That said, I really can’t just wait. I need to figure out how to move on with my life. If something happens with John, that would be lovely. But I can’t turn into some crazy stereotype of an old-maid librarian with 71 cats. Anyone want to adopt a cat? Or 67?

I’m not going to cut John out of my life or my soul. I don’t think I’d have the willpower, even if I tried. But I can’t do this 50-e-mails-a-day routine. And I need to be less emotionally open with him.

I live in an area not particularly famous for its great weather. Rain is a well-known price for living here. But so often, it is how you look at things. The clouds this weekend were incredible:

Ice-cream castles in the air

And feather canyons everywhere.

It’s clouds’ illusions I recall. I really don’t know clouds at all.

Castles in the air. So beautiful, if you can appreciate the moment and not worry about getting absolutely soaked before you make it home to safety.

John has never understood why being open is linked to being vulnerable, but, for me, it absolutely is. “If you care, don’t let them know. Don’t give yourself away.”

‘Don’t give yourself away:’ that has been my motto for so much of my life. That sense that my introspection, my soul, my deepest fears and strongest desires--it is a limited resources. And I have to say, it is incredibly limited when it is not cherished. I’ve finished my romance novel, and 3 of my friends (and a friend of a friend who is a professional) are SO excited about it--so enthusiastic, and supportive--it makes it easier. But those people who have criticized the parts of it that are surrogates for me at my most vulnerable, they don’t realize how much it affects me, because they have no clue what is my imagination (I don’t actually live in India in just before the Great War ), nor does my family work for the crown with me trying desperately to escape colonial expectations of strict gender roles (sounds like a great romance novel, no? I’m looking for an agent...)). So when a friend said “Oh, there’s no way your character would be so weak just because a guy said “X” to her” I wanted to scream--“Don’t you see? That’s ME!”

So, in a way, John is right--it isn’t disclosure that makes me vulnerable. It is rejection around the non-public parts of me. And rejection is SO what I’m risking right now. I know John would say “Patience isn’t rejection.” But putting myself out there, whether in my personal or my professional life, it is very hard. And to do it over and over. I used to be able to. I lost that reservoir of resilience after 9-11 and haven't been able to build it back up.

“Something’s lost, but something’s gained in living every day.” What is lost? Safety. Security. A sense that if someone only knew me, that would be enough. The real me wouldn’t have been scrutinized and found wanting, so maybe I’m lovable--it is just my persona that isn’t. That is safer.

What is gained in living every day? Vitality. Truth. Honest Joy accompanied by honest sorrow and honest pain.

Intellectually, I’ll always choose the latter. Viscerally, it is harder to tell.

Confiar

In Spanish, Confiar means “to confide in” and “to rely on.” And for me, the two really are the same. It isn’t possible to separate them. As I started to confide in my blog, I relied on it. I’m embarrassed that I care about the occasional comment. The mere fact that occasionally people write is a form of acceptance. And as I started to confide in John, that was far, far more. It was an embrace and a dance.

If there are any long-time readers, you can save yourself some time by just remembering the blog from a little over a year ago. This is three moments from the last day (my internet is out, and oh, is this a difficult time for my internet to be out!) It is less intense this time, but in a way more devastating, because, well it was much more of me and there was just about nothing left of my public persona. I completely misunderstood John. I thought he was seriously considering us. I thought he thought that I was someone he wanted to play ‘for keeps’ with. And he does want to want to, but he doesn’t want to, if that makes sense. Intellectually, I’m what he wants, but something isn’t right. He likes hanging out and he’s open to keeping a finger in the wind, to see if it changes. He said: “All the ingredients are there. I don’t understand why it’s not soup.” I was everything he told himself he wanted. But it wasn’t enough.

And that is one of the most devastating things anyone has ever said. I know John would say this is absolutely not what he means. But to me, what it says is: “Wow--you are right. I totally thought you were wrong, but having taken the time to get to really know all of you--I can’t love you.” I believe he would say, "I want to give it time to see if something changes.” And if (when) it doesn’t work I expect he would say: “it isn’t you--it’s just us. You’re actually pretty amazing.”

I still think, though, if John and I were physically intimate, it would gel. I do believe that is the missing ingredient--the cornstarch if you will. But he doesn’t, and he isn’t willing to try and see. And I do appreciate that he doesn’t want to hurt me (as if that were possible, but still--he could hurt me more). He can’t be physically intimate with me, unless he knows we’ll work, and I don’t believe we can know that unless we’re physically intimate. He thinks time might solve it. I think sex probably would.

But it isn’t time I’m scared to give. I feel like, with him, I was a butterfly, living on the end of a pin in a display case. Leaving means ripping part of my soul out from under that pin. Staying means confirming my worst fear about myself. It means trading the possibility for a soul mate for a good friendship.

I regret little. I had to try and see if things would work, or I wouldn’t be able to let go of John (not that I know how I'd do that right now) and I’d have massive regrets at being scared to try. I can’t regret not playing games because the authenticity of our friendship is what brought it value. I do regret that I couldn’t be the person he saw on that first date, the only time he has referred to me as his girlfriend. But, re-reading our correspondence, I really couldn’t. We met because he really wanted to explore S&M and there were several things he said that would freak me out if he said them today. I do believe I was right then even if I wish I were different.

I think, and I don’t think it is just me reacting in pain, I think I can’t do this anymore. I can’t want something that I’m obviously never going to have. And I don’t mean “John.” I mean a life-partner. Did you ever see that Judy Dench movie where she plays an old spinster school teacher, and talked about the aching loneliness of not being touched for decades? Maybe she would be happier if she hadn’t hoped for something more. Maybe it is the act of wanting more that makes the pain so much greater. There’s one man I promised a month ago I’d go out with when he gets back from Japan in a couple of weeks. And then, I think, that’s it. No more dating for me. I’m too tired and too broken. Of course, if I meet someone in a bookstore, and we’re both reading the same thing and start a conversation and magic happens, I’ll be open. But I don’t believe in magic.
I can’t be satisfied with someone like my ex. I just can’t. Even if he had been kinder in bed, it wouldn’t have worked. I need someone care about me, to want to plumb the depths of introspection, to be truly, vitally, alive. Or I can’t be with him. It might work for a year. But not for a life. And so maybe, I need to just let go of that dream. To know that it doesn’t happen to people like me. Our society is too fucked up. A fraction of a single percent of men would explore the introspection that is far more vital to me than I care to admit. Maybe I just need to hire a shrink and a masseuse. Pay someone to care about my feelings and someone to touch me, and to find other things in my life to focus on. Get a dog. Dogs always love.

My astrologist (yes, I go to an astrologist once a year, and he’s great and it is very helpful) said that the great love of my life appears in 2011. Now, I’ve never really believed in astrology for dates, as much as “you tend to gravitate towards this.” But it certainly seems it is not happening in the near future. It would be nice to know that I do get to have a great love in my life. But if I want a family, that’s too late. I don’t need a family. But I can’t live with my life on hold for 3 years, hoping an astrologist is right.

“It’s just not fair!” screams the 8-year old. “What did you expect?” snorts the teenager; “Life’s a bitch.” “No, it is the patriarchal system that objectifies women and makes it impossible to have a joining of equals” shouts the 20-something feminist. “John is a good man, destroyed. He had no problem dating women he didn’t view as equals, or even calling you his ‘girlfriend’ before he knew you well enough to know who you were. But the patriarchy has destroyed the chance for men to love equals. There’s nothing wrong with you. It is the system.” But the nearly 40-year-old woman says: “I don’t care if it is the system or me; I can’t change the system and the end result is the same. I’m unlovable.”

Women like me, women who don’t fit in, who buck social trends, who are too smart for their own good and don’t fit societal beauty norms, who demand authenticity, and who could never respect a man she manipulated by adhering to “The Rules,” we have to find another way. In today’s society, most men want someone cute who doesn’t challenge them. I know the games women are supposed to play. I just harbored hopes that it wasn’t actually necessary. That an exceptional man would embrace the chance for something more. Not just intellectually--viscerally.

The women John has dated (funny enough, the names I know all start with “J”s)--the J-Girls have one major thing in common: they were damsels in distress whom he saved. When he realized they were using him, he was deeply hurt. He wanted someone to love him for him, and not for his money. He doesn’t like his pattern, and he recognizes it. But recognizing it isn’t enough to change it.

And I’m not only not a damsel in distress, I also didn’t play hard to get. I looked at him and said “wow--one in a million. Wow.” And I let him know it. I kept dating other men--mostly because I thought I had to. I thought if I didn’t, I’d get clingy and it would destroy our chance. But they became less frequent because I knew I couldn’t bond with someone else if John were in my life and I felt like I was using them.

My ex and I both compromised and said “Sure--it’s as close to soup as we’ll get.” And that’s a disaster. John is right to demand authenticity.

I hope like hell Maslow (as in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs) is wrong and I can develop self-actualization without love. The twenty-something feminist would say that Maslow is only reinscribing the patriarchal obligations. But I’m scared Maslow’s right. I’ve never been able to do it. But to hope, and to wait for, is just too painful. I’d rather be wistful than bitter.

Looks as Currency

I went to my brother's New Year's Eve party (with my parents). All my brother's friends are guys and they all have stunning beautiful, annoying, bitchy, shallow girlfriends

The next day, both my parents were totally attacking thses women--how awful the women of my brother's age (he's almost 10 years younger than me). How shallow the women are. How did such lovely men get taken advantage of by such horrible women?

I had a very different reaction. I wondered why these men were so shallow that looks became the only thing that mattered in their girlfriends. These men are accomplished (finishing PhDs), but not super-wealthy or glamarous types. They drive Priuses and are very much in the socio-economic group that finds Priuses to the car-du-jour. The future college professors of the world. If the only thing they care about are looks, to the point that they will date (and plan on marrying) women who seem more like some reality TV show, who work in retail and talk about fashion, what hope is there for the world?

I don't know whether my brother's friends are representative of the late 20-somethings. My brother struggles with this because he knows he wants a partner who is in intellectual equal, who is spiritually grounded with strong progressive values, but she must be drop-dead gorgeous (preferably without make-up or time spent on her looks). But, ultimately, he's willing to compromise on everything but looks. 6 months ago he was dating a 19-year-old, who worked at Victoria's Secret. Unlike his friends, he couldn't imagine a life with her. But it's not like he'd ever consider dating one of the other doctoral candidates. They just aren't cute enough.

This, ultimately, is where feminism has no answers. Men have the power here because being alone is such a huge price to pay. And if men only care what women look like, then that does become hugely more important.

When my ex and I met, when we first met and I was about 10 feet away, he whisptered "wow" under his breath. He claims it wasn't a trick and he doesn't remember saying it. And I was far enough away that I didn't think he said it for my benefit. That little word worked SO well for me to just relax and be confident and comfortable with him. But the longer we were together, the more he'd make comments. He sat next to a 16 year old on a bus, in super short-shorts, and he talked about her thighs for a week after. I knew I could never match up.

John and I had a really interesting discussion about this. He seems to have a view of beauty much closer to that of Ricky in American Beauty than of the standard conventions. He notices me spark, but he also really appreciates a side of me I don't find attractive, the laxed, softer side. But John is an extraordinary gem. Truly one in a thousand. Yes, I probably actually have flirted with, talked with or dated a thousand guys. John is extraordinary.

Highschool and Facebook

So a videotape has maybe emerged from a party at highschool. (Someone has the tape and claims it is from a party and involves all sorts of scandalous things.) And those of us supposedly on the tape have been having a really good time chatting on facebook. But I notice several things.

A) These are neat people! I like them! I'd like to get to know them. But I haven't a clue as to who they are!

B) I don't fit in in that group. I sort of fit in, but their rhythms and mine are different.

Part of it may be that they kept in touch and I moved from sea to shining sea.

Two of us started talking about what a particular teacher meant to us, the really deep yearnings we had at that age to fit in while dealing with deep wounds. Something about John has made me own my vulnerabilities a little more. Someone else made a wisecrack, one that would have deeply hurt me 20 years ago, and the vulnerability lifted, replaced with one-liners about illicit substances. But that was OK. I would have much more enjoyed the conversation if it had continued along the original lines, but it didn't feel like a rejection, the way it would have so long ago.

C) I'd still like to fit in. I'm SO grateful to have a corner of my sky where I do fit in, but it would be nice to go see these people who meant so much in the early years and pretend I could be a part of a group.

D) It's all OK. I have a beautiful life, and it really seems like these colleagues have beautiful lives too. One of the many marvelous things about growing up is that you aren't constricted by geography.

Isn't it odd that when I first discovered the internet it gave me a chance to find people like me, all over the country. To not be constricted by geography. And now, I'm using the internet to go back to the people to whom geograpahy constricted me?

Happy New Year!

What a spectacular evening! Usually New Year’s Eve is a huge let-down of a holiday to me. Something that should mark a moment to pause instead becomes a giant alcoholic mishmash. But this year--I’m in a city that did it right. Oh my heavens! Magical!!!

So, my New Year’s resolution is really, really, to respect and nurture myself, especially my health and my talent. With kindness and with focus.

I also have a New Year’s Realization and a New Year’s wish. The realization means the blog may change.

For a while, I’ve needed this blog to figure myself out. It has been a place where have felt like it mattered, a tiny bit, to work out my stuff. The fact is, a lot of us are confused about sex, and so even though very few people read this, it still felt like peeling some of the layers of my onion mattered, a little. Like maybe someone in my shoes would someday stumble on it when they needed it.

I’ve been clearer about what I’m feeling when I write something for here than for a diary. Frankly--it’s done more for me than any therapy ever has. I don't exactly know why, but it has.

The blog demanded a level of accountability. God knows I’ve lied to therapists, but not here. The anonymity created a safe place to explore all my neurosis to the root of the belly button lint. I also needed to be clear about what I felt so that I could write something worth reading, at least to my standards, and that meant peeling the layers away, layer by layer.

And then, two nights ago, I had insomnia and I sent “John” an e-mail that pretty much summed up all I’d been trying to figure out. All the layers of the onion. The last one. If there’s something else (and who knows--there may well be), I haven’t a clue what it is. The layer wasn't all that spectacular: I just realized that I felt like damaged goods and knew I shouldn’t have ‘baggage’ and didn’t want him to realize how much baggage I’ve got. And my futile attempts to hide that baggage caused most of our difficulties. And Monday, I owned it clearly and openly.

John replied in a warm, loving, wise, kind, embracing and joyful way. A gem of a gift.

And something shifted inside of me. All of a sudden, all my yearning for clarity--I want more. I didn't reprint my original e-mail here--even though it does, in a way, belong here. I don’t want to figure myself out to share it anonymously with a blog and perchance a few, occasional, readers. I want to share it with John. And I want to protect that shared intimacy.

I think that I came to assume that no man would ever want to share this element of my inner journey. It is so different from the typical American experience. This blog (and it had several variations before this at various places, including quite a bit of the message boards and on my profile on CollarMe), it was a way I could explore my inner stuff without imposing it on whoever I happened to be involved with. But I felt, deep down, that my inner-explorations would absolutely be an imposition.

But John is different. His values are so much in tune with mine. He cares about this side. It is what brought us together. I don't want to be doing some of this that he doesn't know about, some that he does. It is too confusing. I'm more interested in integrating than further bifurcation.

I asked John what he felt about my blog, what I could write about that involved him, and he didn't know. But I'm beginning to know. I think this might dilute what John and I might have a chance at building. It's weird, because I don't think we would have had a chance at building anything without the blog, but now, it might get in the way. And I don't want to risk that.

I don’t know what that means for this blog, but I don’t want to waste anyone’s time on boring “and then she said” entries, so it may become even more intermittent. I promise that I will only write what is true. Not factually; that’s boring (and I have no interest in disclosing who I am), but emotionally. And I will try to continue delving when I post. I expect it will be more about other stuff--work, parents, all that jazz, and the angst regarding my sense of eros will be a much less dominant theme.

For the first time, however, I’m not posting what matters most to me here. My wish for myself for the New Year is private.

But for us all: Happy 2009. May we all live joyously and honestly, with wisdom and courage, risking where it matters and protecting ourselves where needed so that we have the resilience to be vulnerable where it makes us most alive.