loveSo I am sitting with a group of younger friends when the topic inevitable turns to the perils of dating in the digital world. Wonder of wonders, apparently people on dating sites lie! Stop the press, write to your local M.P.

As if “in my day”, when people met face-to-face (as oppose to Facebook to Facebook), they were honest and upfront about their flaws? I wish. Dating has and always will involve conscious deceit: we all want to present ourselves in the best light so we bend the truth, exaggerate a little here and there, pad the resume as it were. Humility and modesty are admirable virtues but  not, it seems, in the dating world. “If only I could find that special one my life would be so perfect,” sighed one young man.

Dude, are you serious?

Apparently he was. All his problems would magically evaporate in the magnificence of “The One”, who coincidentally should be a mirror image of himself.

Is this how he believes relationships actually work? I sealed my lips but my smirk gave me away.

“Why? Is that not how it works?” He asks. Big mistake, Bud. Never invite a curmudgeon to pontificate.

Okay kiddo, where do I start? First off, there is no such thing as “The One,” there are dozens, if not thousands of compatible people you could spend a lifetime with, providing  if (and this a huge, gigantic IF), you have the skills to navigate relationships.

He looked deflated but still aroused, wanting to know what I meant.

“Do you believe once you meet your special someone you will just walk off into the sunset, finishing each other’s sentences?”I asked.

He nodded.

Well, Kid, Hollywood lied. Shocking, I know, but they peddle fiction, as do Romance novelists. Relationships don’t end with you ‘finding the One’, rather that is how they begin. And it is work, let me tell you, moment to moment. Sure, there is a honeymoon period when love is blind and all is peachy sunshine but slowly reality returns and the work begins of maintaining a healthy relationship. Despite having many things in common with your other half, this is still a union of two individuals and your moods, wishes, dreams and wants are never going to align perfectly every waking moment of your time together. For example, you may need quiet time for some personal reflection and deep breathing yoga while Love of Life needs to hear his/her favorite track Mental Banshees by the band Death Metal Steroids.

The art of Compromise is the first skill you will need to cultivate. Suggest for Love of Life to use headphones while you work on your heart chakra.

Despite nimble backroom deals, despite displaying a flexibility that a teenage gymnast would envy, said Love of Live will still retain a talent for driving you crazy. Know how to set limits: “Look, you can keep a pet alligator in the bathtub but I draw the line at you belting out Celine Dion in the shower. One more verse of My heart will go on and on and my ass will go on and on outta here.”

All of this maneuvering and contorting should be offset by the benefits of being in the relationship. Partners fulfill needs, often unspoken and deeply rooted psychological needs of which we ourself may not be aware. Needs such as a sense of security, a sense of being needed, companionship. Your partner should make you feel as though he or she has your back.

I hear so many reluctantly singles complain about their status, but what is more pathetic is that they blame the wrong things for their loneliness. You are not single because you don’t spend enough time at gym or don’t follow the latest fashion fad, if only pretty people found mates the world’s population would be no more than sixty-three. It has nothing to do your lack of wit or your inability to quote Proust in French either. Neither is it because you still live in your mother’s basement that you scare off suitors. Rather, finding a mate has everything to do with a person’s ability to listen to others, have empathy, negotiate, do things to please another even though it is personally abhorrent. These are skills worth investing in.

There was a potent silence in the room. One of the youngsters threw me a resentful glare. It was quick but I was not too old to have missed it. Then they went back to complaining about the problems with their latest dating app.

Ah well. I’ll just gather up my pearls and cast them elsewhere.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Hey, Which Way Is Up?

November 24, 2016


M.C. Esher, Relativity.

M.C. Esher, Relativity.

Okay, I admit I am feeling the whole world is topsy-turvy at the moment, (or should I say topsy-Trumpy?). It is as though Albert Einstein applied for a professorship at M.I.T but Americans gave the job to Sherman Klump instead (The Nutty Professor played by Eddie Murphy). Overnight, common sense and decency have been  replaced with an Orwellian double-speak (Truth is lie, lie is truth). But is this sense of disorientation in the world really anything new? If we are honest, the promised world-view of mothers, of teachers, and of preachers has been challenged routinely since grade school. Hard work and talent don’t always get rewarded; cheaters do prosper; crime pays, sometimes in the billions; and if you are honest and kind chances are good that you will be duped and used dozens of times. So utterly brainwashed are we by a Pollyanna world-view that we spend a lifetime trying to reconcile the reality we daily experience versus “what should have happened.”

I am a firm believer, however, that there has to be something of value to learn from all those disappointments.

I have been thinking lately of the times I unexpectedly lost a job, or when my family was uprooted by a similar wave of misguided jingoism. Sure, it was devastating in the aftermath, with no clear path forward. There was anxiety aplenty over paying bills, and the world seemed scarier because the map with which I navigated through the world was no longer valid. With hindsight I can now see that each of those shakedowns was followed by a of period deep reflection, intense insight, and of charting a new path forward that was better than the one I had been following.

Just the other day in my life drawing session I was reminded of the mechanics of this in a very succinct way. I was feeling very pleased with myself over a portrait I had just completed of the class model. Then a seasoned artist suggested I take that drawing of which I was so so proud, and turn it upside down. When viewed topsy-turvy, to my astonishment, I discovered severals major flaws to which I had been blinded by the good parts. Of course I immediately corrected them and ended up with a better work than I had before. Other artists might view their paintings through a mirror with the same affect. Oh, we do fall in love with the progress we have made in life, don’t we? Problem is, in our smugness we tend to filter out the flaws. The shock of turning things topsy-turvy makes the familiar seem unfamiliar again and we are able to review our social and spiritual progress in a fresh light. It challenges us to work harder, it shakes off complacency.

It made me rethink the way I was feeling about what is happening presently in the world.

As I mature, the brutality of the world accumulates in my consciousness but it shocks me less and less. I wonder if perhaps the wisdom of age owes itself to the same topsy-turvy perspective. I once met a young woman named Maya in the cancer ward, she was barely thirty years of age and still had the gleam in her eyes that only the young possess. She had just been handed a fatal prognosis with the proverbial six-months- to- live. She was struggling to comes to grip with it all. She pleaded, “Does anyone ever make peace with dying?”

Well yes, many elderly people look forward to a graceful exit from a world in which they feel increasing disoriented. A lifetime of accumulated disappointment at the unfairness of the world has permanently torn asunder the map by which they navigated the world in their youth. Now they see life through the rear-view mirror, and the view makes the familiar seem unfamiliar again. The good bits of life no longer obscure the unfairness of the world. Seen in upside perspective, the world appears as the asylum it really is. They are ready to move on. Only the young and foolish want to live forever.

 


whisperMy neighbor was a woman of steady habits. She picked up her morning newspaper not long after it was delivered, except on that dreadful day. Something in me recoiled, like a sea creatures into its shell, when I saw that newsprint still sitting untouched where it had been left by the delivery man. Irrational? I know, but an eerie panic rattled through me nonetheless. Perhaps she was having a well-deserved lie in? Maybe she was out running errands? No amount of rationalizing placated this panic as the day went on, in fact it grew louder and more insistent. Did I do anything about it? Of course not, I trust my rational brain way too much. Gut feelings are the domain of kooks and poets, we are told. Smart, rational people must not trust the unfathomable, the unscientific. Yet this feeling of dread persisted as though it were not mine to control.

My neighbor was eighty-two and lived alone. I recalled a conversation I had with her in the hallway after her partner moved into a care-home. “Do you mind if I keep an eye on you, now that you are alone? I worry about you.” She smiled, “That would be lovely.” Since then she kept me informed if she travelled, or when she needed a helping hand. For years she and I had been exchanging keys whenever we went away. All of this contributed to my worry about that newspaper laying on the threshold till evening. I knocked repeatedly but got no reply. I checked to see if her car was still parked in her usual spot, it was. Then I asked the building’s security to fetch the skeleton key to the apartment. When we entered the lights were on and a radio was blaring from her bedroom.

To my horror she was prone on the living floor, cold and rigid, her face blue from the blood that had seized circulating hours ago. This was not what I had wanted to discover, despite that nagging voice inside me warning me so all day long. I like being right as much as the next guy but in on this day I seriously wanted to be wrong. On the elevator ride up to her apartment I half prepared to apologize to the security guard for having dragged him up there for no good reason. Instead there I was calling for an ambulance despite the evidence, still hopeful something could be done.

The family expressed generous gratitude to me but I still harbor a guilt because I did not listen to that inner voice earlier. Had I pushed the panic button when I first experienced it, might we have found her still alive?

As the days pass I have bigger questions. To whom did that voice belong? Was it my better instincts, a sum of my life’s experiences? Or was it something more? Could that silent knowing have come from a place beyond myself, an untapped well of collective wisdom?  Or perhaps do the dead speak through that silence? Did some aspect of her linger, unable to rest till her loved ones had found her body? Perhaps I was her only hope of being found and so she persisted with me? All I know for sure is that the voice was without words and not my intellectual logical self. Since my rational mind was fighting the voice all day long, it must have been other than my rational mind.

I now think we give too much importance to our rational mind. It knows what it knows. It holds firm to what it has expererinced and what it has been taught by the culture to which it belongs. Instinctual knowledge, on the other hand, is where I go when I am lost in creating a painting or a story. Perhaps it is through those same mysterious laneways of understanding that I can access the totality of wisdom, the living and the dead.  Since this tragedy, I see now that instincts are wiser than the intellect.

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