I’ve always considered myself a romantic, perhaps a hopeless romantic. Long before I hit puberty my mind was full of romantic gestures from pop culture and, of course, pop music. Perhaps the prolific songwriter Diane Warren (who has penned songs for everyone from Celine Dion to Milli Vanilli and Michael Bolton and even Aerosmith) is the biggest culprit. These songs follow familiar motifs surrounding romance, they’re grandiose declarations of love or the lack of love or the disintegration of romantic relationships. When it’s good it’s really good and when it’s bad it’s horrific. When you’re in love your life has meaning, and when you’re not it is at best empty or at worst unbearable.

Though lately that fog has lifted, those illusions have been slowly disassembled and I find myself thinking about another song entirely. One by Hadaway actually.

What is love?
Baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me no more

Perhaps I should backtrack a little. My own personal relationship history (as fragmented as it is) has made me realise that relationships take work, that passions can be shortlived and that people can be fickle. Perhaps at its core it is like those Diane Warren ballads – intense and dramatic – but there is more mundane territory to be explored and mapped too.

Even more than that though as someone who religiously sits somewhere between being agnostic and atheistic I began to wonder if my belief in love wasn’t a tad superstituous, perhaps a tad silly. Perhaps love doesn’t exist as a force, perhaps it’s merely a human construct that can be explained through an understanding of psychology, sociology and biology. I mean many historical references seemed to explain marriage in terms of property (either in the sense that the woman was the property of the man, or some sort of asset merger took place through the union). Even the idea that we should like our partner, that they should be some sort of ‘soul mate’, is a relatively new invention – James Alison suggests as recent as the 17th century.

I look at those around me and notice that many of them have abandoned the language of love in favour of talking in terms of ‘needs.’ And I don’t just mean in terms of sexual gratification, though that is certainly one of them. In some ways for some people (at times myself included) flirting becomes a valuable exercise in and of itself. It can bolster one’s ego without having to lead anywhere particular. Endorphins and self-esteem can be a potent heady mix.

I used to think this was a terrible, deeply cynical way of looking at things, but perhaps it is just pragmatic.

But then there are people for whom I have a very deep affection, and that affection feels very genuine. Perhaps it is just a conditioned response to a specific stimuli (specific person) but I like to imagine it is something more. Mostly though I feel none the wiser despite all the time I spent pontificating on this and other things. I guess what was most difficult to tangle with was the quiet realisation that I probably wouldn’t have the kind of epic romance I imagined as a pre-pubescent kid. Whatever it is and is not, it will be different to the fanfare inside my head. Sometimes it’s just hard to let go of your personal illusions.

So tell me… what is love?

I watched something the other night, a documentary infact. I’m reluctant to tell which one. Just because I think what I got from it and what the average viewer will get from it are probably two very different things. I’m sure I am probably missing the point entirely. But it’s something I think about from time to time and it really struck me seeing an example of it portrayed on screen in front of me.

Essentially this man had lost his one chance at true love. Perhaps he didn’t realise that’s what it was in the moment that it happened, but in the hindsight of old age it seemed manifestly obvious. His lover was his only experience of love. Removed from his parents as a child and brought up by others, strangers, in a clinical unaffectionate way, he maintained he’d never been taught how to love another person or indeed himself.

I find it interesting that so many fishing analogies lend themselves to the language with which we address ideas relating to romantic love. We talk in terms of “the one that got away” (perhaps exaggerating the traits of the lover in the same way we might the traits of the fish), while reassuring ourselves that there are “plenty of fish in the sea.” And I think in some ways that is true – there are certainly a lot of people in the world. But that metaphor doesn’t really speak to the quality of the ‘fish’ and I wonder on some level if you can have many encounters with other people without finding a sincere connection.

And if that is true… what do we take from it? I know people who look upon dating as just another process. They might liken it to getting a job. You cast your net wide (erm, more fishing?) and see what happens. There’s a part of me that really thinks this is a terrible, deeply cynical idea, but other people swear by it. To them it’s a practical reality. And frankly how do you meet anyone without putting yourself out there in social situations?

I’m sure my thinking has been conditioned by a slew of romantic ballads, movies and television shows. Those romances that seem to surpass everything. It doesn’t seem to matter that those ballads are often sung by singers whose personal life is one grandiose (and highly publicised) trainwreck after another. It doesn’t seem to matter that the writers of many of those ballads were motivated more by their potential royalty cheque than adoration for any existing human being. Romeo and Juliet might be the greatest love story ever told for no better reason than the romance didn’t last long enough to meet the inevitable conflicts that occur in any relationship.

It’s not you, it’s me… Okay, it’s not just me. You’re downright sexy and I can say matter-of-factly that I had nothing to do with that. Maybe it’s all you. Maybe you’re the one with the problem. (What the hell am I saying…?) As much as I say ‘You’ in the title of this blog entry I don’t have any one person specifically in mind. Indeed I am thinking about a lot of different people I’ve found attractive over the years. I guess lately I’ve been thinking about my own sexuality and about physical attraction and how my personal history and control freak tendencies interact with those ideas.

I don’t like feeling out of control and yet I’ve come to realise time and time again that I can’t control who I am attracted to. There’s a part of me that only wants to feel attracted to the right people. The people who are attracted in turn to me, who have some interest in me as a person, who are actually genuinely nice people. I’ve known people who have been quite horrified to know of my interest in them (and who were quite happy to vocalise this sentiment). I’ve known people who have used my feelings for them as emotional leaverage, manipulating me as they’d see fit. You just do stupid things in the presence of people who you are attracted to and who you might be in love with. You know they’re foolish when you’re doing them and at times you seem completely incapable of stopping yourself. If a confession is met with scorn, then take whatever foolishness factor you’ve been feeling and multiply it by a million. Then add two. No, really.

[ad#adsense250]Then there is the relationship between sexiness and confidence. If you’re not feeling confident there’s a good chance you’re not exuding sexiness. Similarly sometimes people who are uber confident – perhaps overconfident – can seem really amazingly attractive. Even when they’re (let’s be frank) douches. Even when intellectually you know they are not nice people. Even when you suspect they drink kitten’s blood in their spare time and leave elderly people in the middle of busy highways.

Last night I was so bored that I logged into one of those awful dating websites. I had signed up more out of curiosity than anything else, and I check it out about once every six months. I was taken aback when a window popped up with a message from a local person saying something to the effect of, “Want to hook up? Ring this number.” I looked at that person’s profile and there was all this text explaining that they weren’t interested in anything except casual encounters. I was surprised by how little this appealed to me. ‘Hooking up’ with this person in particular, and ‘hooking up’ in general. I scoffed a little when (Australian Opposition Leader) Tony Abott suggested that a woman’s virginity was a gift that shouldn’t be given away lightly, and preferably not given away until marriage. But there is a part of me that really believes a sexual experience should be an expression of some emotional connection, ideally one of love. Infact in my mind if you’re just going through the experience solely for the sensation then… well a Madonna lyric (taken somewhat out of context) comes to mind: “You’ll do much better baby on your own.”

As I sit in my hotel room in Brisbane on my last night here I reflect. And somehow it is not about this place. This trip was never about this city, or attractions to be found within. It was always about people. But in ways that are complicated. I suppose all relationships are complicated. You know how they say on Facebook “it’s complicated.”

But all jokes aside, I wonder about this stuff. The differentiation between “IRL” (in real life) and Internet friendships. I wonder about the ties that bond and the ties that disintegrate into nothingness.

In truth the impetus for the trip was a romantic entanglement whose thread was so thin as to disintegrate long before it was even time to board a plane. But I decided to board that plane anyway. I wanted to put on a brave face. I wanted to see other people too. I wanted… a lot of things, I suppose. I don’t know what I was looking for but I know what I found.

There are the – at times, quite disembodied – sense of online selves. There are living, breathing people presented “in the flesh.” And then there are the entirely abstract ideas of friends and friendships. I wonder why I feel like I can be myself with some people and not with others. I wonder why sometimes thoughts manifest themselves as vocal noises and other times as words to be written or typed. I wonder why some thoughts and feelings are expressed easily and others I suppress with considerable effort.

I was disappointed and disillusioned that the romance fizzled. I was angry. I kept telling myself, “it’s okay.” But it didn’t feel okay. I kept telling myself that you can’t control who you have feelings for and who you don’t. I kept telling myself it was completely unreasonable to expect anyone to commit to a long distance relationship. And actually I believe these things are true and valid. But I still don’t appreciate being ignored for extended period of times. I didn’t appreciate being treated like yet another casual acquaintance. But I was scared to express any of these things. I was scared that if I gave my rage an outlet I had no idea where it would take me. And besides I wanted to match the indifference I was getting. I wanted to pretend I was okay. My pride felt like the only consolation I had left so I was determined to put on a good performance.

But my role in this facade was foolish. Even more foolish than I felt about the whole relationship, about coming to this city for something that wasn’t real. And if there is any ‘take home’ from this whole experience it is probably that all such falsehoods are foolish. From the big emotional ‘stuff’ to just not being yourself, not speaking your mind, in much less grandiose circumstances. It extends to putting yourself in situations where you know you won’t feel comfortable. It includes going against your own values to avoid ‘making waves.’ It is about anything that mutes your truth – whatever that may be – that propels fictions ahead of personal realities.

It’s late and this feels lofty and airy-fairy. But it’s all I have. So I’ll honour it on that level.

This video is a moment in time and I was frustrated and disillusioned. Who am I kidding? I’m still frustrated and disillusioned, albeit in completely different ways than when I recorded this video. But in any eventuality I offer it “as is.”

But I guess this is as much as personal identity as anything. I’m sickened by who I’ve become. I want to go back to the teenager who knew everything, needed no one and who was bitter and sarcastic and cynical all of the time. I used to follow my own impulses without caring about what anybody thought. I used to relish the opportunity to do something truly oddball, genuinely thinking there was no finer compliment a person could give me than to label as ‘eccentric.’ I used to live for the weekends because they were the only times I could truly be alone and I relished this ‘alone’ time.

Now I’m so needy and pathetic. Now I need people (despite not knowing how to relate to them or how to please them). Now no matter how much I try to be myself and do my own things I’m always wondering how other people will approach the things I do and how they will think about me as a consequence. I’ve never met a social or cultural cue I haven’t tried taking. I have no personal autonomy at all. I am frustrated and emotional and friends dimiss me as ‘crazy’ or in need of therapy or some combination of the two. I feel like an idiot and yes, frankly, my own perceived intelligence is sort of central to my sense of self and my ego. So I withdraw. But I can’t withdraw entirely. Clearly I need some degree of interconnectedness. But I am feeling dismissed and marginalised by a lot of people, even people who I thought cared for and about me. And that is maddening…

It’s funny (though perhaps not ha ha) but I’ve always been hopelessly inept in the world of romantic relationships. Infact the final image in the title poem of my Smoke and Mirrors collection was about acknowledging this lack of knowledge and experience and throwing up my hands in the arm as if to say, “I’ve got nothing” and (for the time being at least) “I’m done!”

But that was then. This is now. It’s 2009 and I’m attempting to have a social life and a romantic existence. Of course I’m still completely out of my element and clueless as ever.

So I asked the people of the Internet for dating advice… It is interesting too because you start to get a feeling for what a large subject this is and how many different approaches there are to the practice.

One person suggested:

No sex until the third date… If there IS not sex on the third date, bail.

Another emphasised the importance of not talking too much and the value of listening. A third said to smile and pretend that you’re having a good time. The trick she explained was to notice when you were genuinely having a good time. Those were the people you need to see again. And of course many people dusted off that perennial piece of wisdom to ‘be yourself.’

Another person:

Have fun… remember it’s a date, not an engagement.

This is important in general and to me specifically. I am something of a hopeless romantic, I’ve been brought up on romantic fodder through movies and music and television and books. Companionship and commitment and other C words that will scare the casual observer are important to me. Sometimes I am blindsighted by just how important than are to me. Sometimes I forget that they aren’t as important to other people, that other people have different motivations and aspirations.

But if you project yourself too far into the future you do it at the cost of the present moment. That’s clearly not what this is about. You’ve got to enjoy the moment, enjoy the company and take this time to get to know yourself and the other person.

Do you have any dating tips? Seriously I need all the help I can get…

Can you create your life? How much do you control your lifestyle and how much of it just ‘happens’ to you?

I guess I believe you can because I know people who lead amazingly interesting and rewarding lives. (I confess I frequently watch Sunday Arts with envy because it always showcases talented artists who are doing what they love and somehow deriving success and income from that…)

I know I’ve written about this in religious terms before (predestination versus free will), but I wanted to think about it more practically. I pulled out my notebook and wondered if I could have my life the way I wanted, what would that look like?

I identified the following desires:

• The desire to be creative. There are things I want to do and other things I want to do more frequently. And I want to learn, I want to study… I want supportive teachers and mentors.
• The desire to be social. I’m lonely. I think my trip to Brisbane made me appreciate just how lonely. I am connected with the world and I can have great conversations and exchange ideas with lots of people at any hour of the day or night, but I still have no one here I can grab a cup of coffee with.
• The desire for independence and freedom and distance. I don’t feel like I can be myself here. I am too busy fulfilling roles within different contexts.
• The desire of companionship. This differs from the social desire mentioned earlier in the sense that here I am referring an intimate companion, a lover, a partner…

There were a lot of other things on the notebook page too about scheduling (my Sunday afternoon coffee ritual, for example) and specific things I want (video camera, my own apartment).

I guess the next step is building towards those things… somehow.

“I dont know why I did the things I did
I dont know why I said the things I said
Prides like a knife, it can cut deep inside
Words are like weapons, they wound sometimes”
- If I Could Turn Back Time, Cher.

It is one of those pop songs that, like Rihanna’s Umbrella, is probably remembered more for its provocative film clip than its lyrical content (I mean, if Cher could turn back time… she wouldn’t bare her ass to the entire US Navy?) but I found the lyric popped into my head earlier today. Specifically that one line: Words are like weapons they wound sometimes.

I found myself talking to a friend and all of a sudden their thoughts just trailed off into very strange territory. And I was listening to what they were saying and being struck by how offensive it seemed. And I was thinking this is really very offensive but it seemed particularly offensive being expressed in my presence (for reasons I don’t care to disclose). It was as if they hadn’t connected the dots in their mind or even realised who they were talking to; indeed the very implications it had to the person it was being expressed to.

I suggested perhaps it was a discussion that was best taken up with someone else. And they seemed to sense my reservations. They apologised, but even the apology seemed to make matters worse. It was okay because they didn’t think of me ‘like that.’ Suddenly even my own personal identity became oddly malleable. It didn’t seem to matter who I was so much as what their personal ‘concept’ of me was – that’s what they were working with, that’s ‘who’ they were relating to.

And actually, in the moment, I said, “It’s okay.”

But frankly it wasn’t and that wasn’t even what I meant to convey. These sentiments weren’t okay with me. What I meant to say was, “I know you well enough to know that you didn’t mean any offense by the remarks and that you don’t mean me any harm.”

And it was resolved… I guess. Or rather the tension was diffused. But for me it wasn’t about making this person ‘wrong,’ because actually I have a great affection for this individual. But it wasn’t about just ‘making nice’ in the iterim either. I really wanted them to think about the words they use, because words really are like weapons. Sometimes they can wound unintentionally and there is little comfort to be had even in that knowledge.

I am trying to be less reactive though. I am trying to cultivate a greater patience for people. I understand that sometimes the first thoughts out of someone’s mouth are not always their most formed or their most personally representative. I realise, in a curious fashion, that my very existence is deeply problematic for a lot of people – even people who do actually love me. I feel that we’ll get there in the end.

“I’ve been afraid of changing,” the Fleetwood Mac song goes “’cause I’ve built my world around you.”

I’ve been afraid of changing. I’ve been afraid of change; which seems incredibly ironic for an individual who was less-than-satisfied with the state of his life. I think the reason I was fearful of change – of changing – was because I was fearful more generally. I didn’t expect good things in my life. I was always scared of losing the things I currently had.

The truth is life is change. Growth is change. When you’re not changing and growing, you’re dying or stagnant. You need to let go of old things to make room for new things. Whether those things be tangible objects (the clutter in your home) or less tangible things (old ideas, beliefs, limitations, relationships).

One thing I’ve come to learn is that it is very difficult to gauge the importance of things in the moment. Friendships that seemed very important at the time tend to fade into insignificance in the larger narrative of a life. A friendship that seemed so vital in a moment may have been little more than a bridge to other friendships. (Some of my most important relationships were friends-of-friends or otherwise born out of the most unlikely sounding scenarios.)

I’m not going to pretend I can see into the future. I am not going to continue to second guess the flow of my life. I am going to choose to believe for myself that good things come into my life and that the most important relationships in my life will be maintained no matter what. But more than anything, I’m not going to ‘force’ things.

Sometimes things don’t work. Sometimes people grow apart. There is no malice there, just a more fundamental understanding that we are moving within different rhythms.

I know of at least two people who are currently ending long standing intimate relationships. Obviously there is a lot of emotion there. I would invite them both to think about this experience as a good experience, as the beginning of something better. Not because it is – because, frankly, short of spectacular divination abilities that isn’t something we can ascertain from this vantage point! But because it will put you into a better state, you will make better choices and have better thoughts – and, hopefully, be able to focus on a more important relationship; the one you with yourself.

[They may even wish to start by reading this article from Stepcase LifeHack: How To Love Yourself Even If No One Else Does.]

Finally, I choose to not feel threatened by the change and good of others. I choose instead to believe that there is plenty for all, including me, and to use them as powerful and positive examples of inspiration for attaining my own happiness.

I am extraordinarily tired as I type. I haven’t eaten anything resembling ‘real’ food all day. I survived the funeral. I don’t tell you this as a ploy toward gaining sympathy, but simply to set the scene for what follows.

Isn’t it interesting the things you remember and the things you forget? The things that seem so important in one moment and inconsequential in the next?

I can’t for the life of me think of whatshisname. I didn’t really know anything about him, beyond his name, though I would ask about him frequently. “How is (insert name here)?” That is what I would ask. Seemingly on every other day; whenever the opportunity would arise. Not because I had any real interest in the lover of the person I was infatuated with. No, surely I was just clinging to the hope that sooner or later whatshisname would no long enter the conversation.

In truth I wanted to be whatshisname. I wanted to be this person’s lover. But asking about that person constantly hardly seemed to help in that pursuit. Nothing would. I think even at the time I knew that, I understood that. No, I think I delighted in knowing his name (then) because it helped me verbalise the question. It served as a point of reference. Rather than saying, merely, “John, why aren’t you good enough?” I could instead say, “Why aren’t you as good as (insert name here)?” I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t have that which I desired. I assumed there was something wrong with me, I just wasn’t sure what it was, exactly. And, again, it was all fairly inconsequential. Except in as much as I could use the idea of the two of them to berate myself further. To make myself suffer even more.

I am almost disappointed that I can’t remember that name now. Not that even knowing the name would carry as much potency as it once did, for while whatshisname had what I desired, he didn’t have it for very long. Knowing the name now would probably require a new formulation and a new question. And I almost pity this man whose name I cannot recall. For the first time we have something in common, a common lack. Perhaps a common wanting.

In the spaces between the lines of that ritual I call ‘The Morning Pages,’ I’ve come to many conclusions. Good, life affirming realisations. New and helpful understandings. But it is, surely, one thing to know something intellectually, and another to know something emotionally. I think I understand with new clarity why I drew something toward me that was completely unsustainable. I think I understand, too, why I used the incident to berate myself, to hurt myself. But it is one thing to pontificate about such matters. How do I let them go? How do I hope for good things again? How do I look to embrace some new dream when I am so preoccupied with an older unfulfillable one? Because right now I would give everything I possess for one last stab at something which would likely mean nothing at all, and that scares me. It scares me that my thinking has been so trained in such a way to spite myself in attempting to get something which would not serve me.

I would like to claim this as a new sensation, but we’ve been down this road before. I need something new, I need something different. I need to stop prostituting my nature in attempts to win love and approval from people who don’t have my interests at heart. I can’t continue being so masochistic. It feels scary. It feels confrontational because there is a part of me that still believes I deserve to be treated badly, that I don’t deserve to be loved. But if I can’t give myself this gift, then who? If I can’t choose to take a stand, to resolve to treat myself better, what use could I possibly be?