“romantic nerd adrift on the waves of hookup culture” – Brian (check out his blog, urban bohemian)
These days, it seems like labels are your passport into the world.
On social media we’re required to define ourselves in short bursts, as little as 144 characters. The human brain is predisposed to group things together to make it easier to manage incoming information. So when I see a green round fruit, I think “apple” and then every round green fruit is generally an apple.
The problem with this is when my brain does that same grouping on people.
Social media apps are full of this kind of stuff: no fats, no fems, Black guys only, no Asians, only into white guys-sorry! That last one is funny, like sorry is going to cover purposefully excluding whole groups of people. I understand preference. I get that you’re not going to be attracted to everyone. The line I don’t want to cross is saying it online or in person…kind of like “you’re a green round fruit, I don’t like apples.” What if the love of your life happens to be a round green fruit?
These days, I like Granny Smiths and Fuji’s and Red Delicious and…
At least in the gay community, we always have our eyes on the door, waiting for the next person to arrive. There is always someone younger, better looking, more muscular, more masculine, wealthier…and on and on.
In my 20s, it was worth the effort, I guess. I had the energy.
As I get older, I am less inclined to desperately cling to the hope of the next person through the door. I look and find the qualities that are important to me in those with whom I interact. It’s not especially hard.
I believe people tell you who they are, if you are willing to listen.
So many times I have foolishly believed that he would change, become a different thing. While all of us are evolving, much of our basic personality is fixed. It’s difficult to learn to be empathetic at 40, if you never have been. Narcissism is ingrained, it doesn’t just evaporate.
I’ve really struggled with this blog, I’m not exactly sure why. I suspect it’s because I’m still figuring some of this out.
Experience suggests to me that it will resolve as it is meant to, with or without my hyperventilating interference.
I will get married…or not.
Have a romantic partner…or not.
In the meantime, as a friend recently reminded me, I can have love and compassion for myself.
And gently hold my heart.
What’s up, handsome?