Saturday, January 26, 2013

Zippity Doo Dah, Zippity Date

This morning I arose, drove my son to school, all filled up with the joy and beauty of a new day. No, Really, it's true. In spite of my snarky, odd-ball point of view and wizened Yankee-like disposition, which can sometimes appear cold, hard, and coastal, as in barnacled, and my devil may care smile, the joy and beauty of each day ALWAYS stops me               and   s l o w l y  fills me with gratitude. I feel blessed each morning in the beautiful Hudson Valley.  So, today was a little like everyday, bless-ed.   In addition to the external beauty, I started to think more thoughts and connect more dots and maybe, just maybe I have reached some point of Nirvana in my greater understanding of me as a possible “date” out in the world.  Acceptance. Harmonious joy. Namaste.

This recent acceptance was helped along somewhat by the big, old, by now, just plain annoying coverage of Manti Te’o.  Why is it being highlighted and examined ad nauseum Honestly.  Leave it be already.  We have become such a nation of bone-sucking vultures, awaiting to pounce on someone else's misfortune, mistake or misstep.   I can tell you, I have had a fewAnd I count myself in some very good, bad, and regular ordinary and average company.   I just hope that when I stumble again and misstep that I will not be judged solely on that moment in time.  Even if that moment occurs stretched out across a year or so.  I live by the ideal that grace and forgiveness accompanies personal accountability, and a million or so apologies.  That's what I can offer, and that's what I want in return.  With our widespread fear and panic of germs, we're not likely to walk in each others moccasins anytime soon.  Mind your own beeswax is another plan.  And it's germ free.  Sorry, I went off on my little misguided media soapbox.

Manti Te'o and the circus spectacurama news parade have helped me reach my peaceful conclusions about myself.  I am at the other side of examining some scary cybery mishaps of my own.  Please don’t send the news crews or check into my phone records or look underneath my toaster or in my junk drawer.  No body parts, just crumbs and tangled balls of string and tape and sticky grime. Just know this: it got messy.  My toaster, my junk drawer, behind the refrigerator, attempting to communicate via text, just a big old mess.  The unknown landscape of putting yourself out in the world in hopes of receiving positive attention or to make sense of  those big giant tingly feelings we have while simultaneously knowing it might end in rejection can just be oozing with messy.  Texting and on-line romance can seem safe, and tidy.  If it doesn't pan out no one has to come and collect his/her toothbrush or decide who gets to keep the whatever.   There are the sms records and the messages that are permanently floating around in space.  And the news vans and the constant disruptions of the press knocking at your door.  Messy.

All this because dating sucks. There. I said it.  Sure, there are those sweet times when you get all gushy with excitement, and all light headed and floaty feeling when dating seems momentarily magic. You know, when that special someone is acting and feeling special at the very same time and very same place that you are.  When everything falls into place and before you know it, you’re at that special restaurant with the red checked table cloth, and the bottle of Chianti and the swirled spaghetti that you both swirled together meets up in that special …..kiss. Oh. That’s that cartoon isn’t it?  That wasn’t me and…..?  Um, yeah I guess it was those cute little Disney dogs. But wasn’t that special? And Peggy Lee is singing that song and the streets outside just happen to be in Paris, or New York City in the spring, or maybe it’s Rome…..

Ah, yes, dating sucks. Because it usually doesn’t meet those cartoon sized romanticized expectations. And you have to throw yourself out there. And if you have to throw yourself out there, well, that means you are kind of in this alone and…. Oh my, I might need to lie down for a spell and recall why I thought I had reached Nirvana in the broad overview of dating, as me.

OK, I remember. I don’t like to try out new things in front of others unless I have some sense of confidence, or experience in the area, or trust and safety is established. I know this is a widely shared feeling.   Of course there are the rare .003% of us that will do anything and try anything and not think twice about jumping off a cliff or into a fire or asking someone out on a date. And well, in some cases they die, quickly, and foolishly and they kind of had it coming. Even the hard core adventure bound weekend warrior type risk-takers typically have some level of skill or knowledge and the ability to pull a rip cord or tie a strong knot around their caribiners. When they perish, we think, they were so adventurous, they liked taking risks, they died doing what they loved. There’s more respect in it. The rest of us, we move through the Earth, on the time and space continuum safely, cautiously and maybe some a tad more anxiously than others, like me. 

I tried out some risk-taking attempts toward dating.  I tried longer and harder in one particularly, long drawn out instance just to try to get to the first date. I felt outrageously uncomfortable. I pulled my rip cord a few times, I might have even attached the caribiner and tied up the potential date-mate but I'm not sure...  I threw myself into a few on-coming trains and I kicked and spit and smiled wantonly just for good measure.  In the end, I never presented myself long-enough or consistently enough or calmly enough to appear remotely appealing, or appear anywhere close to myself.  I think I needed to remind myself that dating sucks. I completed the task with flying colors.

Nowadays, the texting, chatting, facebooking, twittering piece is just a part of the fabric. Which really complicates things, for those of us that are not big risk takers or skilled risk takers and don’t have the devil may care approach piece in place. Those of us like myself and Manti Te’o and all of those other crazed lunatics that marry people in prison without ever seeing them face to face because taking risks is HARD and UNCOMFORTABLE. Texting and on-line dating provide this false sense of a secret place to ask and share and reveal all sorts of things in this seemingly safe venue in the safety and comfort of your own bedroom, or breakroom, or on line at the super market. There’s quite a bit of research being done on thisThere are many theories on why this is happening and how it is happening and honest to goodness just leave Manti alone already. Maybe he was duped. Maybe he duped us all. But Really? I don’t believe Manti owes me an explanation.  And if we are afraid as a nation that he duped us all for fame, well I think some of us handed him the key to the Warhol City of 15 days of fame with a grand tour of fantasy proportioned spotlights and celebrity making.

I personally miss the phone, that peach fleshy or avocado green one chained to the kitchen.  The one you had to dial. And wait for the dial to rotate back to the starting point before you could dial the next number.  Back in the olden days, phones offered so much more safety and built in all of these now missing parameters. First and foremost way back when in my life when dating was taking place at the intended timeframe on the regular ordinary developmental pathway, my mother was usually the first line of defense on the phone and the dating frontier. If you got past her, well, you were something. Courageous, strong, and determined, I’d say. One did.  He made a raspberry at her, over the phoneLegendary.  I think it scared me that he was bold enough to take her on.  He's the one that got away.  Or he might have been one of those risk-taking cliff jumpers who would surely perish, because my mother was hard to get past on that phone. The avacado green one that was tethered to the wall within earshot of her and anyone else that wanted to know, “Who’s on the phone?” "Who's she talking too?"  "How long are you going to be, I'm expecting a call?You had to be quick on your feet and charmingly quick with your language skills. 5 minutes in, my mother would be announcing it was time to free up the phone line, or do homework, and the cost of the call would need to be a consideration…People were busy way back then.  We didn't have all this extra time to be making all these phonecalls. Parameters. Healthy boundaries. Structure and controls built in. Life was good way back then….At least things had to be done out in the open more or less. Some things anyway.

Recently, out to dinner with a dynamic and attractive friend, we started talking about dating. When, how, wishing it could be easier.  Through humor and kindness, and maybe a couple of shared hijinks, we reach acceptance about our desire to find dates.   The reality is, our shared local time and space dating continuum potential, is limited at best. We discuss dating sites, and the pitfalls of them. I share some of  the insanity of my last approach. I reveal what I believe is  the perfect scenario for me to be seen as potential dating material. I need to be experienced in somewhat natural surroundings. Just doing my thing and being me without all the dating angst. It would look something like this; I’m outside. Probably in my little garden. There’s a sundress involved. Oh, I don’t know maybe the farmer across the street, or the farmhands, all of whom are 50+ years old and still able to put in a good days work toiling in the fields, they, he, any which one, well not any…see me. He, of the many, notices me day after day in my sundress, in my garden, working, struggling with an unruly root or hammering a chair that I just created from assorted types of milled and rough hewn wood, or maybe I'm beading or sewing, you get the picture.  I'm seeing something through, maybe smiling and watching the birds whistle and flutter about. Of course,
earlier in the day I brought a pie out to cool, and he noticed that too. After a brief time, he approaches, strikes up a conversation, we get to talking, we laugh, eventually we decide to meet for a picnic, a drink, a walk in the park. Except I don't actually live across the street from a farm....

The bottom line? I want to be seen. Over time. And the potential He-man needs to come to his own conclusions without any tampering from me and my keyboard. Because, you see, texting just doesn’t offer the view. The time and the space. The opportunity for me to gain confidence and the comfort of building trust. I've come to a conclusion about myself and making any attempts toward dating. In my Nirvana reached dating peak, I have decided the writing of the profile or the attempts to text your best features are not conducive to dating, in fact they have been detrimental, for me. On a keyboard I determine my own best features and maybe some certain he really likes knobby knees and the way my sundress gets caught on the swinging gate, every time, causing me to trip, slightly vulnerable, and a little goofy. And my pies are good. So I need to be seen to be appreciated.  And this summer I will be outside happily working on some thing or other.  I have time.  I have a whole lot of other aspects and chakras that are Nirvana bound.

Meanwhile,  I might need to start hanging out at the local Grange Hall and putting up some peaches. I just might fulfill my biggest fantasy in this lifetime…it involves a barn and some hay.  A flowery sundress.  I'll settle for jeans if the overalls seem a bit much.  Maybe I’m humming some old spiritual song with that farmer or the farmhand. The good, strong, decent one that still likes to toil in the field all hot and sweaty like, unnn hummmm. Oh yes.
Wasn’t this another Disney movie?  Weren’t there birds singing? ....Is that a new movie, 50 Shades of Disney Cartoon characters?.... Is there speed dating at the CSA?  I mean slow, and steady opportunities to toil in the hot field of you never know...

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I like it. Well written! The visual was good too :-)