Ever met one of ‘em Casanovas? The ones that are shag-a-delicious? Utterly irresistible? Yesterday myself and my best friend were talking about memories from our years of travels. Travels that sometimes involved men. And you know those stories you’ve had with people – people who tickled your heart’s fancy for a while? Sometimes they ended peacefully, sometimes they ended a bit awkwardly, sometimes they ended more than a little bit awkwardly. And when you walk away (or run away) from each other it’s weird. It’s weird because sometimes you’ve stopped talking to someone who was a huge part of your life, or a small but important part of your life – someone you somehow felt connected to. Of course, there are sometimes those that were just a bit of fun – you really did not feel any more connected to them than you would…someone you met on a playground and played with on the swings for a day.
Sometimes just after the story ended, if it was a tad more than a day at the playground, it was a bit painful – either because the plot did not turn out to be anything like you expected it to turn out (instead of marrying Prince Charming you ended up picking up dirty laundry or worse: dirty women) or because the hero turned out to be the villain (stealing hearts is, after all, a crime) – and then you don’t feel too great about it just after it happened. However, looking back it all becomes one wonderful comedy of errors, filled with extraordinary battles that the heroine of the story (you) had to endure. Time has also left you without emotional ties to the characters in the story, so even if at the time you didn’t feel all that great about something someone did, you can look back and understand why the person did it and therefore forgive them, without feeling let down, or sad. You don’t see it as personal anymore. You may still wish that each story had ended by you both showing how much you care for each other, even if you did not wish to be together, but in actual reality few people are able to act nobly where they have their hearts involved in a story that’s gone astray.
Yesterday when going through stories we were laughing till we cried and wondering if we could write a romantic comedy about our experiences without being sued for describing actual events, if we removed anything and everything that could tie a person to a story (after all I’m not sure I want to see a movie about the times I personally screwed up in the dating arena, or heaven help us all: in the bedroom…). In the midst of this we got talking about a guy who I dated briefly in LA – a guy who, when he stayed the night the first time ended up sick, as all of us got the stomach flu. It was really a first night gone astray. I don’t normally end up poisoning guys on the first night, but boy, oh boy. Myself and my best friend were in bed for a week, thinking we might die from nausea afterwards. UCLA bug going round. Anyway, I couldn’t remember the guy’s name. It had somehow slipped my mind.
Today, as I do freelance work for X online dating conglomerate, I was looking for something for their social media feed when I came across this pick-up artist who was doing a live interview for some Australian news show, as he’s one of America’s top pick up artists/dating coaches. Now I just stared and stared at the screen and sure enough, the guy whose name I could not remember, was staring back at me. So I went to check out my Facebook, just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, but no, it’s the same guy with a new haircut. So now he’s helping people pick up dates and I’m writing dating tips articles and doing social media for dating sites. Ain’t life wonderful?
You look back at stories and it’s weird the things you remember. I will always remember that guy because I’ve hardly ever felt so sick in my entire life as I did whilst we had that fucking flu. I also remember him because his career choices, even back then, were rather unique. He was interesting, but I wasn’t that into him, nor was he that into me…it was just no big deal. You know some people you like, but there’s just no fire. I’d hang out with him any day, I just didn’t see any pink clouds around him, nor red desire. My favorite memory of him is him calling me in between flights, when he had taken a sleeping pill to sleep on the plane so he was still all sleepy and just cute. I have a voice thing, I like voices, and he sounded drop dead gorgeous then.
Likewise, ages and ages ago, I dated this other guy. Well, dated is an exaggeration. We hung out a few times and made out a few times. But he sent me this message saying “Babe, it’s snowing.” And it’s like my favorite text message of all time. I don’t really know why. Maybe because I felt he wanted to show me something beautiful that was happening, or share a moment. Because when we see something we appreciate, or something special happens, we tend to tell the people we care about – we want to share our excitement. I really don’t know, I just loved that message.
Sometimes I really do think it’s a shame that you don’t honor the connection you have with people more – both by seeing the connection for what it is and not trying to turn it into something it isn’t and by exploring and honoring the actual connection. Looking back I can positively say I wasn’t a great fit for most of the men I shared stories with, because we didn’t connect all round, but I love the feeling that with each (well, almost each) guy there was something you connected with. Something that intrigued you. Something that mirrored or attracted a part, or several parts of you. Sometimes it wasn’t the prettiest parts of you, sometimes it was the worst. But all the same, those parts of you were understood. Somehow it felt like coming home, if to the wrong home, because only a certain part of you, or certain parts of you, belonged there.
I think genuine human connections, when we respect them, are some of the best life has to offer. Sometimes we experience them through someone’s art, sometimes through their words, or their presence. And I guess that’s what makes us care for each other, because in each other we find ourselves. Then again, another way of putting this (the less respectful way that I’m sure we’ve all gravitated toward at times) is: “Darling, our intellectual discussions were great, I could spend all day talking to you, but in bed? You were as stimulating as a vibrator that had run out of battery. Please recharge or consider using your device for someone who is a better match for low sex drive. Yours truly, Damsel in Need of Better Sex” or “Darling, you were amazing in bed. A shagadelic Casanova. But apart from that you were a fucking idiot. I’m glad we made a sexual connection and that afterwards you hitched a ride to Mars. With respect, Your Venus.” If we could only learn to respect and treat the people we end up in romantic confusion with better, knowing that some are shagadelic, some angelic, some both, maybe there would be less war? And more sex?
Image source: http://www.pinterest.com/pin/507780926709325339/