My Life in the Bush of Ghosts
If this had been a posting about politics, the title might have been “My Life in the Ghosts of Bush”; but it’s about the opposite sex, so we’re sticking with what’s up there.
It’s about as easy to be an intellectual out here in rural America as it is to be a single, fifty-year old guy. Both require the positing of what I like to call “imagined milieus.” By that, I mean that being either requires a vivid imagination, pretending that something exists when it doesn’t. For example, unless one attends a college, finding others to share one’s intellectual pursuits is just about impossible. Even the formation of a book club requires an herculean effort, with no guarantee of results. Trust me: I’ve tried. So instead of exchanging ideas with minds attached to real bodies, I manifest an audience; and when I can, trust spaces like this as a stand-in for the real deal. Better than nothing. Barely.
Russel Jacoby’s The Last Intellectuals put things in perspective for me years ago, as I struggled with the notion of attending college. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Russell_Jacoby). Even then, I was desirous of a milieu, a group of somewhat like-minded folks whom I could bounce ideas off of. That’s what eventually drew me to Shimer.
And I got some of what I needed there. However, because of the school’s liberal political bias, it wasn’t enough; and after some well-fought battles with professors and spirited debates with fellow students, I withdrew, opting to take my struggles back to the streets of Chicago. It was then that I published my own fanzine and sought out out others trekking a similar path. [Also met my wife-to-be.] Both had their moments, but my doubts grew as nothing of substance materialized. Ended up just being content with what I had, and doing more of what I’d already been doing.
Kind of where I’m at with women as well. Just remaining content with whom I have (nobody) and what I’m doing (nothing). I’ve come to the unfortunate conclusion that until the so-called “Battle of the Sexes” gets worked through, dating is a preposterous proposition for me. Neither gender has a clue as to what they want or need from or in a relationship anymore. So much second-guessing. Too much elasticity when it comes to commitment of any sort. To quote the philosopher, Pat Benetar, “Love is a battlefield.”
With few exceptions, I’m not sure how to approach a woman anymore. Even for the mere sake of stimulating a conversation. Unlike when I was about twenty or so years younger, these days I find myself wondering or even worrying that some hypothetical she might perceive some sort of hidden agenda on my part. That the only reason I’m bothering to strike up a conversation with her is so that I can get her clothes off. And when such notions are an apriori, even the smallest of steps with regard to nothing more than a friendship are taken hesitantly. Or at least they seem like they need to be.
I don’t know what it is. Are women so full of themselves that they believe guys are always hitting on them? Or is it possible that other guys are doing the rest of us an anti-solid by constantly hitting on chicks? I’m inclined to believe that quite a bit of the latter is occurring — just judging from my personal experience. Two male acquaintances of mine are having difficulty finding work because of incidences where they allegedly “disrespected boundaries” at their former places of employment. One fellow is my age, married, and should thus know better; the other is in his twenties, living with “his baby’s mama,” and should also know better. Neither of these guys are exactly Brad Pitt lookalikes, yet neither have any qualms acting like they are. What they lack in tact, they more than make up for in self-confidence.
There’s that fine line. I’ve heard it said by more than one woman: self-confidence sells. A guy could be five-two, looks a snooze, but if he can project an air of self-knowledge or self-satisfaction, women are attracted.
It’s not that I lack self-confidence; I just lack the pride. I tend to be more laid back, a bigger listener than talker, and find virtue in humility. I don’t try to project much of anything; I prefer that people get to know me, give me an opportunity to prove that I’m the asshole they think I am. Just provide me the same benefit of the doubt that I allow you.
The crazy thing is, that as meager as those demands are, I don’t see them being met. Particularly when social media casts such a vast shadow over how relationships develop: Profiles are padded; posts are over-dramatized; photos are shopped. The slope is already a slippery one, and it as such just as you’d like to perhaps get things off the ground or out of the gate.
To put this in perspective, let me submit that I see myself as a realist. I am well-aware of my faults, limitations and so on. I also think I have a sense of what type of woman I have a chance with and who might best suit me. But what I wish to convey, more than anything else, is that neither thought matters anymore. For as I seek less and find more [outside of the constrictions of dating], the world becomes a much more interesting and exciting place. No tension. No pressure. Just tales from the outback, where spirits speak in languages I still understand.
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