Give Everything Up For Love?
For anyone who noticed my recent status update on Facebook I am now involved in a relationship with Gene Kelly. The only surprising aspect of that should be that it took me this long to become involved with him. The term “dreamboat” comes to mind. What has me writing tonight, however, is Brigadoon. I had never seen this musical previously; we watched Singing in the Rain last night and I absolutely loved it. (I could do a thing with all caps to show just how much I loved it, but trust me when I say I’m still on a little bit of a high over that one.)
Brigadoon, however, while not bad, wasn’t quite as good. Cyd Charisse was marvelous and Gene Kelly was marvelous (of course) and I liked the love story between them. But the plot both left me dissatisfied and got me to thinking. In this movie the town of Brigadoon is only a part of the world for one day every hundred years. The townspeople wake up, have their day, then go to bed only to wake up one hundred years later. This came about because in 1754 the pastor of the town worried about the unpleasant influences headed for the townsfolk, specifically a band of witches headed their way. He went out to a hill and prayed for a miracle. God granted this miracle by removing the town from reality for all but one day every hundred years. No one could ever cross the boundaries of the town (none of the townsfolk that is) or all of the townsfolk would wink out of existence. Well Gene comes along and finds the town and falls in love with Cyd and of course he is able to join them.
My problem is this: is it really a miracle to live your life one day at a time every hundred years and to never, ever be able to leave? You can never go anywhere else, never see anything else, never access any other part of human existence outside what is encased in your small town. One young man goes insane and tries to leave and is accidentally shot; it’s sad, but as a viewer I was left conflicted. His escape would have destroyed the town and he couldn’t stand to be there any more; death was his only real option then, but death seemed an unfair solution to him. I’m not sure I buy that what the reverend did was a good thing; I am, it should be noted, predisposed to side with witches in almost everything concerning the social view of witches in the 18th century--I freely admit that bias.
Aside from this problem there is also this very important philosophical question to consider: could I actually give up everything, my friends, family, life, everything, to live in an isolated faerie existence with my love? What made me seriously think about this, is that as I watched I realized I didn’t, and don’t, think I would.
Let’s imagine for a second really, truly falling in love over the course of a day just like the movies. The sort of love that never leaves you alone, never gets out of your system. The sort of love that takes years to heal. I’m blessed to have that sort of love, I would argue, with my friends and family. To never see them again, to never be able to see them again, would make me unhappy in a way that would lessen, possibly even negate the love I’ve found with this magical person who requires me to give everything up.
When I was eighteen I could have done it no problem. When you’re eighteen you’re still close enough to fourteen to call someone a “murderer of love” and really mean it. When you’re eighteen you can run away from life for love with no idea of what you’re giving up, and by the time you realize it’s too late to change it. But at twenty-eight things are a whole lot less melodramatic, and a whole lot more consequential. Even assuming for a moment that where I went wasn’t this magical town I could never leave (because if that were the case I really wouldn’t ever do it) assuming that perhaps I were traveling to a whole other world that was green and lush, full of arts and education and all the things that offer fulfillment. If, and this is a ridiculous if but we’re already contemplating a ridiculous situation, this other place were my own personal utopia I might do it. But the thing is I don’t think simply being with one person would make it my own personal utopia.
Is that wrong? Selfish? Unromantic? Well, certainly unromantic. But when you’re somewhere you hate, the only thing that makes it tolerable are the people you love. And if you fight or become disillusioned with the person you love sometimes the only thing that keeps you sane while you work through it is the place (if you don’t hate it) or the friends and family--other people you love. But if you’re somewhere you grow to hate, with no friends, no family, and no escape eventually you’re going to fight with this person you love no matter how true and wonderful the love is. And if there is literally nowhere and no one you can talk to there is no way to get distance or perspective and bitterness sets in. Over time (especially if you can only live one day every one hundred years) things are going to get very Tennessee Williams in that relationship until everyone is unhappy and screaming at everyone. The only way to avoid that would be for you, the person who gave up everything, to carry the load of that sorrow. And that would be a very heavy load to carry.
So no...I don’t think I would do it. Now, I admit I’m factoring into this my belief that no love could accrue over a day that I wouldn’t eventually heal from no matter how intense. In my opinion the sort of love that is worth giving everything up for happens over a little more time than that, so that plays a part. The love i have for my friends and family as accrued over years and if that means giving up Gene Kelly I think I might. Further proof of my lack of romanticism.
But I think, at the end of all this musing, what it comes down to for me, is that I actually, truly do believe there are all sorts of loves in life and a person generally needs more than one of them to get by. We can make do if we’re missing one and most people rarely have them all--family and friends can make up for no lover and vice versa; friends for family; family and lover for friends and so on--and sometimes if absolutely necessary we can get by on one. But more than one, at least in my limited twenty-eight years of experience seems to make for the most happiness. None is a sure bet and all take hard work on the part of everyone--these are givens--but realistic knowledge of that hard work makes me achingly aware of the ability of one type to magically buoy while another type fails, breaks, or hurts. So if you have a big fight you have friends and/or family there to catch you. If you’re ridiculously happy you have someone to share it with. If you start to wear on one person or group you can offer relief by visiting another.
But if everyone is stuck in Brigadoon you eventually go crazy and attempt to force mass destruction on the town to end it all. We all know that would totally be my ending.
Perhaps that’s unromantic. Perhaps I’m missing the thrill of this particular fairytale. I freely admit to all of these possibilities while placing equal fault on myself along with the movie. Gene Kelly really was spectacular, but I don’t think I could give up everything even for him.
Well...nope. Maybe 300 Spartans...maybe.
The possibility of little leather panties does add an enticing variable into the mix.
Monday, December 21, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Are You Worth Saving?
I wasn’t going to do it, but I have to. The ridiculousness of the public perception of government programs and publicly funded programs has finally pushed me to the edge. Newsweek’s Article, “A Mountain of Bills” discusses the high costs of rescue operations; this is a conversation that has been sparked following the search for the missing climbers on Mt. Hood. Apparently it costs a lot to mount a search and rescue operation; there are helicopter costs, specialist costs, and *gasp* overtime costs. Well heaven forbid.
My question, and the only one I feel actually matters, is: are we really not going to put forth our best efforts to save/help people because it costs too much? Really? (That second really is part of the first question--honest.)
Obviously a search and rescue operation on a mountain is going to cost money. It cannot, realistically, be done all volunteer. Do any of us actually have a problem with making sure rangers are employed, their stations stocked, helicopters available, and orientations for mountain climbers provided? If you do you are the Grinch who made pre-Christmas ghost Scrooge look cheerful. And that argument is ridiculous outside of a fascist state so we won’t consider it here.
But, the only option for finding money for programs such as these is through taxes and all one has to do is say “taxes” and everybody gets flibbertigibbeted. That’s right. I said flibbertigibbeted cause that’s what it is. The social contract, the one we agree to live by when we make a conscious decision to be part of the American community and the one we vote on every election includes taxes. It can’t NOT include taxes. The government, so long as we chose to have one, must find money somewhere and we, the people, agree to pay money for the government to use--as it sees fit until we use our power to change the spending--our money. Now, there are any number of things we can argue about so far as how our money should be spent and I’m not going to do that because that’s not what I’m talking about here. The only premise that needs be accepted is that we should pay the government some amount of money so that it might function.
Keep in mind if you say “no” you better be very, very sure you understand what that means (and then let me know because I would be happy to consider that idea elsewhere).
Moving on, what on earth should our money be spent on except, oh I don’t know, making sure the citizens and peoples of our country aren’t on their own? We can’t not allow people to climb mountains (we could, but again, go look up fascist) and we can’t inject GPS locators onto their body (someone suggested that in the comments, I kid you not, go read a dystopian book) so in order to walk that fine line between life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness (it really is that one that is the sticking point in so many things) we have to accept that sometimes people pursue happiness in dangerous ways. Does it not behoove us to provide safety nets where possible? Do we really want to run a country where the only people you can turn to for help are your friends and family? Getting robbed? Can’t call the police! Call Mom! That idea is so ridiculous I have heartburn.
And I’m not saying these ranger programs are perfect; certainly how much money, the way the money is being spent, and every other nitpicky thing would be watched as the government watches all of its money (another topic I refuse to be sidetracked by) but the thing that makes this situation different from PBS or Art Grants or any of the other myriad of programs that people debate over, is that this is specifically about saving lives. Seriously. We’re not paying rangers to play lumberjack. Is a ranger station not an important thing to have? Why not? Because you’re never going to be on a mountain, therefore it doesn’t require thought, care, or funding?
That was the thinking of some of the comments and it is that close-sightedness, the inability to think outside of their own little world, the sheer selfishness, violently protected selfishness, that irritates me and causes an article like this to be written. Hate is louder so policies and conversations keep getting had based on the noise the hateful people make. The problem, of course, is that you can’t exactly be an angry non-hater. But we could be loud non-haters if more of us, instead of screaming back at them, would simply say “that is unacceptable” and ignore them. But that definitely is a topic for another day.
In meantime, go find some gosh darn hikers!
http://www.newsweek.com/id/227009?GT1=43002
I wasn’t going to do it, but I have to. The ridiculousness of the public perception of government programs and publicly funded programs has finally pushed me to the edge. Newsweek’s Article, “A Mountain of Bills” discusses the high costs of rescue operations; this is a conversation that has been sparked following the search for the missing climbers on Mt. Hood. Apparently it costs a lot to mount a search and rescue operation; there are helicopter costs, specialist costs, and *gasp* overtime costs. Well heaven forbid.
My question, and the only one I feel actually matters, is: are we really not going to put forth our best efforts to save/help people because it costs too much? Really? (That second really is part of the first question--honest.)
Obviously a search and rescue operation on a mountain is going to cost money. It cannot, realistically, be done all volunteer. Do any of us actually have a problem with making sure rangers are employed, their stations stocked, helicopters available, and orientations for mountain climbers provided? If you do you are the Grinch who made pre-Christmas ghost Scrooge look cheerful. And that argument is ridiculous outside of a fascist state so we won’t consider it here.
But, the only option for finding money for programs such as these is through taxes and all one has to do is say “taxes” and everybody gets flibbertigibbeted. That’s right. I said flibbertigibbeted cause that’s what it is. The social contract, the one we agree to live by when we make a conscious decision to be part of the American community and the one we vote on every election includes taxes. It can’t NOT include taxes. The government, so long as we chose to have one, must find money somewhere and we, the people, agree to pay money for the government to use--as it sees fit until we use our power to change the spending--our money. Now, there are any number of things we can argue about so far as how our money should be spent and I’m not going to do that because that’s not what I’m talking about here. The only premise that needs be accepted is that we should pay the government some amount of money so that it might function.
Keep in mind if you say “no” you better be very, very sure you understand what that means (and then let me know because I would be happy to consider that idea elsewhere).
Moving on, what on earth should our money be spent on except, oh I don’t know, making sure the citizens and peoples of our country aren’t on their own? We can’t not allow people to climb mountains (we could, but again, go look up fascist) and we can’t inject GPS locators onto their body (someone suggested that in the comments, I kid you not, go read a dystopian book) so in order to walk that fine line between life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness (it really is that one that is the sticking point in so many things) we have to accept that sometimes people pursue happiness in dangerous ways. Does it not behoove us to provide safety nets where possible? Do we really want to run a country where the only people you can turn to for help are your friends and family? Getting robbed? Can’t call the police! Call Mom! That idea is so ridiculous I have heartburn.
And I’m not saying these ranger programs are perfect; certainly how much money, the way the money is being spent, and every other nitpicky thing would be watched as the government watches all of its money (another topic I refuse to be sidetracked by) but the thing that makes this situation different from PBS or Art Grants or any of the other myriad of programs that people debate over, is that this is specifically about saving lives. Seriously. We’re not paying rangers to play lumberjack. Is a ranger station not an important thing to have? Why not? Because you’re never going to be on a mountain, therefore it doesn’t require thought, care, or funding?
That was the thinking of some of the comments and it is that close-sightedness, the inability to think outside of their own little world, the sheer selfishness, violently protected selfishness, that irritates me and causes an article like this to be written. Hate is louder so policies and conversations keep getting had based on the noise the hateful people make. The problem, of course, is that you can’t exactly be an angry non-hater. But we could be loud non-haters if more of us, instead of screaming back at them, would simply say “that is unacceptable” and ignore them. But that definitely is a topic for another day.
In meantime, go find some gosh darn hikers!
http://www.newsweek.com/id/227009?GT1=43002
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Top Ten Greatest Parts of Holiday Inn (1942)
First I must set the stage: I'm home for Christmas break and that means a lot of movie watching. Imagine two to three movies a night. Movie watching is what my dad and I do, so when I come home a game ensues of "pick the movie" which usually takes up the better part of an hour before every movie that is watched. Sometimes, as with Holiday Inn, my mother feels strongly about a movie and so attempts to steer us away from watching said movie even though she isn't going to watch it with us.
Thus it was that multiple conversations surrounding Holiday Inn went like this:
Night 1
Me: Let's watch Holiday Inn!
Mom: It's not good. It's just another movie about a whiny guy.
Dad: Can't watch that one then.
Exit Mom.
Night 2
Me: Let's watch Holiday Inn!
Mom: Why would you want to watch that? It's awful.
Dad: Can't watch that one then.
Exit Mom.
Night 3
Me: Let's watch Holiday Inn!
Mom: Whiny, whiny man!
Dad: Can't watch that one then.
Me: I want to watch Holiday Inn! Mom, you're not going to watch it anyway!
Mom: Well that's true. But it's a bad movie.
Dad: You're mom doesn't want to watch that one.
Me: Mom's not watching!
Repeat scene.
You begin to have an idea of the epic quest it is to pick just one of the two to three movies that gets watched when I'm home.
But, eventually after much struggle and battle, we did watch Holiday Inn and my mom was right. It was pretty awful. In honor of the stupendous, marvelous, tremendous awfulness though I give you this top ten list. Keep in mind that every time something happened that upset me, causing me to cry out in horror, my father brought up Aaron Burr, the man that shot Alexander Hamilton on the grassy knoll. Why did he bring up Aaron Burr? I don't know. My best guess was to get me to stop screaming about the movie.
Top Ten Greatest Parts of Holiday Inn
10. Severe Lack of Surprise When His Fiancee Throws Him Over
It's hard to believe Jim, Bing Crosby, loved Lila all that much when he shrugs off her abandonment in the space of two seconds. And that's not an exaggeration.
9. Ted Hanover's Existence Seems to Rely Solely on Screwing His "Friend" Jim
It's almost like Ted, Fred Astaire, doesn't have a purpose if he can't ruin Jim's life. How is that a basis for a friendship, and why does Jim keep letting him hang around? Oh, that's right, cause Jim has no backbone and is more than a little emo.
8.Lila--The Gold-Hunting Man-Eater
She ends up back with her man at the end and it's a happy ending. Kind of. Really she's getting a little long in the tooth and she obviously needs to get someone to marry her before it's too late. Now that's true love.
7. A Madonna/Whore Complex That is Subtle Like a Semi-Truck
You gotta love a Madonna/whore complex that is so thoughtful as to even divide up the women according to hair color. Linda=Madonna=blond hair. Lila=whore=brown hair. That's the sort of consideration I appreciate in my movies.
6. Self Righteousness Following the Sabotaging of Your "Fiancee's" Career
Only Bing could sabotage his "fiancee;" the fiancee, by the by, he forgot he proposed to, and then get all self righteous about her destruction of his dream before she even says anything. My mom was right. He is whiny.
5. Two Men Who Have a Friendship Based on Stealing Women From Each Other
There are so many parts of this aspect to take joy from. Do we laugh because the women are objects waiting to be stolen? Do we wink at the friendship that seems not quite friendly? Do we root for men who hang out with each other only to ruin the other one's life? It's all just so cute and quirky.
4. A Black Cook/Nanny Named Mamie
She even has bad grammar. I mean, I know it's 1942 and we have to keep the time the movie was made in mind, but that doesn't mean we can't get a good laugh at the ridiculousness of it.
3. Dropping the Woman He "Loves" in a Pond Instead of Marrying Her
Jim doesn't marry the women he loves; instead he pays the cab driver to ruin their career and drop them in a pond in the middle of Connecticut. Cause that obviously makes the most sense. Gee Bing, it's a mystery why these women would leave you for Fred Astaire isn't it?
2. The Shameless Stealing of Another Man's Fiancee
This one's tricky as it speaks to the constancy of the women in the film, but regardless the entire film seems to revolve around one man stealing another man's fiancee the night before the marriage. Talk about romance and true love.
1. Blackface Song About Lincoln
Oh yeah. There's blackface in the song for Lincoln's birthday. The stereotype abounds with the sort of awful sublimity that is only possible in a time where racism is funny.
First I must set the stage: I'm home for Christmas break and that means a lot of movie watching. Imagine two to three movies a night. Movie watching is what my dad and I do, so when I come home a game ensues of "pick the movie" which usually takes up the better part of an hour before every movie that is watched. Sometimes, as with Holiday Inn, my mother feels strongly about a movie and so attempts to steer us away from watching said movie even though she isn't going to watch it with us.
Thus it was that multiple conversations surrounding Holiday Inn went like this:
Night 1
Me: Let's watch Holiday Inn!
Mom: It's not good. It's just another movie about a whiny guy.
Dad: Can't watch that one then.
Exit Mom.
Night 2
Me: Let's watch Holiday Inn!
Mom: Why would you want to watch that? It's awful.
Dad: Can't watch that one then.
Exit Mom.
Night 3
Me: Let's watch Holiday Inn!
Mom: Whiny, whiny man!
Dad: Can't watch that one then.
Me: I want to watch Holiday Inn! Mom, you're not going to watch it anyway!
Mom: Well that's true. But it's a bad movie.
Dad: You're mom doesn't want to watch that one.
Me: Mom's not watching!
Repeat scene.
You begin to have an idea of the epic quest it is to pick just one of the two to three movies that gets watched when I'm home.
But, eventually after much struggle and battle, we did watch Holiday Inn and my mom was right. It was pretty awful. In honor of the stupendous, marvelous, tremendous awfulness though I give you this top ten list. Keep in mind that every time something happened that upset me, causing me to cry out in horror, my father brought up Aaron Burr, the man that shot Alexander Hamilton on the grassy knoll. Why did he bring up Aaron Burr? I don't know. My best guess was to get me to stop screaming about the movie.
Top Ten Greatest Parts of Holiday Inn
10. Severe Lack of Surprise When His Fiancee Throws Him Over
It's hard to believe Jim, Bing Crosby, loved Lila all that much when he shrugs off her abandonment in the space of two seconds. And that's not an exaggeration.
9. Ted Hanover's Existence Seems to Rely Solely on Screwing His "Friend" Jim
It's almost like Ted, Fred Astaire, doesn't have a purpose if he can't ruin Jim's life. How is that a basis for a friendship, and why does Jim keep letting him hang around? Oh, that's right, cause Jim has no backbone and is more than a little emo.
8.Lila--The Gold-Hunting Man-Eater
She ends up back with her man at the end and it's a happy ending. Kind of. Really she's getting a little long in the tooth and she obviously needs to get someone to marry her before it's too late. Now that's true love.
7. A Madonna/Whore Complex That is Subtle Like a Semi-Truck
You gotta love a Madonna/whore complex that is so thoughtful as to even divide up the women according to hair color. Linda=Madonna=blond hair. Lila=whore=brown hair. That's the sort of consideration I appreciate in my movies.
6. Self Righteousness Following the Sabotaging of Your "Fiancee's" Career
Only Bing could sabotage his "fiancee;" the fiancee, by the by, he forgot he proposed to, and then get all self righteous about her destruction of his dream before she even says anything. My mom was right. He is whiny.
5. Two Men Who Have a Friendship Based on Stealing Women From Each Other
There are so many parts of this aspect to take joy from. Do we laugh because the women are objects waiting to be stolen? Do we wink at the friendship that seems not quite friendly? Do we root for men who hang out with each other only to ruin the other one's life? It's all just so cute and quirky.
4. A Black Cook/Nanny Named Mamie
She even has bad grammar. I mean, I know it's 1942 and we have to keep the time the movie was made in mind, but that doesn't mean we can't get a good laugh at the ridiculousness of it.
3. Dropping the Woman He "Loves" in a Pond Instead of Marrying Her
Jim doesn't marry the women he loves; instead he pays the cab driver to ruin their career and drop them in a pond in the middle of Connecticut. Cause that obviously makes the most sense. Gee Bing, it's a mystery why these women would leave you for Fred Astaire isn't it?
2. The Shameless Stealing of Another Man's Fiancee
This one's tricky as it speaks to the constancy of the women in the film, but regardless the entire film seems to revolve around one man stealing another man's fiancee the night before the marriage. Talk about romance and true love.
1. Blackface Song About Lincoln
Oh yeah. There's blackface in the song for Lincoln's birthday. The stereotype abounds with the sort of awful sublimity that is only possible in a time where racism is funny.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Marriage Over 30
I’m home again in Macomb, where dreams do to come true (please note the sarcasm) and I ended up on the WIU campus today as I waited for my mom to get done with a meeting. The meeting and the circumstances behind it are funny stories by themselves, but they aren’t mine to tell so I’ll stay quiet.
As I’m sitting on the couch in the lounge, however, I hear one of the student workers behind the desk, a young sorority girl by the sound of her, say, “If I weren’t married by, like, 30, I don’t know what I’d do! I mean, like, all my friends would be married and that would be so weird. I would feel like my life was over!”
You wish I was making this up. I wish I was making this up. Unfortunately, I wrote down what she said because I knew I was going to want to repeat it.
The really sad thing is I don’t not understand why she was saying this. When I was 21 the idea that I might be unmarried by 30 seemed foreign and impossible to me. I don’t think I was ever stupid enough to think my life would be over without it, but marriage was so inevitable I never envisioned my life without it. That’s what little girls do. As I sit on the porch of 30 however, some of my friends are inside the house, I have a much different outlook on things. Honestly I don’t know if I will ever get married and that idea both thrills and disappoints me.
On the one hand I really, really, REALLY like being single. It’s almost ridiculous how much I like being single. I like moving where I want to move when I want to move there. I like going on trips and staying out without anyone to worry about me. I like being as selfish or not as my mood moves me. I don’t like to cuddle (particularly) I don’t like to talk about my feelings and I hate being emotionally genuine. I’m also, on occasion, slightly curmudgeonly.
But when I look at my new nephew I think about how nice it would be to have kids. When I go to family reunions and funerals I become acutely aware of how nice it would be not to be alone. When I do feel like cuddling (approximately 3 times a year) I become incredibly sad for the empty spot on the couch next to me.
But what gets me about the young lady today, and most everyone’s thoughts about marriage in general, is the belief--sometimes verbalized, sometimes silent--that a person’s life is incomplete without marriage. The belief that if, especially as a woman, you don’t get married it’s because you’ve done something wrong. If you aren’t married by 30 then obviously you aren’t pretty enough, feminine enough, or family oriented enough. Some people consciously believe this, but everyone--at least that I’ve ever talked to--subconsciously purports this if they don’t obviously believe it. That--that pressure, disappointment, and judgment--makes me want to get married more sometimes then any actual urges towards marriage I have.
The truly humorous part about all of this is that I rarely feel this pressure from my happily married friends. Perhaps when we’re older things will change, or perhaps none of them actually believe I won’t get married, but there seems to be a bit of “the grass is greener” going on when we hang out. I’m ambivalent towards marriage in general and they are realistic about it’s wonders and stresses. That means they sometimes wish they were single, and I sometimes wish I was married, but our interactions are based on the wisdom that no path is by default more fulfilling or happy-making than another.
And there is that point again. The idea that by default marriage makes you happy. You are automatically happier if you’re married. You’re automatically validated as a human, as an adult, as a human being. If you aren’t married by 30 then you’re an old maid, unwanted, used goods. I get irritated just thinking about it. My mom was appalled when I told her what the young girl had said. “That anyone in this day and age could believe that,” were her words. But it isn’t shocking to me because I once thought those words even if I never said them. And, as I approach 30 while I’m not in any particular hurry to get married, I feel a very real weight judging me for not doing so.
That young girl probably will get married before 30, but I’d still rather be me than her. She’s going to get married because she can’t imagine any other option. Let’s hope she doesn’t settle for just anyone. And let’s hope for all the little girls growing up today, that someone explains that, single or in a couple, no one can make you happy but yourself.
And that’s a good thing.
I’m home again in Macomb, where dreams do to come true (please note the sarcasm) and I ended up on the WIU campus today as I waited for my mom to get done with a meeting. The meeting and the circumstances behind it are funny stories by themselves, but they aren’t mine to tell so I’ll stay quiet.
As I’m sitting on the couch in the lounge, however, I hear one of the student workers behind the desk, a young sorority girl by the sound of her, say, “If I weren’t married by, like, 30, I don’t know what I’d do! I mean, like, all my friends would be married and that would be so weird. I would feel like my life was over!”
You wish I was making this up. I wish I was making this up. Unfortunately, I wrote down what she said because I knew I was going to want to repeat it.
The really sad thing is I don’t not understand why she was saying this. When I was 21 the idea that I might be unmarried by 30 seemed foreign and impossible to me. I don’t think I was ever stupid enough to think my life would be over without it, but marriage was so inevitable I never envisioned my life without it. That’s what little girls do. As I sit on the porch of 30 however, some of my friends are inside the house, I have a much different outlook on things. Honestly I don’t know if I will ever get married and that idea both thrills and disappoints me.
On the one hand I really, really, REALLY like being single. It’s almost ridiculous how much I like being single. I like moving where I want to move when I want to move there. I like going on trips and staying out without anyone to worry about me. I like being as selfish or not as my mood moves me. I don’t like to cuddle (particularly) I don’t like to talk about my feelings and I hate being emotionally genuine. I’m also, on occasion, slightly curmudgeonly.
But when I look at my new nephew I think about how nice it would be to have kids. When I go to family reunions and funerals I become acutely aware of how nice it would be not to be alone. When I do feel like cuddling (approximately 3 times a year) I become incredibly sad for the empty spot on the couch next to me.
But what gets me about the young lady today, and most everyone’s thoughts about marriage in general, is the belief--sometimes verbalized, sometimes silent--that a person’s life is incomplete without marriage. The belief that if, especially as a woman, you don’t get married it’s because you’ve done something wrong. If you aren’t married by 30 then obviously you aren’t pretty enough, feminine enough, or family oriented enough. Some people consciously believe this, but everyone--at least that I’ve ever talked to--subconsciously purports this if they don’t obviously believe it. That--that pressure, disappointment, and judgment--makes me want to get married more sometimes then any actual urges towards marriage I have.
The truly humorous part about all of this is that I rarely feel this pressure from my happily married friends. Perhaps when we’re older things will change, or perhaps none of them actually believe I won’t get married, but there seems to be a bit of “the grass is greener” going on when we hang out. I’m ambivalent towards marriage in general and they are realistic about it’s wonders and stresses. That means they sometimes wish they were single, and I sometimes wish I was married, but our interactions are based on the wisdom that no path is by default more fulfilling or happy-making than another.
And there is that point again. The idea that by default marriage makes you happy. You are automatically happier if you’re married. You’re automatically validated as a human, as an adult, as a human being. If you aren’t married by 30 then you’re an old maid, unwanted, used goods. I get irritated just thinking about it. My mom was appalled when I told her what the young girl had said. “That anyone in this day and age could believe that,” were her words. But it isn’t shocking to me because I once thought those words even if I never said them. And, as I approach 30 while I’m not in any particular hurry to get married, I feel a very real weight judging me for not doing so.
That young girl probably will get married before 30, but I’d still rather be me than her. She’s going to get married because she can’t imagine any other option. Let’s hope she doesn’t settle for just anyone. And let’s hope for all the little girls growing up today, that someone explains that, single or in a couple, no one can make you happy but yourself.
And that’s a good thing.
Wednesday, December 09, 2009
All I Want For Christmas Is Some JCVD!
That’s not actually all I want for Christmas, but it’s definitely at the top of the list. In all honesty I would also like a werewolf, a vampire, a pirate, a ninja, and a jedi. Preferably all in one person who maybe, on occasion, holds aloft his magic sword and says, “By the power of Greyskull!”
I thought it behooved me to meditate on Christmas for a moment. A recent conversation reminded me of the consumer aspect of Christmas and I agree that it is awful how much pressure is put on all of us to spend the appropriate amount of money, and buy the right gifts, and follow the traditions etc. But as I opened presents with my roommates tonight and watched them open the presents I bought for them I realized how much I totally don’t care about all of that.
I love me some Christmas.
This is odd; I’ll admit that. I’m not Christian, not capitalist, not even particularly sentimental so it defies reason that I should enjoy Christmas as much as I do. But, it occurred to me, in true Jimmy Stewart fashion, how little it matters whether you believe in any single aspect of Christmas--religion, presents, or sentimentality. It doesn’t matter because it’s a tradition that creates family; when you put a tree up together and decorate together and buy gifts for each other it creates a shared memory of enjoying each other’s company. That’s the kicker. That’s why it doesn’t matter if you care about the tree or the gifts or not. The tradition is the part that matters because it solidifies a family dynamic that offers a free zone to love each other without awkwardness or complication.
Sure, someone no doubt might say why do we need Christmas to show how much we care? And they would be right. But it isn’t that we need Christmas, it’s that we have Christmas. A festival, tradition, etc, isn’t necessary, but it does offer structure and the chance to share and express emotions that might not find a viable outlet otherwise. Christmas is a version of carnival right?
But in this changing world of both increased connectivity and isolation, there aren’t moments to create family that often anymore. Ritual can solidify emotion; that’s one of the reasons it is so powerful. The Christmas ritual then, when done correctly anyway, can solidify a social unit’s--a family’s--love for each other. And the beauty of the Christmas spirit, I might hazard, is that everyone agrees to be a part of the larger social unit of humanity if only for a month. That feels nice.
Now Christmas can also be an incredibly depressing time of year; I would never be so silly as to not admit to that. But again, while the “joyous holidays” might show how alone you are, it also provides the opportunity show how not alone you are. That’s important when it’s cold, dark, and bleak outside.
Anyway, that’s why I love me some Christmas. You buy the gifts and you put up the tree because it can feel nice to make those around you happy, and sometimes it’s the holiday that most makes me want to throw myself out of a moving vehicle, but for every moment of pure agony I usually have a moment of pure joy too.
It’s nice to have a day where nobody minds if you tell them you love them. :)
That’s not actually all I want for Christmas, but it’s definitely at the top of the list. In all honesty I would also like a werewolf, a vampire, a pirate, a ninja, and a jedi. Preferably all in one person who maybe, on occasion, holds aloft his magic sword and says, “By the power of Greyskull!”
I thought it behooved me to meditate on Christmas for a moment. A recent conversation reminded me of the consumer aspect of Christmas and I agree that it is awful how much pressure is put on all of us to spend the appropriate amount of money, and buy the right gifts, and follow the traditions etc. But as I opened presents with my roommates tonight and watched them open the presents I bought for them I realized how much I totally don’t care about all of that.
I love me some Christmas.
This is odd; I’ll admit that. I’m not Christian, not capitalist, not even particularly sentimental so it defies reason that I should enjoy Christmas as much as I do. But, it occurred to me, in true Jimmy Stewart fashion, how little it matters whether you believe in any single aspect of Christmas--religion, presents, or sentimentality. It doesn’t matter because it’s a tradition that creates family; when you put a tree up together and decorate together and buy gifts for each other it creates a shared memory of enjoying each other’s company. That’s the kicker. That’s why it doesn’t matter if you care about the tree or the gifts or not. The tradition is the part that matters because it solidifies a family dynamic that offers a free zone to love each other without awkwardness or complication.
Sure, someone no doubt might say why do we need Christmas to show how much we care? And they would be right. But it isn’t that we need Christmas, it’s that we have Christmas. A festival, tradition, etc, isn’t necessary, but it does offer structure and the chance to share and express emotions that might not find a viable outlet otherwise. Christmas is a version of carnival right?
But in this changing world of both increased connectivity and isolation, there aren’t moments to create family that often anymore. Ritual can solidify emotion; that’s one of the reasons it is so powerful. The Christmas ritual then, when done correctly anyway, can solidify a social unit’s--a family’s--love for each other. And the beauty of the Christmas spirit, I might hazard, is that everyone agrees to be a part of the larger social unit of humanity if only for a month. That feels nice.
Now Christmas can also be an incredibly depressing time of year; I would never be so silly as to not admit to that. But again, while the “joyous holidays” might show how alone you are, it also provides the opportunity show how not alone you are. That’s important when it’s cold, dark, and bleak outside.
Anyway, that’s why I love me some Christmas. You buy the gifts and you put up the tree because it can feel nice to make those around you happy, and sometimes it’s the holiday that most makes me want to throw myself out of a moving vehicle, but for every moment of pure agony I usually have a moment of pure joy too.
It’s nice to have a day where nobody minds if you tell them you love them. :)
Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Are Emotions A Useful Evolution?
Before I even begin to contemplate the slightly college freshman-esque question I have posed here I want it understood that I always answer yes. Self awareness is required for mental evolution and with self awareness must come emotion. To say otherwise is fairly ludicrous in my opinion.
But, leaving all of that aside, I’ve been having a reasonably hard time of it this semester. To say that it’s been a rough sixteen weeks seems both sarcastic and understated. I don’t know if I’ve ever, at least since I’ve become an adult, had sixteen weeks like these. None of this matters except as backstory; specifically as I attempt to push through finals week, finish grading, write a final, write a paper, put in grades, etc., it all comes down to me whining at the world. A large part of me just wants to walk away from it all with the sort of disdain and sneer only my seventeen year old self could muster.
On a side note: isn’t it odd how no matter how old we get, circumstances can still promote our teenage selves to come out and sneer at the world on occasion? Or maybe that’s just me and my perpetual immaturity.
But here’s where the question about the evolutionary wisdom of emotions comes in: life totally doesn’t care about how I feel. If one were to personify life a conversation with it would go like this:
Me: “Life, I’m really tired of this.”
Life: “Get over it.”
Me: “Why don't you care about me?! You’re no good for me! You never let me play video games or watch movies or just relax anymore!”
Life: “Bored.”
Me: “Don’t you care about me anymore?”
Life: “You got bills to pay.”
This is what I’m saying. Being an adult means you don’t get the luxury of whining anymore--well, some people certainly still whine, but it doesn’t make a difference and they shouldn’t. No matter how over it all you are you still have to do it; bills need paid, chores need done, and mothers need called. Becoming a hermit in Montana and seceding from the United States is no longer a legitimate option--if indeed it ever was. (But I had dreams! Dreams of living a life outside the bounds of the law! Dreams where I could use the Force and travel the cosmos! Wait...wrong dreams. Sorry.)
But we evolved emotions and, for myself at least, I spend a significant amount of time attempting to consciously further evolve my emotions in an attempt to better myself as a human being. Wishing to be more compassionate, more wise, more dialogic I sit around and think about things A LOT. And I have to wonder sometimes, especially when the adult side of me is required to overtake the rest of me, what is the purpose?
Consider it sincerely for a moment: leaving out all of that human condition crap and movie cliché “there’s a silver lining to every tragedy” boloney, does it not make sense from a purely evolutionary standpoint for emotions to either a) not exist or b) be more directly connected to the social stratification we are drawn to genetically? Furthermore, human society itself is caught in a Catch-22 of its own making. We must have emotions to create and improve society, but emotions limit our ability to work ourselves to death for society’s benefit (and we all know how I feel about the commodification of human beings). As a citizen, then, you end up in the untenable position of needing emotion to be a member of society and constantly fighting against those same emotions as you attempt to accomplish all that is required of you as a member of said society.
Are we all following me here?
If we cannot be human without emotion and if we all agree emotion and the evolution of emotion allows us to be better human beings, then it follows that emotion cannot be the problem. Therefore, if emotion and social duty do not coexist peacefully that would seem to imply that social duty is the problem.
Obviously we should be more like France with an automatic 6 weeks of vacation.
But being aware that something is broken both in what is expected of individual citizens and the apparatus within which the world is made does nothing but irritate me more because at the end of the day there is no other apparatus within which I might exist. That means that I have to suck it up and do what needs to be done.
Which brings us full circle to what is actually spurring this meditation on emotion this afternoon. Because society both deifies and demonizes emotion, the average person is left almost completely defenseless when it comes to the awareness, analysis, and critical contemplation of his/her own emotions. You’re told from your earliest days that you should feel like this and act like this and good people do these things and respond in these ways to situations a, b, and c. You’re also told from your earliest days that only babies cry and strong people are stoic and nobody has the patience or time for an emotional mess. Neither of these expectations can be fulfilled as no one reacts or feels the same way about anything, and no one exists successfully (not counting sociopaths) without emotion. To pretend you are without emotion or always in control of emotion is as idiotic as never being in control of emotion.
So we’re left with the middle of the road, once again, being the seemingly best option. Sometimes emotion must be shelved so action can be accomplished, but sometimes actions are not nearly so important as feelings. I knew all of this when I started, but what I’m attempting to work through is the complication of trying to figure out which situation is which.
When do you put on a happy face and make everyone else happy, and when do you take a stand and demand that life bow to you? I suppose this is what one might call the tightrope of responsibility and happiness. And, in all honesty, more often then not an individual situation is fairly easy to read--like the end of the semester. It would be the sort of stupidity that makes my father shake his head and my mother cry for me to just give up this close to the end. There isn’t really any question there about what should be done. But other situations like relationships, social obligations, or family gatherings are not so easy. Just because you feel a thing does not mean it matters or should matter and, likewise, just feeling something is sometimes reason enough.
I don’t have any answers. Where’s the Sex and the City episode about all of this?!
Before I even begin to contemplate the slightly college freshman-esque question I have posed here I want it understood that I always answer yes. Self awareness is required for mental evolution and with self awareness must come emotion. To say otherwise is fairly ludicrous in my opinion.
But, leaving all of that aside, I’ve been having a reasonably hard time of it this semester. To say that it’s been a rough sixteen weeks seems both sarcastic and understated. I don’t know if I’ve ever, at least since I’ve become an adult, had sixteen weeks like these. None of this matters except as backstory; specifically as I attempt to push through finals week, finish grading, write a final, write a paper, put in grades, etc., it all comes down to me whining at the world. A large part of me just wants to walk away from it all with the sort of disdain and sneer only my seventeen year old self could muster.
On a side note: isn’t it odd how no matter how old we get, circumstances can still promote our teenage selves to come out and sneer at the world on occasion? Or maybe that’s just me and my perpetual immaturity.
But here’s where the question about the evolutionary wisdom of emotions comes in: life totally doesn’t care about how I feel. If one were to personify life a conversation with it would go like this:
Me: “Life, I’m really tired of this.”
Life: “Get over it.”
Me: “Why don't you care about me?! You’re no good for me! You never let me play video games or watch movies or just relax anymore!”
Life: “Bored.”
Me: “Don’t you care about me anymore?”
Life: “You got bills to pay.”
This is what I’m saying. Being an adult means you don’t get the luxury of whining anymore--well, some people certainly still whine, but it doesn’t make a difference and they shouldn’t. No matter how over it all you are you still have to do it; bills need paid, chores need done, and mothers need called. Becoming a hermit in Montana and seceding from the United States is no longer a legitimate option--if indeed it ever was. (But I had dreams! Dreams of living a life outside the bounds of the law! Dreams where I could use the Force and travel the cosmos! Wait...wrong dreams. Sorry.)
But we evolved emotions and, for myself at least, I spend a significant amount of time attempting to consciously further evolve my emotions in an attempt to better myself as a human being. Wishing to be more compassionate, more wise, more dialogic I sit around and think about things A LOT. And I have to wonder sometimes, especially when the adult side of me is required to overtake the rest of me, what is the purpose?
Consider it sincerely for a moment: leaving out all of that human condition crap and movie cliché “there’s a silver lining to every tragedy” boloney, does it not make sense from a purely evolutionary standpoint for emotions to either a) not exist or b) be more directly connected to the social stratification we are drawn to genetically? Furthermore, human society itself is caught in a Catch-22 of its own making. We must have emotions to create and improve society, but emotions limit our ability to work ourselves to death for society’s benefit (and we all know how I feel about the commodification of human beings). As a citizen, then, you end up in the untenable position of needing emotion to be a member of society and constantly fighting against those same emotions as you attempt to accomplish all that is required of you as a member of said society.
Are we all following me here?
If we cannot be human without emotion and if we all agree emotion and the evolution of emotion allows us to be better human beings, then it follows that emotion cannot be the problem. Therefore, if emotion and social duty do not coexist peacefully that would seem to imply that social duty is the problem.
Obviously we should be more like France with an automatic 6 weeks of vacation.
But being aware that something is broken both in what is expected of individual citizens and the apparatus within which the world is made does nothing but irritate me more because at the end of the day there is no other apparatus within which I might exist. That means that I have to suck it up and do what needs to be done.
Which brings us full circle to what is actually spurring this meditation on emotion this afternoon. Because society both deifies and demonizes emotion, the average person is left almost completely defenseless when it comes to the awareness, analysis, and critical contemplation of his/her own emotions. You’re told from your earliest days that you should feel like this and act like this and good people do these things and respond in these ways to situations a, b, and c. You’re also told from your earliest days that only babies cry and strong people are stoic and nobody has the patience or time for an emotional mess. Neither of these expectations can be fulfilled as no one reacts or feels the same way about anything, and no one exists successfully (not counting sociopaths) without emotion. To pretend you are without emotion or always in control of emotion is as idiotic as never being in control of emotion.
So we’re left with the middle of the road, once again, being the seemingly best option. Sometimes emotion must be shelved so action can be accomplished, but sometimes actions are not nearly so important as feelings. I knew all of this when I started, but what I’m attempting to work through is the complication of trying to figure out which situation is which.
When do you put on a happy face and make everyone else happy, and when do you take a stand and demand that life bow to you? I suppose this is what one might call the tightrope of responsibility and happiness. And, in all honesty, more often then not an individual situation is fairly easy to read--like the end of the semester. It would be the sort of stupidity that makes my father shake his head and my mother cry for me to just give up this close to the end. There isn’t really any question there about what should be done. But other situations like relationships, social obligations, or family gatherings are not so easy. Just because you feel a thing does not mean it matters or should matter and, likewise, just feeling something is sometimes reason enough.
I don’t have any answers. Where’s the Sex and the City episode about all of this?!
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