Here There Be Monsters

Every now and again when I’m driving or bullshitting in the garage, the radio will play a song from a few years ago, and I’ll be struck by a memory of whatever girl I was dating at the time. Sometimes it’s a reminder of some joke that or particularly great night, but sometimes it’s as simple as being struck by the image of her silhouette framed by the passenger side window and sunset, bathed in late-afternoon gold. These are the things I remember. Invariably, these good (sometimes great) moments lead me to wonder, “What ever happened to us? How could something that good have gone wrong?” And here we go. . .

There are plenty of things in life that are worth being angry about. I don’t get mad a lot, but I get mad. With that being said, there are very, very few things in my life that worth staying mad about. With that being said, if I’m upset about something one day, I’m probably over it by the next day or so. Whatever led the girl and I to go our separate ways. . .I just don’t think it’s as important as remembering what made us want to be together in the first place. When I think about people from the past, I think it should always be with a smile. Maybe it’s naïve, maybe it’s unrealistic; I could give a shit. It’s just the way I like to operate.

The flipside of that is, even though I would rather focus on the good stuff, the less savory memories are just as important (and sometimes even more so). Usually, the “whatever ever happened to us” thought is caboosed by “oh, yeah, she cheated on you” or “oh yeah; you drove her crazy because you’re a moody bastard” or whatever catalyzed the breakup. These are all lessons learned, and I admit that they’re important in growing as a person. With that in mind, however, I think those lessons should float around in the semi-conscious part of my brain, and not be manifested as some sort of checklist for the next girl; I don’t ever want to find myself thinking, “she’s getting really needy; remember how that turned out with (insert name here)?” It’s just a buzzkill.

My point is that, if you’re paying attention, there’s a million reasons not to want to be with someone. They are everywhere, from the way she does that little shrill whistle thing when a word ends with an S to her need to critique every woman that crosses her vision. (Sometimes, I pay closer attention to myself when I’m talking to people, and I get annoyed with myself within about 30 seconds. I mean, it’s ridiculous; I don’t know how my students made it through more than a week or two of my class without throwing shit at me.) The important thing, though, is what makes you want to listen, what makes you want to be around them. You probably see a thousand people a day, and maybe two or three of them really catch your eye. When you consider it like that, why would you want to focus on the things that make them ordinary?

But let’s get back on track. Way back in the day, when we were sailing around the world, discovering new lands and people and all that Christopher Columbus ish, the cartographer would often denote areas of the map with “Here there be monsters” or something to that effect. It could be a classic example of thinking, “I don’t know what’s here, so it must be bad.” More likely, though, it’s a statement of “Hey, we haven’t spent a lot of time here, so watch your step.” That’s the way I look at these 5 second memory flashes of old relationships.; they’re alluring, but more than a little dangerous. A peek in the rearview is a good idea every now and again, but I like to keep my eyes on the road ahead as much as possible. When you pass a familiar spot by the road, it probably still looks the same: oh, there’s that tree with the swing and that hill we used to lay on. But, when you stop, you notice that the tree is a little more gnarled, its branches sharper and leafless, and the grass is more weeds than Wimbledon. The tire swing is now dryrotted and dusty, serving as a frame for spiders’ nests and all their mummified prey. You realize that this is not the idyll you remember, but some kind of setting for misfortune.

There’s a reason you don’t go there anymore, but there’s no reason to let that color your memories of when it was more inviting. These moments are worth revisiting, but you have to watch your step because of what may lay sleeping in the waist-high grass.

Is this the real Caesar's Palace? Did he really live here?

Firstly, my bad; I know it’s been a minute since my last (sober) entry. I’ve had plenty of ideas worth writing about, but, when I sat down to write, something else always came up. Meh, what are you going to do? So, I have a tall Captain & Coke in front of me, The Hangover is playing on the DVD, and Goose is snoring over by the stairs. One way or another, I’m getting through this one. So, here we go.

Right now, I’m at the scene in which they’re toasting on the roof. Everything’s fine; just a bunch of dudes doing dude stuff. No big deal. . .until Alan cuts his hand, freaking everybody out. As it stands, I can’t think of a better lead-in for what I’ve been meaning to write about for the last two or three weeks. For no reason other than a desire for more intimacy in an otherwise pretty intimate situation, he raises the stakes.

I’m a big believer in managing situations and environments. Way back in the day, when I was taking the Motorcycle Safety Foundation course to get my license, there was some long acronym like SPID or something (they later shortened it to SEE, but that doesn’t matter right here). Either way, the S stood for Scan and the P was Predict. I find myself doing that a lot, especially off the bike. When I’m in the dogpark with Goose, I can usually spot the dumbass who doesn’t know how to manage his rottie before anything happens. When I’m in the bar, I know which guy is going to bow up at Ronal before he does. There’s a world of information out there; all we have to do is pay attention. With that being said, you can usually spot the people who can’t help raising the stakes for dumb reasons. You probably know it, but you’re so excited about this new person that you ignore all the signs.

In relationships, things usually take care of themselves. There’s really no reason to try to give the other person the preview version of yourself (“My friends are really important to me; I mean, they’re a huge part of my life” – no shit; that’s why they’re your friends, genius); if you spend enough time with someone, you find out who they are. If you take this concept, and crank it up to 11, you get to the heart of what I’m going for here:

In the early days of the relationship, it’s easy to sell yourself to the other party. John Mayer (shut up, I like his music) has a great riff on it. He calls it ‘managing the weight of your words.’ His theory is that “I’ve been thinking about you” turns into “I’m falling in love with you” turns into “I love you” and so on. When it happens organically, on its own timeline, it’s actually a pretty great thing.

Sometimes, though, one of the people in the car has their foot duct-taped to the gas pedal. When you two have established that you like each other’s company, they throw on the helmet and dumb sunglasses and channel their inner Dale Earnhardt. They don’t want to go out for drinks; they want to spend the weekend camping with their close friends and family. They don’t want to go see a movie or take the dog to the park for the afternoon; they want to spend all weekend together, bouncing from the bed to the couch to a drive through to the couch, etc. When it starts, you thinking to yourself, “Wow, this person is really into us being together; this is awesome.” It takes a few weeks until you realize what’s going on.

You probably jump into intimacy way too early, and things probably get heavy way before the relationship is strong enough to bear everybody’s issues. It’s the outset of two people getting to know one another; it should be fun and light and easy. There’s no reason to up the stakes, because things are good! But it happens. When the butterflies start settling down, and find yourself getting comfortable, they need that rush of adrenaline or whatever it is. They need to be the center of your world and they need your attention. When it starts, maybe they blow up your phone with calls and texts, maybe they inundate your facebook wall, maybe both. They need to be physically close to you, and, when that’s impossible, they need to know that you miss them. It gets worse and more ridiculous, until you can’t deal with it any longer.

The saddest part of it all is that it usually stems from a very basic and very endearing desire: everybody wants to be loved. Everybody wants to feel wanted and desired and loved. When you find yourself there, in love, it is the best part of breathing and walking around on two feet. We want, so much, to be in love that, when we think we may be close to it, we rush at it like the breach in Henry V. It’s like when you’re driving home after a long weekend out of town. It’s Sunday night, you have like 20 miles to go, and you’re just ready to be home, so you start rushing and driving like a douche. You don’t really get home any faster, and, sometimes, you get a ticket or have an accident.

Just like the ticket or wreck, this particular bit of relationship self-sabotage is completely avoidable. If you’re enjoying your time with someone, then ENJOY YOUR TIME WITH THEM. If you’ve been hanging out for a week or two, and you like them and they like you, that’s awesome. That’s the way it should be, right? If you find yourself wanting more, give it some time, and you’ll probably get it. Like I said before, things usually take care of themselves without our pushing and prodding. Enjoy the moments, big and small, and look forward to what’s next without trying to orchestrate it.

Let it breathe.

I've been drinking.

I love my dog. He is good and pure and loves without resignation or prejudice. We should all be so lucky. When I get home late at night, and he lays his bigass head on my lap, I feel guilty for not loving with all I have like he does. I don't know that God could ever create a more perfect creature.