812 Reasons OKCupid is like playing Bars & Bells

We’ve all been there before – you have a few bucks in your pocket and you decide to throw them in on the possibility of something greater.   You decide to play Bars & Bells, or scratch offs, or whatever kind of instant win game you choose.  First round – you win a little, so you go back to reinvest your winnings.  Second round – same deal, win a little bit, reinvest your winnings.  And you go back for more.

And more

And more

And you know that somewhere, deep in the pile of tickets is the jackpot.

And you know that you’ve already found plenty of winners, had a few good ones, some mediocre, mostly losers; but you’re compelled to keep going.

Because you know that deep in there is exactly what you’re looking for – the triple bar.

Perhaps we set the proverbial “bar” too high.  We focus on the end game instead of the play.  We ignore the winners we’ve had and just focus on the grand prize – the birds in the bush instead of the bird in the hand.  We keep going back to the counter, knowing that our rate of return is diminishing, that the well is drying up, and we’re most likely going to end up with less than what we started with in the first place.

But we still go back, because the idea of the perfect card is too alluring to pass up.  The big win, the point at which we say “I’m done – there are no other cards greater than this one, I may now quit happily and satisfied with my winnings.”

Sometimes, I think I’ve hit the wall with OKCupid.  I gave it up for about 6 weeks to let the pond restock.  I figured I’d met all the winners and was getting down to the B list.  And I have met some amazing people on there – some of whom I’ve grown to be rather fond.  But I still feel like there is something wanting, something I’ve missed – when interactions grow stale and the flames of passion have burnt out and embers grow cold. 

So, I went back to the counter.

I know it’s a crapshoot at this point.  Maybe there’s someone awesome on there, someone brand new.  Maybe there’s a winner in there somewhere, a fellow polymath with passions and goals and focus.  A gentleman that knows when to treat me like a lady and when to stand up and be a man.   Someone interested in cats and music and ballroom dance, someone that enjoys philosophical debates and Shakespeare just as much as crude humor and low brow comedy; and that would be perfectly fine with me being the most super girlfriend/companion ever. 

I have a big heart.  I don’t hand it out often.  I’ve been hurt a few too many times and I can be a bit gunshy.  But if I’m willing to go in I’m willing to go big, and I’m sure there is someone, somewhere out there that’s willing to appreciate that.  And until I find that person, I’ll most likely still be standing at the counter, taking my chances that maybe this time, this one – this will be the lucky one. 

812 Things that are more important than sleep

It has been too long since my last adventure.  I've had my outings, my moments - but it's been nigh on 3 months since I've last done something utterly foolish and irresponsible and certainly not fit for a work night.  I believe I may be getting the itch again - the itch to shake things up a bit.  Maybe climb a mountain or jump out of another plane.  Maybe stay out all night and spend way too much on scotch.  Perhaps I'll let myself even start feeling feelings again, just for the thrill of the ride before they get shattered.

As anyone that's ever been graced with sharing my bed can tell you, I am not much of a sleeper.  There are so many things more important than sleep, and I'm not just talking about a sexy rumpus or anxious insomnia.  There are the moments you share - staying up all night exchanging movie quotes with a friend, reading one another poetry, whispering secret details of ones' childhood.  But then there are the stolen moments, the synchronization of breathing, the listening to one anothers' heartbeats, the excruciatingly careful placement of hands and limbs... soaking in the moments of shared silence before sleep comes and the moment is broken. Those are the moments I always want to freeze - the stillness of quiet perfection, the feeling of connection with another human being, knowing that once daylight comes the veil will be lifted and the disconnect will return and I will again be alone with my thoughts.

Sleep is important to the body.  There are things more important than sleep - things that are important to the soul.  Like the shoulder of a man and the way it makes a perfect pillow.  Or the smell of a pillow that isn't yours.  And the way the back of ones' neck can be caressed with merely a breath.  These are the moments where souls can touch, people connect, if it is the right person at the right time.  So unfortunately often though, it is merely strangers sharing space, disconnected and alone regardless of being in one anothers' arms. 

Passions

812 Passions

Sometimes I feel like I am the only one left in the world that has passions.

I am not speaking in a strictly romantic sense.  I am passionate about a great many things – I am a thinker of deep thoughts and a doer of a great many things.  Some of them are interests, hobbies, or mere fillers of time.  Others though, my singing, my cat (and kitten fostering), my parties, and my ongoing search for my soul’s counterpart… these go beyond that.  These are things around which I have carefully structured my life, time, and my body.  Even the parties I could do without, I would miss them but there would not be the hole in my heart as would be left by living a catless life, never again hearing my voice soar over a crowd, or never feeling my heart being touched by another.

I have recently met so many new people in such a short amount of time – interesting, intelligent people, with myriad interests and talents.  Yet, despite a plethora of new conversations and experiences I’ve accrued, I still feel disconnected.  I can’t quite put my finger on why… but the vast majority of my interactions seem superficial, shallow, and a mere acting out of expected behaviors and polite conversation.  Not that they are not enjoyable, but just that it seems that something is missing – that innate connection that one sometimes gets with another person - the je ne sais quoi which surpasses understanding and bonds us to one another. 

I am a goal oriented person.  If I don’t have anything with which to look forward in the short term, I usually end up planning a party.  It gives me something to plan for, something to get excited about, something toward which for me to funnel all my extra mental energy.  I spend weeks to months crafting the perfect experience for my guests – music, food, drinks, entertainment; all blended together for an incredible evening.  But, then the big night comes and afterwards it is all over and I’m back to square one.  I just threw such a shindig last weekend, so perhaps I am tired, perhaps I am moody, but perhaps it just serves as a reminder of my lack of emotional connection to those around me.

There is a good possibility that the problem is, in fact, with me.  I myself tend to be closed off, cold, and difficult to get to know.  I have been burned many times and have difficulty opening myself up to being hurt.  As such, I tend to push others away – unwilling to risk exposing myself to emotional attachment and therefore the corresponding emotional gains.  Maybe it’s the possibility of hurt that heightens the degree of connection we feel with one another.  Perhaps with a greater emotional investment I would gain greater returns.  Or perhaps I’d just be opening myself up to people with no scope of emotion that would never reciprocate my affections.

But at the same time if I ask someone about what they are passionate, I do expect an answer, and a proper answer, not the cookie cutter health & wealth.  Maybe I’m not giving them enough credit, not everyone possesses the lingual skills with which to properly express their thoughts.   But it certainly seems that there ought to be some sort of depth of emotion attached to at least SOME aspect of one’s’ life.   There are few things in life more thrilling than seeing someone show true passion for something – whether it’s their eyes lighting up when the talk about it, or watching them go into a trancelike state while practicing it.  The best is when it is something you can share – to feed off of one another’s’ energy and experience it together.  But regardless of how I feel about an activity, I can still adore it if I’m with someone that genuinely loves what they are doing.

I repeatedly get a sense that no one values anything anymore.  In today’s world of instant gratification, who truly has passions anymore?  We have our interests and our activities but they only run skin deep.  But how can I, a passionate person, ever be satisfied with someone that is not?  If they can’t name one thing about which they really and truly care, how would they ever be capable of caring for me?  Would I simply be another activity, an accessory to their life, a tool to assist with their daily living?  They might tell me they care, or go through the motions of expected behaviors, but I’ve wasted time before on passionless people, and they always have taken me for granted in the end.  

Passionate people see value in things, in people, and in connections.  We treasure those around us and choose our cohorts carefully.  We are centers of influence and excitement and touch the lives of those to whom we are close.  I want someone with whom I can share not just activities and conversation but ideas, emotions, and excitement; someone with whom I can bond, a kindred spirit, in whom I can lose myself and find myself all at once - my twin soul.

Perhaps no such person exists.  Or, they do, and I’ve met them; but am unable to see it due to my own frosty nature.  Or perhaps I do know them, but they are just as closed off and cold as me, and until we each learn to shed our skins we will be unable to recognize our counterparts in one another.

Reason 812 Why Love is not so Lovely

Reason 812 Why Love is not so Lovely

• Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up a whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life... You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' or 'how very perceptive' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. Nothing should be able to do that. Especially not love. I hate love.
• The character "Rose Walker" in The Sandman #65, Neil Gaiman

I sometimes believe truer words were never spoken.

I am not a fan of love.  I have made a habit of destroying love with logic, romance with reason, and moments with musings. I know every thrill from every caress is merely hormonal and chemically induced, that my brain is trying to fool me into falling in love for the sake of attempted procreation, and that sooner or later I will bore of this and begin searching for my new companion in the hopes that, some day, I will meet someone capable of holding my eye and my interest indefinitely. 

I know no such thing is possible, yet I go through the dance anyway, propelled by bonding hormones and compelled by a societal need for companionship.  So why then does my logic fail me and my heart still wield far more power than I would prefer over my emotions?  Why does a simple emotion (or lack thereof) influence me to such a depth as to cost me my sleep or my good mood? 

Love, you are a devious mistress, taunting and teasing me with your wiles and ways.  You flaunt yourself about in print and media, whoring yourself across the expanse of things that may serve to influence me.  Your concepts of perfection, desire, soul-mateship; they get under my skin and trick me into tossing away my better judgment and wrapping myself in stolen moments and late night messages.  You lead me from my path and tempt me into the dark recesses of the jungle of the heart.  When you are near I find myself foolhardy as a drunken sailor and ready to hand over my heart to someone that would most likely let it drop and shatter as so many grains of sand upon the shore. 

What perhaps bothers me more is that I cannot commit to either path.  To be a fool in love is to be king for a day, to fly with the eagles and soar among the stars, and to waste away the hours lost in loves’ embrace.  Yet my mind is sharp and arms me against folly, guarding me and keeping me in my fortress of thoughts and far from such merriment.  Yet, still, I may gaze upon it and see what it is in which I cannot partake; and I find it sometimes maddening. 

I find myself in a constant battle between intellect and intimacy.  With one hand I beckon and the other I turn away, inviting all to my island but never allowing anyone to walk upon the shore.  

There are few times in this life when I don’t even know what to tell myself.  I tell myself I’m waiting, I tell myself I’m working on me, but I do not know if I buy it.  I tell myself I am waiting for somebody amazing, for my soul to see itself in another, for someone that can make my heart sing.  Someone that makes my soul dance and my heart race and my mind go blank with a million thoughts and nothing all at once.  But then I fear what happens when those feelings fade, when I’m forced to once again recognize that the companion with whom I’ve shared my time, my body, and my heart is but a stranger to me after all; and I must decide whether to part ways or stick around to preserve their feelings.  I dread that moment with the very core of my being. 

Maybe I am chasing dreams and trying to grasp onto grains of sand; trying to hold onto feelings that have long since abandoned me.  I find myself once again wanting to spend the night in the arms of love, to feel breathless in their embrace, and the flutter of my heart upon greeting them.  Perhaps that is the addiction, the fix for which I have been longing.  Perhaps it is my destiny that I keep moving forward, constantly chasing the next thrilling hunt, never settling down nor committing until I reach exhaustion.

I do not know what I want, nor what the future holds.  My path is no longer clearly cut, but the world is instead open to me and I must venture forth, clearing my way as I so choose. I may find that for which I am looking, or I may not – this I must accept.  I am flying blind for the first time.