Dear Jared,

Will you go on a 2nd date with me sometime? I suspect it would be a great time.

E.

P.S. I'm sorry it took me like 5 years to arrive at this realization.

A Hole Torn In Life - a serious note

I am reading this book called Long Journey Home. It’s about the search for meaning in life, which I have been doing a lot of lately. I kind of decided to hell with love, that’s exhausting anyway. Plus, I shied away from a bunch of good guys and then accidentally hit on a gay one, so I'm not exactly batting a thousand.

The thing is, if I could only have one thing in life, it wouldn’t be a spouse/kid/family, it would be purpose. So my friend Andrea, who you probably remember as “Ma,” recommended I read this book, Long Journey Home. It's taking me quite awhile to read because 1.) finding the meaning of life is time-consuming and 2.) Os Guinness' writing style makes me bonkers. He writes like this:

Quote #1 by someone

Quote #2 by someone

Quote #3 by someone

Story about someone

Quote #4 by someone

teeny tiny original point by Os

Quote #5 by someone

This makes it very difficult for me to discern what he is trying to say. Plus, and I kid you not, he ends every single chapter with exactly the same sentence. No idea why that is. I got the idea after the first 3 chapters.

Anyway, Os claims that the vital divide between people is the one between those who care enough to think seriously about life and those who don't. In order to think seriously about life, we need a meaningful event to jolt us out of our complacency and rupture our existence. This, he says, is what sculptor Alberto Giacometti described as "a hole torn in life," or the catalyst that forces us to confront the eternal.

I had a hole torn in my life once. I was 17 and my parents sent me to this "worldviews training camp" for 2 weeks. I was supposed to learn about every world religion -- or at least the top 20 -- and then why they were all wrong and Christianity was right. I was the only person there who didn't drink the Kool-aid. That was my triggering event: I realized that Kool-aid exists, and that I could drink it and be happy and be like everyone else, or refuse and be miserable.

Since then I have been on a long journey. If there is a God, I want to know him, more than I can say. But I've tried to believe in him for a really long time and I just can't seem to. I pray. I've asked him to find me or reveal himself somehow if he's there. But nothing. Surely, if the God of the Bible exists, he would have answered me by now. It's been years of searching.

Andrea told me once, "How do we know that God exists? Because he speaks it to our soul." But what if he doesn't speak it to my soul? Then perhaps he doesn't exist. Or perhaps he just didn't choose me.

Andrea's husband died last week, unexpectedly. One day we were having tea and scones and the next day we were pasting pictures onto memory boards for his funeral. It was a terrible thing, being at that funeral and thinking that he would not be there to meet any more of my boyfriends or play hymns on his guitar or any of the rest.

A few days later, one of the guys in the Job & Leadership Training program I volunteer with was shot and killed.

And I get that it's very comforting to believe that they are in a better place now. But what if we just believe that because we have to believe it, to survive? To not go crazy? What if, like Karl Marx said, religion is just the opiate of the masses?

If that's the case, then what is the reason for our striving? Is life just a tale told by an idiot? If it is, then the best we can hope for is a friend to walk through the idiocy with us. Hence, relationships, I guess.

Nesting Dolls

I think that everyone has moments in their life when they arrive at soul-crushing realities. Mine happened recently due to a book I’m reading with my friend Lia. We’re reading Love in 90 Days.

(I know, the title makes me gag, too, but I figured, it’s got enough tough homework assignments in it to ensure that I grow as a person even if I don’t find love in 90 days.)

                                                            

Anyway, the book challenges a lot of our assumptions. It urges us to examine our poor patterns of behavior and commit to creating new ones, at least for 90 days. I thought this would be easy, but it turns out it’s not because…

I’M CRITICAL!!!!

That’s my pattern. I know this is news to no one except me. Like, I always knew I hold myself to an impossibly high standard. But I didn’t realize quite the extent that it had carried over into the rest of my life until I started reading this book.

We could get into all kinds of reasons for this, I suppose. For instance, one time in high school, I brought home the only A in my Honors English III class. After proudly handing over my report card, I heard, “What is this? What happened here? Where’s the A+? You’re supposed to be good at English!”

A lot of interactions of that ilk shaped me. And I knew I was kind of a porcupine about a lot of things – don’t get too close to me or I’ll poke you! – but I always thought it was more defensive and harmless than anything.

                                    

I mean, porcupines are still mostly cute, right?

But recently I realized that with every progressing year, my defensiveness is getting more pointed, to the end that I’m kind of a critical bitch. It doesn’t really matter that I do this to avoid disappointing people and getting hurt, because it’s still bitchy. I just told a guy with a beard that I don’t like beards and that I would set him up with my hot sister if he’s a keeper. WHO DOES THAT!?!?!?!

The book says I have to have some mentors, so Gigi and Stratski took on those roles. Stratski, being nearly 40 and a mother, is much nicer when she redirects me. Gigi just yells at me and makes me cry, but that’s because when I see how shocked and appalled she is by my behavior, it makes me realize how much of a mess I am and then it all seems hopeless.

So that’s the first epiphany, and it’s pretty damn depressing, although I’ve spent the last week working on only saying nice things. For instance…

I went on one of the Top 3 Worst Dates of My Life last week. I literally cannot even remember large chunks of it because it was so bad that I think I kind of blocked it out.

                        

I met this guy online and he seemed really nice and normal! Liked tennis and jazz, went to church, had a stable job. We met at the Zoo to see Wild Lights. Buuuuuuut….

1)   Despite the date night being his idea, he did not come properly attired and complained about the cold until I loaned him my earmuffs and bought him hot chocolate. He insisted we spend a lot of time in the Insectarium, despite the fact that it had ZERO wild lights up, because it was warm.

2)   He was so awkward in person that I literally had to pretend – multiple times – that I did not hear what he said because there was no possible way to respond. Such as…

           Me: Wow, look at that tarantula!

           Him: Do you like that? You wish it was your boyfriend?

           Me: Look at those ants! How interesting!

           Him: Do they do it for you? Do you wish they were your boyfriend?

           Me: I wish the polar bear was out. I love him, he’s so cute!

           Him: Oh yeah? Do you wish it was your boyfriend?

           Me: …I don’t have a piano, but I do like to play because—

           Him: Is pink your favorite color?

           Me: …because…piano…whaaa…?

           Him: Your nail polish is pink. Is that your favorite color?

           Me: No.

           Me: I think that’s kind of cool that you went to jazz camp this summer. A lot of adults could—

           Him: Is that your favorite lipstick?

           Me: …could…jazz..whaaaa?

           Him: That lipstick you’re wearing. Is that your favorite lipstick?

           Me: No.

At the close of the date – which ended because he got too cold – we were walking back to the Zoo’s exit and I was talking about music when he all of a sudden grabbed me from behind and started trying to tickle me.

I almost screamed, “WHAT ABOUT THIS DATE LED YOU TO BELIEVE THAT I WANTED YOU TO GRAB ME!?!”

Now, I tell you about this terrible date to emphasize 2 facts:

1)   Now that I am aware of how critical I am to others, I went out of my way to be extra nice to this guy. That just led to him asking me out again.

2)   The book says that dates are like nesting dolls. You have to keep unwrapping them to discover what could be hiding. Give them a couple of tries in case they were really nervous. That means I have to go out with him again, which LITERALLY makes me lose sleep at night.

Stella says going out again with a guy you had a terrible time with is the dumbest idea she’s ever heard. But Love in 90 Days says that I could have missed out on some really great people because I didn’t give things 2 or 3 tries to account for nervousness.

That let me to my second epiphany. I HAVE MISSED OUT ON REALLY GREAT PEOPLE BECAUSE I DIDN’T GIVE THINGS 2 OR 3 TRIES TO ACCOUNT FOR NERVOUSNESS!

As I’m typing this, it seems to me that Zoo Guy is not the guy Love is referring to. It’s the guy that knew me well enough to pick the perfect movie a few years ago. Or the one who was really kind but I didn’t feel “the spark” with. “Chemistry can happen in a heartbeat,” says Love. “Love almost always comes in a surprise package and doesn't look how you expect it to.” I've just been too afraid of disappointing someone if I give things a try and they still don't click. So I figure it's safer to be like, "Oh well, no chemistry!" which is dumb, it turns out.

So those are my epiphanies. One, be more open, less critical. And two, give things a chance to unfold. Hopefully there’s not a grenade hiding in that smallest nesting doll.