What a helluva day! I went on a five-hour hike with a group of people, then went to the gym for a full workout, and completed sprints afterward. To say I am exhausted would be a slight understatement. But I had to do it because I missed my workout on Thursday due to it being Independence Day. Excuses, excuses.
In any good story, the heroine, the main character, the chosen one was custom made to go through the quest they are about to take. And there is no choice when the inciting incidence happens, hurling her into hell before he comes up to face their ultimate adversary. Whether they succeed in becoming the person they should be determines if they are tragic characters or not.
This applies to chic lit as well. When we see Bella meeting Edward for the first time, we know they are meant to be. Custom made by Stephanie Meyers to eternally love each other till the end of time.
When Romeo happens upon the moonlit face of Juliet, we know they are meant to be, despite the fact that their families hate each other. How do we know? Well, it's a story and we see these two people first, so we assume they are meant to be. And there was no team Jacob to say otherwise, and even then we knew Bella had eyes only for Eddie.
Back in our world, how do we find The One? As far as I can tell, there are two basic schools of thought. One, effort has to be made, effort being that you have to somehow put yourself out there. Two, it is destined. And if it’s destined, then why do we have so many divorces, and I think that has more to do with forcing One, which I can explain later.
Now, here I am at the hike. I’ve never met any of these people. The ulterior motive is to put myself out there, being a single and viral man. Too much? Choosing activities that I like and enjoy makes it easier for me to meet people. Bars and clubs I hate. I make my presence known by stating that I need to pee. Too much? It’s my humor. It’s a little lewd. But for any woman who can’t take such a minor comment, they won’t be interested. For those who understand and see through that comment are the ones I wanna be with.
Anyways… the first woman I talk to is an Asian woman (Why don’t people accuse me of having Yellow Fever when I go out with Asian women?). Accomplished, attractive, athletic, adventurous. But I feel our conversation is a bit stiff. It moves along well enough, but I feel no connection, no chemistry, no real flow.
Later in the hike, I meet another woman, and we jive about different San Francisco neighborhoods, nutrition, exercise (What do you call it when I go out with white women? The White Plague?). She even shares a sip of wine with me, a complete stranger who may have cooties. There's a connection, from the signs she's throwing. It helps that she’s attractive, but I’ve gone out with enough women to know that physical beauty fades. And I don’t mean literally. It’s getting used how people look. Imagine eating your favorite food in the whole world, something scrumptious, full of rich flavor, revealing layers of depth that encompasses your tongue, elevating your mouth in every heavenly way. Now imagine eating that for the rest of your life. You would quickly get sick of it. With anyone's looks, you'd get used to it, and it's good. Getting out of the infatuation phase allows us to focus on the important things like core values. Getting back to her, our conversation isn’t full of depth. In fact, it’s full of nothing. The content is meaningless. But we are vibing each other.
What gives? Why is it that there’s chemistry with some and not others? If you think it's because the second woman and I have things in common, then that's false. Cuz how much more common do I need to be with the Asian woman? I mean, we both have slanty eyes. Is there a destiny, a faith that helps bind us, bringing us together (Why is it that destiny and faith sound like strippers in a strip club)? Is there some all-knowing force that whispers to us and says, “You and you. Go at it like rabbits.”
I’ve no clue.
I do think that we have to be open to the things we want, that if we want to find someone to be with, then it might be a good first step to put ourselves out there, the effort. And being in the soup of human civilization, hopefully those strippers, Destiny and Faith, will lead us somewhere good.
What’s the worst that can happen? Never mind. Don’t answer that.
Normal. The standard. Traditional. The expected.
The norms of society have a greater influence over us as a people than we’d like to admit. Look at the GAP. All their clothes look the same. Look at Starbucks. Their coffees start to taste the same, becoming the standard. Family: Father, mother, son, daughter. Gay marriage? Hell to tha NO. Until the Supreme Court ruled otherwise. The norms may work for some, but definitely not others. Here is where I think most of the divorces hail from.
My mom nags and nags and forever nags about me getting married. She compares me to another man around my age who’s married with kids, and we know how well that worked out for Al Bundy. When the moment comes, I’ll get married. If it doesn’t, then I won’t. Forcing the issue to fulfill some societal norm would only stress out Faith and Destiny and push them to put me together with someone that I may not be compatible with. And how will that work out?
And stressed out strippers aren’t any fun. Not that I know anything about that. Ahem.