Why do we have to live in a society where our every move is broken down, scrutinized, and decided upon as being acceptable or unacceptable?
I’ve chosen to advocate this concept, you might say, like the unacknowledged choice to become popular and endorse popular kids rules and regulations, and so I deserve everything I get, right? We’re not kids anymore though, and really, shouldn’t we have moved on by now?
When is it that we’re allowed to stop playing silly games and start to favor clever adult life? We’re in our twenties. This is our prime. This is our prime and we know it. We have chosen to carry on like Californian Valley kids, despite the fact that this--Dublin--is not the real Orange County. It’s not even close.
There may be faux Valley-girl accents and fake bake, and there may be upper crust surfer dude slurs and slang, but the fact of the matter is, this is as close to resemblance as we’re getting to our buffed-up Aberzombies across the Atlantic.
Dating is complicated, not dating even more so. So is it any wonder we’ve been sent into a frenzy, trying to get things in order by deciding on what can be done in the dating world, and what cannot. The first impression is important, of course, but so too is the second.
Let’s be hypothetical. We’ve exchanged phone numbers. “Digits”, in Valley-speak. There has been text-based communication. “Which college do you go to?” is either a polite--although surely it’s unlikely politeness exists within these circles--“I’m not that interested in you as a potential lover” or maybe, one would hope, it is just another way of determining your status before any further action is taken. They say 30-something's want a HIV-test and an ATM receipt before they agree on a second date, maybe 20’s somethings just need to know the educational institution you attend.
So what happens then, when there is a drop off in text conversation? Is it socially acceptable for he or she at the would-be receiving end to text twice in a row? Is it as Valley guys would say, “liable of landing you in a court room for Textual Assault”?
Surely not! What if, you’ve already opened the deal with a kiss or three? This defines the shared human relationship as “kissing”, Valley-talk for the phase where you are not quite “seeing” someone, nor are you friends.
The nerds--I mean, smart kids--always did say that they would be winners one day. The popular kids laughed in their faces. And maybe they were right. Maybe they’ve paired off, lost the puppy fat, and are today laugh-snorting into their Star Trek lunch boxes at the expense of the petty preppies.
For it is the preppies that established this dating code, and have failed to update the rulebook. Playing by the rules of a school kid in your twenties just isn’t going to fly. At least it isn’t my belief that this can be the foundation of a serious relationship.
So unless there’s a textbook-type out there willing to have you--if only for research purposes--you’re looking at 30-40 years of hardcore game-play.
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Monday, October 22, 2007
The Hours of Desire
It was a Sunday morning and I was walking along Grafton Street. The weather was cold. Wet and cold. There was a frost air that I considered confirmation that October had arrived.
There were many matters to be attended to. There was the college assignment, there was the research. There was the fact that I had not been to the gym or played sports of any kind in many months, and was hiding a few inches of winter weight under my three-quarter length black coat, soaked.
There were the credit card bills that would not be paid in full this month. There was the day that lay ahead, nine hours of work that were at best irrelevant. There were the words that had to be told to Significant Other. The dreaded words.
“I can’t see you tonight”.
And that was the worst part. I could deal with the rain and the sodden coat and the irrelevance of the work and the bills that would not be paid. It was the words. As the days go by, I find myself saying “next week will be better”, like an over-booked socialite. What happens in life, I had to wonder, when it is required of you to fulfil a number of different roles which are both demanding and important in some capacities.
Do you focus on being wonderful at work? Paying intricate attention to detail despite the fact that your salary is something even you sneer at? Do you pretend that it will all take care of itself and take in a double vodka Martini with your urban friends? Or do you believe that indeed the meaning of life is love and nestle with Significant Other and forget about the world, as those acknowledging it continue to run with scissors.
You have to think about it. But you also have to understand that there will be an end point for thinking and a beginning for deciding.
But it’s decisions that many of us in 20-something Dublin find ourselves incapable of making. We know what it is that we want. We want to be able to fund our social lives. And so we work. We want “guys nights out”, and we don’t want to have to explain it. We want to go on dinner dates, and to the theatre and to wonderful concerts and on mini-breaks to New York and Milan. We want to be educated and to take in the finest books and the broadest quality of music. We so badly want it all, and that is that.
And it was this that made me realise. I had made a decision. I had decided not to decide just yet. I would have a hamper-style life containing a little bit of everything that I loved and liked. And at some point I would decide to endorse one or two or three of the contained items, and to put the others aside. But for now, want was enough. The want alone, the desire. The desire to have it all and to maintain it all so beautifully and with elegance and poise was what made life “just fantastic” on a wet morning on Grafton Street.
There were the hours ahead. Of work. There were the hours ahead. Of explanation. There were the hours ahead. Of saying the words that one did not want at all to say. The were the hours ahead. Of desire. And it was this that allowed me to smile.
There were many matters to be attended to. There was the college assignment, there was the research. There was the fact that I had not been to the gym or played sports of any kind in many months, and was hiding a few inches of winter weight under my three-quarter length black coat, soaked.
There were the credit card bills that would not be paid in full this month. There was the day that lay ahead, nine hours of work that were at best irrelevant. There were the words that had to be told to Significant Other. The dreaded words.
“I can’t see you tonight”.
And that was the worst part. I could deal with the rain and the sodden coat and the irrelevance of the work and the bills that would not be paid. It was the words. As the days go by, I find myself saying “next week will be better”, like an over-booked socialite. What happens in life, I had to wonder, when it is required of you to fulfil a number of different roles which are both demanding and important in some capacities.
Do you focus on being wonderful at work? Paying intricate attention to detail despite the fact that your salary is something even you sneer at? Do you pretend that it will all take care of itself and take in a double vodka Martini with your urban friends? Or do you believe that indeed the meaning of life is love and nestle with Significant Other and forget about the world, as those acknowledging it continue to run with scissors.
You have to think about it. But you also have to understand that there will be an end point for thinking and a beginning for deciding.
But it’s decisions that many of us in 20-something Dublin find ourselves incapable of making. We know what it is that we want. We want to be able to fund our social lives. And so we work. We want “guys nights out”, and we don’t want to have to explain it. We want to go on dinner dates, and to the theatre and to wonderful concerts and on mini-breaks to New York and Milan. We want to be educated and to take in the finest books and the broadest quality of music. We so badly want it all, and that is that.
And it was this that made me realise. I had made a decision. I had decided not to decide just yet. I would have a hamper-style life containing a little bit of everything that I loved and liked. And at some point I would decide to endorse one or two or three of the contained items, and to put the others aside. But for now, want was enough. The want alone, the desire. The desire to have it all and to maintain it all so beautifully and with elegance and poise was what made life “just fantastic” on a wet morning on Grafton Street.
There were the hours ahead. Of work. There were the hours ahead. Of explanation. There were the hours ahead. Of saying the words that one did not want at all to say. The were the hours ahead. Of desire. And it was this that allowed me to smile.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
