To my Dad.
Thank you for always having my back.
Thank you for always making sure I have gas and bridge money.
Thank you for not selling me to the circus.
To my Dad.
Thank you for always having my back.
Thank you for always making sure I have gas and bridge money.
Thank you for not selling me to the circus.
So, the little salt and pepper shakers have been a matched set for 58 years now. 58 years. 5.8. I mean, I don’t even know what to say for my parents’ anniversary this year … it’s not often I’m at a loss for words, as you all surely know by now. The lack of poetic flourishes notwithstanding, I’m awestruck at the feat – I mean, 58 years! But also their obvious devotion, which has been on full display even more recently. Oh sure, sometimes they seem more like Tom and Jerry than Ozzie and Harriet, but the love binding them together for all these years remains a force to be reckoned with. And no doubt the best is yet to be.
Psychologists tell us that we have three identities: Who we think we are, who we really are, and who we are as other people see us. Sometimes we like the three “Whos,” and sometimes we don’t. Trying to get to the bottom of these differences in personae has made psychiatrists rich for years. Having three distinct personal realities becomes even more complicated when we realize that everyone else is in the same boat. There’s a big difference between knowing about a person and really knowing that person. Our friends, partners, lovers, colleagues, and families may know that we love clog dancing, breakfast scrapple, the subtle comedy stylings of Andrew Dice Clay, and mud wrestling, but they only know these things because of who we are when we are with them. When you are by yourself, you may be an entirely different person.
Subconsciously, we all turn into someone else to adapt to the needs and demands of others in all of our associations. In the case of a toxic relationship this becomes even more apparent as we do anything it takes to save the relationship or, in some extreme cases, survive. We lose all three of our identities; we lose ourselves completely because, simply put, it is easier to be someone else. When you finally leave the relationship, you can begin to regain your identity, your purpose, and your sense of self. The partner in this toxic relationship will no longer recognize you, associating the person you became to exist peacefully with him or her as the person you really are, if that makes sense. Basically, he or she never knew the real you. Oh, they probably did at first, at the beginning of the relationship … before you were forced to morph into an overly accommodating persona simply to retain your sanity. Affronted at your newfound “change” once you’re on your own, this person will in turn pass a false perception of you on to others, making it seem as if who you really are NOW is the fake face while who you WERE in the relationship is the truth.
This can be hurtful – or at the least, annoying – to the one who is now accused of being fake when he or she is simply returning to a sense of normalcy. Normalcy being the key word. The vengeful ex will ridicule your attempts to improve yourself as putting on some sort of show, never realizing that you gave up all of the hobbies and activities that you enjoyed pre-relationship simply to appease him or her. The only reality about you that they know is the one they have built up in their heads; they don’t know the real you … the happy you. They see you living your life and tell people, “That’s not at all like her. Who is she trying to fool?”
With possibly some exceptions, the results of this aggravating situation carry over into any friends that you met while in the toxic relationship. They have only met the personality that you had morphed into to keep the relationship steady and peaceful. In turn, you begin to have a bit of shame and self-recrimination as you recall all of the things you did to keep up the false façade. “What the hell was I thinking? I hate watching Monday Night Football while doing Jagermeister shots!” Well, the football part, anyway.
You would think that being with your family would be a release from the expectations of having to morph into someone else, but that’s not true, either, is it? Although your family thinks they know you better than anyone else, they also have a biased perception, for better or worse. Think of how often you have to bite your tongue and alter your behavior and views to keep peace during holiday dinners and family get-togethers.
The 21st century has added yet another dynamic in the search for true identities: Social Media. If you think you can be yourself online, think again. How many times have you stopped yourself from posting a status because you are afraid of people’s perception of you changing? The only opinion your cyber friends can make about you is based on your words as they appear on Facebook or messages through email or text. Even posting videos, FaceTiming or Skype will not allow you to present the real you; would you appear in a video wearing your favorite flannel pajamas, hair uncombed, or for women, with no make-up on? This gets even more complicated with the advent of online dating. You are both on your best behavior and acting or reacting in a way you think the other person would appreciate. For women, especially single moms, you feel as if you are interviewing for the coveted position of “Girlfriend” in a large company. The other person has created an image of you based not just on the information you present to them, but also their imagination and desires. No matter how honest or upfront you try to be, eventually some aspect of your personality emerges that doesn’t fit in with the “you” they have imagined. They feel hurt and betrayed, and rather than accept you at face value, they allow the relationship to end and continue forward in search of the next candidate. While this happens to women all the time, I’m sure men can relate as well.
I know this has been a long and rambling post, and I hope that I’ve made a little bit of sense. There’s one truth to all of this and that is this: There is only one person qualified to say they know who you really are, and that is YOU. Don’t let someone else make judgments and certainly don’t critique yourself based on someone else’s opinion of you … because they don’t know the whole story of you. Half the time, if I ask myself who I really am, I have no clue how to answer. But that’s my right, and no one else’s.
Somewhere in my internet excursions, I came across this little gem as a profile for an internet dating site:
The first thing I had to do was to check and see if I’ve been sleep-posting to dating sites again. The second thing I needed to do was to install security cameras to catch whoever is spying on me, because really, this is just plain creepy. The third thing I did was to ponder this poignant missive, and wonder why there is rarely any truth to online dating profiles. As a service to you, my loyal readers and followers, I have decided to create a list of common dating profile phrases and define them for you. You’re welcome in advance.
Ok, I may seem a little harsh, but if you must know, my own online dating stories have been pretty much epic fails. From the guy in the questionable hairpiece (I swear it was moving) to the one who claimed he was 6’4” and was actually a circus midget in real life (no really, he was in the circus, born and raised), I have been stalked, the recipient of highly inappropriate pictures (which I didn’t ask for, I’ll have you know), and otherwise disappointed to the point that I hardly even change out of sweatpants for dates anymore. I have the escape text pre-programmed into my phone, and I carry mace in my purse. Not the spray; an actual mace.
What if online profiles just said what they mean? Read this one I recently posted on a dating site:
I’m just putting this profile up to get likes on the cute picture of me and my dog. I hate to go anywhere, and doing things is usually too much of a bother. My main profile picture is from eighty years ago when I was a cheerleader in high school. I may have gained five, ten, a hundred and ninety pounds since then. I hate people. I especially hate people anywhere near me. Ever. I enjoy the quiet comfort of my couch and a healthy dinner of chocolate cake and Captain Crunch. I snort when I laugh and have been known to belch at a funeral. I think I look sexy in my fuzzy sweatshirt with the coffee stain on the sleeve. Ok, on the sleeves. Ok, on the sleeves and collar. I think I look sexy in my fuzzy sweatshirt covered in coffee stains and chocolate sauce. I really want to find someone who loves me unconditionally and gives me the attention I need while leaving me alone 99% of the time. If you want to get back to me, that’s fine. I don’t really care either way. If we end up going on a date I’ll have to get dressed and leave the house, so it’s okay if you don’t contact me. In fact, don’t bother. I’m kind of a bitch anyway.
Still waiting on the right swipes to start rolling in. They’re coming though, any day now.
What if there was a dating site that matched you with pet profiles? What do you think? Wow, I wasn’t even thinking THAT, you guys are sick. Seriously. Ewww.
What I meant was, you could look at their profile and see their pets and connect through your love of animals. They could call it Puppy Love, and the motto would be:
“Who cares about the owner, check out this adorable kitten.”
It’s impossible to be disappointed with the outcome of any date that included a fantastic pet encounter as well. Heck, I’d suffer through a bad date just to hang out with a kitten or pupper. You just can’t go wrong meeting a cute bundle of fluff. The guy (or gal) might be an asshole, but hey, at least you met a new doggo! Can you imagine the break-up? Yeah, so, I don’t think this is going to work. You’re an asshole. But I can still visit Caden the Corgi, right? Right!?
Yesterday. Whew. What a long day, for all of us.
Dad had the biopsy on his lungs yesterday. To say I was nervous and afraid is an understatement.
I decided to tag along to keep you company. You’re my mom, but you’re so much more. My friend, my confidant, my rock. And dad? He has always, always been there for me, no matter what. So of course, I was going to be there for him.
While thinking of you both last night, after all was said and done, I took a moment to reflect on the differences that separate us, and also those that connect us, as they do in any family. Politics? Please. Social issues? Ugh, no way. I have no doubt that you feel the same. I mean, I got my attitude from somewhere, right? Yet, through it all, I love you. More than you will ever know. You’ve done so much over the years for me; I want to be there for you like you are always there for me.
This is not to toot my horn, so to speak. Instead, it’s meant to offer up a heartfelt apology.
Yeah, I choked. Sure, I’m great at the lighthearted stuff. I can gossip about the mailman and tell terrible jokes with the best of them in an attempt – perhaps, a misguided attempt – to keep your mind off things. I can distract you from the bigger picture, if only for a little while, with any number of sarcastic and witty (in my own eyes, at least) observances. I can get super-charged and angry on your behalf; whether it’s at people or situations, I’ll gladly take it on to save you the stress or heartache. But the serious stuff? I’m at a loss.
They never taught this stuff in school.
Mom and dad, I wanted to say the right things. I wanted to do the right things, to offer comfort, hope, and a bit of light in the darkness. I just am so ridiculously backwards and awkward in serious situations that I don’t know what to say or do. It’s almost funny. Except, it’s not.
I’m sorry I’m not good at small talk or knowing what to say in a painful, frighteningly serious situation. And I was scared. Just like you were. I’m sorry I’m not better at comforting you; I truly wish I knew how.
I hope you both know that I love you more than anything in this world. I will always be there for you, no matter how awkward or backward I may be at the reassurances and encouragements and comforting phrases.
My heart feels it, oh boy does my heart feel it; if only my mouth could say it.
One day early last week, on Facebook, I posted a picture of a male actor – you would know him, he was amazing in that thing about the thing (won an Oscar!), with an even more amazing body – posed provocatively, wearing only a micro-Speedo. I was very pleased at the way the picture focused on his … um, attributes. When I posted the picture, I was hoping to get a bunch of likes and exploit the man, you know, as you do.
Right about now, there are two groups of readers. Half of you wonder where the picture is, and the other half said, “Well, now, that just isn’t right.” Okay, so there is also a third group, comprised of members of both groups, who are trying to bleach the picture of the Speedo out of their brains.
Of course I didn’t really post any picture like that. But I have to wonder; were you more outraged over the idea that I would exploit someone for “likes,” or was that outrage brought about because it was a man? Men don’t commonly get exploited and paraded around for their bodies instead their talent; that is a privilege usually saved for women. In fact, it’s expected.
I belong to a Facebook group that focuses on films from the “Golden Age of movies.” The ground rules are simple: be respectful, no politics, no religion, and discuss classic era movies. Shouldn’t be too hard, right?
In any group, there is bound to be the one who pushes the rules to the limits. In this group, one guy not only pushes the limits but crosses them over and over, to the giggling joy of his caveman supporters. He continues to post pics of actresses in their most sultry persona and one, he even cropped to be sure her breasts were on clear display…in fact, it was just her breasts, so if he hadn’t mentioned who the actress was, there’s no way you would know. Unless you’re a breast aficionado.
Not all of the actresses he ummm … discusses … are from the classic era either. A cropped, very risqué photo of Catherine Zeta Jones, who is truly a lovely woman (inside and out from what I understand), was duly submitted for inspection and I don’t think she was even born in the classic movie era, let alone acted in any movies from that time-period. His pics, as no doubt intended, elicit the usual responses from other men, suggesting graphically what they would like to do to the women, among other lewd comments. The moderator keeps deleting the posts, but somehow the guy is allowed to remain.
Finally, a female member took a stand against this sorry excuse for classic movie discussion. She made a post about how she’s tired of seeing it, that it’s disrespectful, goes against the rules of the group, and stop being assholes basically – though she was very nice and polite about it … more so than I would’ve been. Predictably, her post was met by a bunch of men jumping on her saying, “Just block the guy, choose your battles, it’s not important, get over it, scroll past it, let it go, grow up, stop being a snowflake,” and complaining that she was “on her soap box,” and that it wasn’t a real problem so why complain, etc. One guy, who I guess was trying to “help,” said “Agree with the concern, and more, but believe part of the solution is to stay calm and positive. Just breathe.”
As is the norm, although the post she made was calm, cool, and anything but hysterical, she was, quite literally, accused of being hysterical and over-reacting. The reactions came, of course, from men who have never had to battle these types of attitudes and comments personally; in fact, these same guys are the very culprits who keep feeding the caveman’s posts in the first place.
I am sure there are lots of good guys in my group, too, just like in real life. Most likely, they stayed quiet throughout all of this to simply keep clear of the scuffle – just like in real life. The women, as could be predicted, came out in full force to support the female member’s post, rallying around her in true “girl power” form.
The problem is, this idiot guy and his rude followers probably genuinely don’t even perceive a problem. But come on! Why on earth should a woman have to block someone, scroll past lewd pictures, or just suffer sexism silently? I mean, this question is relevant every day of our lives, but especially in a freakin’ group meant for classic film discussion of all places! Then, God forbid, a woman has the spiritual fortitude to confront the men and call them out on their overt sexism … well, then she’s down-played, ignored, ridiculed, and gaslighted.
Sexism is real, and it plays out nearly every single freakin’ day in women’s lives. Women are taught to ignore it, deal with it, cope with it, and never act on it or they’ll be perceived as “over-reacting” or being “hysterical;” it is, after all, just boys being boys. When can women unite and finally say, “Enough is enough?” If not now, when!? Sexism is so pervasive that it shows up everywhere and anywhere, even in an innocent group on Facebook that was formed to discuss classic movies.
Granted, this is a small group on Facebook. Alarmingly, though, Facebook tends to be an interesting and realistic mash-up of the real world. Meaning, the people who are your Facebook friends or fellow group members are representative of a small microcosm of who you would find on the street every day.
Frankly, I think I need some new friends.
Exactly 1,792 years ago, in the Central Italian town of Terni, a little boy was born who would grow up to be the subject of over 150 million greeting cards a year, second only to those sent at Christmas. His name was Valentinus of Terni. As an adult he was quite good at converting the Romans to Christianity. This didn’t sit too well with the Roman Emperor Claudius. When the 43 year-old Valentinus politely refused the Emperor’s suggestion to stop converting Romans, Claudius had him beheaded on February 14th, 269. Ahhh. Good times.
And that’s why on February 14th of every year we celebrate Valentine’s Day by giving flowers, candy, jewelry, and greeting cards to those we love. Yeah, I’m sorry. I just don’t see the connection. It actually wasn’t until the Middle Ages that people started celebrating Valentine’s Day. Now, here we are, centuries later, with the notion of gifting our loved ones with chocolates and over-sized bears a part of our cultural fabric, except for that brief, yet fun, period when insults were all the rage.
It starts in kindergarten. First, making a little construction-paper and doily covered mailbox to hold all our valentines – that was my favorite part, I’ll have to admit. Then exchanging little cards with each other, the teacher making sure that everyone got one. In grade school, we’d make construction-paper red and white hearts for our parents and a select few of our more crush-worthy classmates. In junior high (this was in the years before “middle school” became a thing), we became much more selective, and secretive, when acknowledging Valentine’s Day with classmates. With high school (at least, my high school) came the single roses or carnations sold by the PTA for $2 a piece…flowers that would be delivered to the classrooms at some point in the day for all our fellow students to behold and admire.
As adults, we moved on to more serious gift giving. Last year, Americans spent $19.7 billion on Valentine’s Day gifts. I’m pretty sure that the majority of that money was spent on gifts to soothe ruffled feathers, hold on to troubled relationships, or for relationship “prospecting.” But hey, whatever moves the economy along and provides for 50% off candy the day after, I’m all for it. At least, the 50% off candy part.
As for me, I’m spending Valentine’s Day as a single person this year. Believe or not, I find it quite liberating. Single adults have been emancipated from what I call “The Great Valentine’s Day Duty Dash.” You’ve all probably witnessed this great phenomenon. It is a double tidal wave of frantic people flooding CVS, Walgreens, Rite Aid, and 7-11 stores across the country, desperately looking for something (preferably not too expensive) that they can give a significant other to celebrate a holiday that somehow was able to sneak up on them.
The first wave arrives on the evening of February 13th. They look like a horde of locusts stripping a Kansas wheat field. Candy, cards, cheap perfume, wine, flowers, teddy bears, candles, Gillette Venus shaving kits.
The second wave arrives around 5:00 PM on February 14th. Rush hour. The stores have desperately tried to restock the shelves, but not much is left. People begin to realize that if they don’t come home with a Valentine’s Day gift, they might as well just not go home. When they discover that the last of the Snickers bars and My Little Pony Lip Gloss are gone, they fall to the floor and begin flipping about like tuna on the deck of a fishing boat.
As a single person, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. The angst of buying the “right gift,” or any gift, is gone. The decisions about the appropriateness or cost of a gift are non-issues. After spending more years than I would like to admit stressing out over being faulted on my gift choices – as well as my reaction to gifts given to me, I’m glad to have a break in the routine. When I was younger, I didn’t think it would ever be possible, but my experiences have dimmed the shine of cupids and hearts and hastily thrown together reservations at that candlelit Italian restaurant. And that’s okay too. That life was not all it was cracked up to be, trust me, and no amount of Valentine’s Day pageantry would’ve fixed it. I’ve since found that what I want in a relationship is something deeper, something real, something that doesn’t need to be glossed over with decorative red and pink trappings to keep it afloat. Now, I have different romantic goals.
When my soulmate and I do connect on Valentine’s Day? It won’t be with heart-shaped boxes of candy and cards and cute stuffed animals or a reservation at that exclusive, yet somehow still overly crowded, restaurant with a fixed holiday menu. It will be with whiskey and action movies and dancing in the living room. And ice cream. Or cheesecake. I’m good either way.