So Who's Chasing You?

George Downes: Michael's chasing Kimmy?
Julianne Potter: Yes!
George Downes: You're chasing Michael?
Julianne Potter: YES!
George Downes: So who's chasing you... nobody, get it? There's your answer.

A few years back, at the beginning of what would become a rather remarkable pattern of people breaking up with me though it was always made clear we were not "dating," I had a long drawn out deja vu-like conversation at a suburban Starbucks with a man who had told me three months before that he was not ready for a relationship, who at the time was telling me he was now in a relationship, and who, six months later -- on my birthday no less -- would in fact marry the woman he was now in a relationship with and to whom he was at this time clumsily, and uninvitingly, comparing me: "It isn't really fair to make a comparison between you and her. If I were to really try, it would be like comparing pizza and a baked chicken breast." Fool that I was, I had to know: "And I would be?" No pause: "Well, the pizza, of course." Ah yes, a greasy, cheese-loaded, carb-laden junk food. Cold comfort for the lactose intolerant.

This was my first experience with feeling like I was living out the 1998 Julia Roberts' comeback vehicle My Best Friend's Wedding. At the time, my first instinct had been that it was a shoddy real life parody of the "Who is the dog in this situation?" scene from When Harry Met Sally, but it was subsequently pointed out to me that it was far more resonant with the "Jello versus Creme Brulee" scene from My Best Friend's Wedding. Indeed. Either way, it was cheesy (no pun intended) as hell. (But in retrospect quite befitting for a relationship between two emotional cripples, one of whom was aptly named after a common nickname for male genitalia.)

My second experience with living out My Best Friend's Wedding is not quite so literal. It is just one line from the movie that keeps running through my head. As quoted above, it is from the scene where Julia Roberts' character is chasing after her best friend, who is chasing after his fiancee, and all the while she is on the phone with her other friend in New York ranting about the situation at hand. When she finally stops to take a breath, her friend on the phone, aghast at what he is hearing, pointedly asks her, "So who's chasing you...Nobody, get it? There's your answer." Indeed. There is the answer.

Now while I am not necessarily chasing someone who is chasing another, I am generally fond of chasing those who want nothing whatsoever to do with me. When they ignore me, I have a world of excuses, some reasonable, some desperately attenuated. All excuses nonetheless. But I can't let go -- I convince myself, somewhere deep down, that to continue to try is a boldness, an irresistible self confidence, that might somehow karmically make up for my seemingly insurmountable self doubt and overall sense of creeping insecurity. Again, not so much.

Rather I am left running after someone running in an opposite direction, breathlessly trying to explain myself to my friends around me who are all just waiting for me to take a breath so that they can point out the hard facts -- no one is chasing me. Of course, it isn't like I would listen anyway.

Letter writing campaigns, gifts, calls, keeping a special place warm in my heart --oh the hope, always the damned hope. Sentimental and adoring acts -- all carried out in direct contravention to good, kind and realistic advice.

But sadly, difficult lessons are only learned on an individual's own excruciatingly slow timetable. Experience is always a better teacher than good advice.

So the question is, where does this realization that I am not wanted leave me? In a perfect world it would result in my instantaneously developing "to hell with 'em all" attitude, and embracing my life as a fulfillingly pleasant work and platonic relationships combination. The ideal nirvana of feeling nothing -- being above longing and desire. To rid myself of hope. But admittedly, it just leaves me feeling sad. Not paralyzingly sad, nor wracked with sobs sad. More like an ever-present and ongoing slow leak sad -- like something is missing or there isn't quite enough there.

Horribly incorrect I know. I am complete on my own. I should want for nothing else. I have a great new job. Everything is now supposed to be perfect.

I also know that the solution to this "sad" is that I am supposed to "get out there" and "open myself" to other people, and be friendlier than I am, and not be closed off, and not be so picky, and stop being so shallow, and smile, and try not to be so introverted, and attempt to tamp down the weird a bit.

But I don't want to do any of those things. Again, horribly incorrect, I know. But for the life of me, I just don't.

Though if I don't help myself then I deserve what I get (which is nothing).

So I know all of these things. I will (try to) apply them all soon enough. But for now, I am just going to mourn my long-deferred realization of the truth -- that in this race that I am running, much as I may want to delude myself otherwise, there is absolutely no one chasing me.