Dancing About Architecture

It could be that what I attempt to do here in this forum is an impossibility -- like trying to write about music or dance about architecture. It could be that the entire threshold proposition is so preposterous that what follows is necessarily nothing but disjunctive noise.

Much head scratching in the peanut gallery leads me to believe that there is one question which absolutely begs to be asked here: Do I even have a threshold proposition?

I believe I do. Though it may have developed only on a secondary level (we can debate the questionable assumption that one can have a threshold proposition that only comes into being well after the project it is supposed to inform is well underway another day) and may simply be enabling the creation of another shrine to my own narcissism, it is a threshold proposition nonetheless. At least, as with most things in my life, if you squint at it a little.

My threshold proposition is this: I just want to understand. There is so much in this world that I do not understand: extreme partisanship, abject cruelty, imperviousness to the psychic pain of others, being a fan of the Boston Red Sox, inability to use spell check, political motivations in apolitical situations, the ascendancy of Ryan Seacrest. The list goes on and on. But the only item of confusion on the list which I can truly be held accountable for, and for which I will continue to pay a price day after day, is my inability to understand myself (yes, again with the narcissism). I may never know the allure of owning 200 cats or selling everything you own to get four tickets for the Superbowl or why people can often be so cruel, but I can at least attempt to understand myself better. If I can better make out the shape of that entity that is "myself" maybe fitting into my own skin will be a more comfortable fit, and in the comfort, I might be a better citizen of the world, and able to give more to my loved ones and to everyone else.

So if understanding myself is truly the threshold proposition, then even if my body of work here oftentimes has a repetitive and cacophanous ring, I do believe I am making progress. Probably not as much as I should be, as I have a sneaking suspicion that I am far simpler an individual than I make myself out to be, but progress nonetheless.

My most significant issue, as far as I can tell from posts from the beginning until now, has always been one of perception. My eyes -- both the ones on my head and the one in my mind -- often fail me. My reaction to my dimly lit sight has been to throw up my hands and weep at the mere realization of it. Perhaps, as with the physically blind, I should accept the limitations created by my metaphorical blindness and begin to work on how to overcome my visual shortcomings through the use (and ultimately, the heightening) of other senses and abilities.

Sound good in theory, but at this point, I am not sure what these other senses I should work on should be. Hearing is not necessarily an option, as the richness and complexity of what I love about words and and construction of them, is the same thing that makes them a less than reliable guide to accurate perception. It depends on what the meaning of "'is' 'is'", you know?
Touch is also eliminated because the motivations to make physical connections are easily hidden and have the most potential for diametric opposition. Smell could be reliable whenever it is a factor, but it is so rarely present, that it would be a fog horn that sounds once an hour in a lifelong fogbank. Hardly any help at all.

So what am I left with? My gut. The proverbial spidey sense in the deep down recesses of oneself that has always made decisions instantaneously, and which I have scrupulously argued and fought with every moment thereafter until the decision absolutely must be made.
Wow, this doesn't sound all that reliable either, but I do appreciate the fact that it requires trust in oneself and a sort of emotional centering so that "the gut" can be heard. Ah, I guess "hearing" does play a role after all.

One of the perception "sub" issues that vexes me most is, of course, romantic relationships (with nearly every platonic relationship I have running a close second on the vexation/anxiety inducing scale). Like most every woman I know who has read far too much Cosmo et al in her lifetime (and, who, for that matter, watches too much Lifetime), I started out making a list of the things I wanted in a mate (okay, the fact that I was using "mate" as a category of reference at all says something unto itself. These days I do prefer the term "partner" -- though the kind that doesn't require a capital call). At 17, the list wasn't that lengthy, mostly consisting of broad sketching details such as, "Green eyes, Dark hair, and 'Must be like Lloyd Dobbler.'" Basically, I think I was looking for Lloyd Dobbler. Someone sweet and nice, who was funny, bright and kind, who adored me, and whom I found attractive. Ah, even then, with limited language and experience, I was still a big fan of seeking the impossible.

I realize no one can be Lloyd Dobbler all of the time, in large part because he is a fictional character. People are flawed and difficult and selfish, and that most of us are doing our best to be the best person we can be, but some days are inevitably better than others. But I would like some Lloyd Dobbler at least some of the time. I haven't ever really had that -- and whether that has been due to my poor choices or some cruel cosmic joke is a debate for another day -- but when it comes to romantic love and the act of being cherished, I have very little in terms of experience or frame of reference.

Resultantly, I often feel cast aside. I feel rejection intimately. It must be me. Always. Now, I have had at least two suitors tell me that, yes, it was in fact me. But that aside, it isn't always. I don't think.

So how do I balance with what is good for me versus what I like? I think that there are certain things that I am attracted to that have a high potential for blowing up in my face (i.e. arrogance, swagger, and unrelenting drive), but there are others (maybe more muted versions of the former category) that I think I can keep without fear of harm (i.e. raconteur, confident, smart, motivated, humble even in the face of being accomplished, a little bit snarky). Even if I can keep the latter group without fear of harm, it doesn't mitigate the near impossibility of all those traits landing in one person (and especially since I still insist on throwing "tall" in with those qualities as well). So at this point, it seems that if a gathering of those traits is an impossibility, I should modify my expectations or always be disappointed.

But here is the problem: I have found those traits in a very few people. I have seen the possibilities, and it leaves me both hopeful and terrified. How does anyone else ever measure up? Those people have yet to embrace me as I embrace them, so where does that leave me, other than perpetually alone?

The thing is this -- when I find that amalgamation of those traits in someone, something very curious happens. Rather than getting more nervous, anxious and apprehensive (as such states of being appear to be my status quo), I even out. I feel more and more at ease, and, it is in such moments that I experience the truly rare experience of "feeling like myself." Someone with such traits brings out the best in me, because they just make me comfortable with myself. It is hard to explain and I am doing a poor job here. I guess the best way to explain it is that I am perpetually thinking two steps ahead in nearly every social situation -- romantic or platonic -- because I always feel so awkward and navigating the social waters always seems to perilous to me. Over the years I have found a few trusted friends, where this tendency is obviated. I am comfortable enough to live, to feel, to be in the moment. This is why they are also my family. With romantic contexts, I have only had this happen to me on a handful of occasions. Less than a handful. But the feeling was amazing -- so different from anything else I had ever experienced. And that last sentence has nothing to do with physical acts. It was just that ability to be present and joyful and thrilled, in the moment. The Bridget Jones moment -- perfect, just as it is.