Yesterday, I wrote about people who live in the past – or at least that’s what I think I was writing about. The ones who look back to when they were a better version of themself or when “they coulda been a contender.” I think we all have those moments – moments when we felt we brought our A-game, when we were firing on all cylinders (career, sports, hobbies, relationships). Today’s follow up to that line of thinking is, what if it’s all self-delusion? What if our A-game had nothing to do with what we delivered to others and was entirely about the feedback loop that stroked our own ego? Perhaps those moments of living in the the past have less to do with being better versions of ourselves and more to do with being better versions of how we thought about ourselves – when we felt most at ease with who we were in the world? As with so much of what I try to work through on the page, I feel as though I’m once again teetering on the precipice of some larger self-awareness and understanding – peering over the cliff’s edge of my own depths trying to make out its craggy contours and shadowy false bottoms.
Shortly after hitting the publish button yesterday, I heard back from someone I had asked out. It was a gentle no. They’ve gone out with someone a few times and would like to see where that goes. Initially, I debated even asking them out. We have different life goals which means that any connection we felt probably wouldn’t last past that big first discussion… “so, about that having kids things… on a scale of 1 to 10, how important is that to you?” “Yes, I know your profile said you wanted to live on a houseboat in Puget Sound, but I didn’t think it was serious…” Despite knowing it probably wouldn’t have been a long-term match, I was open to meeting up and seeing how things play out – maybe the houseboat and kids are more fantasy than reality. Being open to other possibilities meant asking this person out which, in turn, means I was a little stung by the rejection.
Feeling slightly dejected, I took a nap, did some stuff around the apartment, got a haircut, went to the market, and then came back to the apartment and sulked for a bit. Sulking, in this case, involved scrolling through dating profile after dating profile and mentally rejecting just about everyone I saw (wants kids, is into extreme sports, lives too far away, all of their pics are on ski slopes, mentions Belize, Iceland, and that time in Honduras all in one sentence, makes too many duck faces, never drinks, is a regular at Burning Man, etc. etc. etc.). After a few minutes of this, I found myself saying, “ughhh, this isn’t helping.” After a few minutes of this, I felt like I had seen too many people and images and profiles.
Of course, all of those mental calculations and rejections that I was making were based on a host of assumptions (many of them probably, or at least possibly, incorrect). My reasoning is that if the person is super into skiing and I’ve never gone in my life, there’s a good chance we won’t be connecting over the joys of tearing up fresh powder. While I love to travel, I haven’t been out of the country in over a decade and I’m not in a position to suddenly jet-set around the globe ten times a year – so unless they’re willing to be my sugar mama (without resenting it) it’s probably not a good fit. I don’t see myself attending Burning Man or particularly liking the type of people who attend (admittedly, I know nothing about the festival or those who attend – it just doesn’t seem like it’s my scene)…. Much of what I was doing was trying to find people with proximal and relatable experiences and desires. Much of what I was doing was trying to apply a formula that seems to say we have to be relatable enough to connect and different enough to grow.
This was part of the revelation. This was one of those spots in the chasm of self-reflection where I’m not sure if it’s a rocky bottom or just some trick of shadow and light. I found myself admitting that I’m a plain guy with modest desires. In trying to define myself, I found myself wanting to return to some of my favorite poets and poems: the ones that describe a man looking in the fridge as though that’s where the answers are kept, the poems that explore the near-gossipy car ride home after too much wine and an uncomfortable dinner with friends who passively argued the entire night and are surely headed for divorce. For me, that’s where so much of life resides – in the tension and beauty of the mundane. For me, life isn’t about some grand adventure through the mountains of Tibet, but is more often about finding a sliver of humor amidst the faltering and falling apart, about finding a common enemy when all of our best tricks at re-connecting have failed. Life is about noticing the little things – like how someone cooks the bacon, or curls up on the couch, or that cute smile/grin thing they do when they get nervous or excited. For me, an amazing life includes great shared experiences – many of which will be small and tender – both inconsequential and bubbling over with the spark of life at the same. None of that is easy to express on a dating profile or in a few text messages about the weather and weekend plans.
Not wanting to dwell on those things (rejection, aspiration, fulfillment) for too long and not quite ready to eat dinner, I decided I’d look for jobs. I’m trying to continue my search even though I feel close to landing something. If I rule out potential dates based on a lot of seemingly arbitrary assumptions, I do even more of that with jobs. I’ll sometimes read a job description and pass on it thinking I’m capable but unqualified. These are usually VP roles or CEO roles at larger organizations. I’ll then find myself passing on a lot of other jobs. Soon enough, much like the dating apps, I begin to feel unsatisfied with my results and wholly unqualified for the application process.
The thing is, this isn’t about a lack of confidence. If anything, it’s almost the opposite of that. I feel as though I have a ton to offer in a relationship and at a job, but that my struggle is in finding an appreciative audience with whom I’d like to share my time and talents. In some respects, I feel as though I’ve made a turn inward in which I wish to give my very best self to me and if others benefit from that or enjoy being a part of it, I’d love to see where and how we connect. Strangely (or conversely), in this process of perpetual seeking and “interviewing,” I’ve also gotten bored with my story. This leaves me feeling mildly frustrated because it’s the only story I have.
If the dating apps made me feel like I’m just a pretty normal guy looking for easy, comfortable, and funny, the job search has sometimes made me feel like a second- or third-place type of candidate, a perennial runner-up. Sure, I worked with a world-renown author, but I was not his primary editor at a major publishing house. Sure, I’ve been the chief executive of an organization, but we were small and rural. The internal critic, while seldom fierce or unkind, stands like Chekhov’s man with a hammer gently tapping my forehead to remind me there’s a world outside of my own thinking and experience that contains men holding hammers.
Finding a job and finding a person are never easy tasks. When the rejections hit, I turn to the past in search of formulas and patterns from easier, more successful, or more pleasing times. I mentally revisit jobs that I enjoyed and try to get at the essence of what made them enjoyable. I wander the cobblestone streets of memory revisiting past relationships that had the warm glow of a nighttime cafe looking for the details I wish to recreate in the next painting of a relationship. It feels important to do this if I wish to be able to articulate what I want in the next job or next partnership.
Where all of this gets confusing for me, is in trying to interpret the dynamics of what made those jobs and relationships good, enjoyable, workable, and easy. Jobs and partnerships are often about reciprocity and mutually fulfilling each other’s needs. Because those courtships involve a process of winnowing out, I begin to question my own motivations. I begin to fear my own narcissism. Do I seek out people and places where I think I’ll be successful? Do I know easy targets when I see them, and perhaps worse, do I look to capitalize on weaknesses and desperation? How might I (or anyone) overcome the need to be needed. If one isn’t needed at a job, they’re fired. If one isn’t needed (or at least wanted) in a relationship, it ends. I guess the scary third part of this on-going examination/revelation is that part of what has made past experiences pleasurable has been entirely ego-driven. In those jobs and relationships, I felt appreciated, desired, and admired. I’d like to think those feelings were happy byproducts of reciprocity, but what if they were the unstated goal? I am an awkward and uncomfortable dance partner with my own selfishness.
It’s a rainy Wednesday morning here in San Francisco. Last night, I woke up at 11 and wrote down a few notes about the night I probably should have left a relationship but instead stayed and got what I wanted (a sign of commitment). This morning, I spent an hour or two reading poetry and writing (long hand) before turning my attention to this blog post – another small chapter in my continued attempt at clarity – who am I and what am I doing here? As part of my reading, I re-read a poem by Stephen Dunn, “The Undercover Man.” It gets to the heart of this dance between honesty and ego. “I want you to know I believe / in the kind of transparency / that gets me what I want. // Why would I tell you this? / Because women like you / find even the semblance of honesty / irresistible…” I dog-eared the page and in the spirit of Adrienne Rich’s statement that we need love as a way of constantly refine the truths we might share, I wrote, “I need you – a counterbalance to my ego, a taker-down of notches, a baker of humble pie. I’m already at the table, a napkin tucked into the collar of my shirt, knife and fork at the ready, waiting to devour anything you might serve.”
If yesterday I was trying to write about dealin’ and livin’ in the past, today I’m trying to think of how we expand beyond ourselves. That seems to be the essence of what good relationships (professional, romantic, platonic) do. That seems to be the essence of seeking: experiences, people, jobs that might take us one step beyond what we can do for ourselves. Good relationships and partnerships shine a little more light into that chasm of self-reflection and discovery they create spaces that are simultaneously safe, frightening, and a little unpredictable. If yesterday I was thinking about the smallness of dealin’ in the past while later nursing the minor bruise of rejection, today I’m feeling the need to expand beyond my own skin and where I might point my efforts.