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INTRODUCTION: In a way, this essay is the result of an assignment—yeah, like in school. I do not profess to be an expert about the subject herein, but I am a widower in a 55-plus community of my ilk and others who’ve been divorced, so the old game of seeking out new partners is in full swing. It’s pretty much like high school, that is: search, chase, rejection, success, breakup, and repeat with all the awkwardness of the early years, but with more aggression—that is, the participants get to the “bottom line” quickly. Being a nosy writer, I enjoy observing the human condition, so here we go… Let’s say that our hero is infatuated and in a yes-no, stop-go relationship. The poor sap is confused, unsure, and turning into a saliva-bubbling wretch. He wants to participate, but it’s like he’s in the lobby of a whorehouse reading magazines. What do you do when you’ve given as much of yourself as you can, and it isn’t enough? How do you proceed? Do you hang in there and keep trying? Become more aggressive? Do you move on? How much is too much? I mean, you’re not met with outright rejection. It’s not that. That would make it easy. You, in your incomprehensible bewilderment, perceive that you are in-the-running, but not given any assurance that a (heh-heh) happy ending is probable. No, you’re told that a positive outcome may be in the outing—a possibility. However, in statistical terms, possibility is a three out of one-thousand occurrence. Is that enough of a thread for hope or is it a fool’s errand? When it comes to matters of the heart, humans are often foolish, spending untold effort chasing after desired results even when there is ample evidence that the journey will end in despair. Friends often recognize the symptoms that lead to heartache, and despite their counsel, our smitten hero plunges headlong into disaster. Despite being the subject of humor and ridicule, onward he goes. Onward ever onward to the end of the world—a world that ends in a greasy black funk of depression and bitterness. What is it that causes one to reject logic, reason and ignore the obvious clues that irrefutably point to a situation that is toxic? Why the blindness? Maybe a hint is loneliness. Sometimes demons surface during those times of seclusion causing one to reject reason and replace it with irrational hope. This may be especially true for one experiencing loss of a loved one whether through breakup, divorce or death. Somewhere there is a root cause that if discovered can prevent such unhappiness—if the person is willing to listen and learn. Generally, the clues are always there, but our hero tends to be blind due to ignorance learned from—I don’t know—maybe Hallmark movies, always with happy, Hollywood endings. Ah, but life is fickle and can double cross with style. Our hero cries, “Why me?” Fate cackles gleefully and replies, “Why not?” Another clue may be that one becomes starstruck or moonstruck. That is, while not looking for romance one bumbles on the another who rocks his/her world. The situation may not be typical, but it happens. Blame it on temporary insanity. What to do when caught in this whirlpool of optimism without reason and/or logic? Perhaps if/when one recognizes the symptoms of his self-deception, the situation can be addressed and remedied. The trouble is that the remedy is separation, which may be a bitter pill for the one who is smitten (and/or horny). Love (infatuation?) is a powerful emotion especially when combined with our old psychological friend “denial”. There will be pain either way, but when “denial” is present—when reality finally bubbles to the surface—pain can become unbearable causing our hero to perform embarrassing or even criminal acts. Here’s an example: Junior year in college, I asked my girlfriend to find a date for a fraternity brother. She did, but her choice surprised me. I knew that particular girl had been involved in a steady relationship for several years. I was informed that the liaison was over and the girl was looking to explore new horizons. Well and good—or so I thought. The house was dark when we arrived, but the lights flickered on and off in a most irregular manner. When my frat brother climbed the steps, he heard scuffling and loud voices. Finally, his intended date flew through the front door with a boy in pursuit who was wailing loudly—talk about a humiliating display of emotion… Damn! The boy attempted to physically detain the girl, so my friend ended the confrontation with one hard, well-placed sucker punch. It was a doozie. We went on our way. The new couple got on extremely well. It was almost as if they’d known and admired each other for years; or maybe it was just raging hormones. Anyway, they were enjoying a passionate make-out session in the back seat when (hours later) we brought the girl home. The front door of the house flew open, and a (still) tearful boy and the girl’s father rushed down the steps to my car. Dear old dad had a shotgun. The girl was yanked from the car and we were ordered off the property. I never saw any of them again. Geez, I hope the families hadn’t contracted for some sort of arranged marriage. If so, the poor girl… Remedial action requires one to find and correct the root cause of the problem, which in the case of the forlorn lover above was to acknowledge “the end” and move on. The root cause of his problem was that the object of his affection did NOT love him—period! No examining of the symptoms that led to the root cause will change the outcome. However, by honestly examining the symptoms that led to the conclusion, our rejected swain could have saved himself present and future pain—if he overcame denial and was willing to learn. (I suspect in the foregoing case the poor schmuck was too far gone to accept reality.) Of course, being dumped hurts, but is holding a partner prisoner a good omen for the future? I think not. The foregoing example is extreme. The thesis of this essay is: How does one address more subtle self-deception—a deception that even his partner may not recognize or intend? In this case an analysis of the symptoms may be useful. That said, potential symptoms are legion with every case being mutually exclusive; however, there are some that I believe are universal. Let’s take a look. Although the self-deceiver could be either male or female, I’ve personally noticed the phenomenon to be more commonly associated with men because, well, I’m a man. (A sexist would say!) 1. Our hero forces the relationship by planning activities months ahead without input from the object of his affection. This is a method of command-and-control that is nothing short of selfish manipulation. 2. Phone calls, texts, and emails are one-way. This amounts to a constant sales job to (perhaps) a tepid “customer”. 3. Gifts are over the top and too frequent, and perhaps too personal too early. (If I can’t sell my way in, I’ll buy myself in. Yeah! That’s it. That’s the ticket.) 4. Affection is mutually exclusive—one person forces the action. The other goes along albeit reluctantly. An indication that the sales job and the buy-in temporarily worked. 5. Our hero expects his lady to be lockstep in thinking; tries to force her to share his point-of-view especially where common interests do not exist. Anyway, my friends, if you are into intellectual honesty examine your so-called relationship. Are you guilty of one or more of the above? If so, stop! Ending the relationship will be painful if you’re totally enamored, but the longer it takes for it to end—and it will—the more painful it will be. She’s not into you, dude! Call off the jam! Don’t wait for her to dump you, and she most certainly will. Have the balls to walk away. You’ll feel better and gain credibility with friends, associates, and her. Next time try what the romance novelists call a slow-burn technique, to wit: 1. Discover common interests 2. Pursue those interests together as friends 3. See whether or not chemistry develops. If not, you’ve made a friend. If so, proceed slowly and cautiously; and maybe—just maybe—you’ve found the one. Now, dear reader, I suppose you’re wondering about me. After my wife’s death, I had no intention of searching for a new mate. I was completely and totally uninterested. Then while playing a gig with the No Namers Band on Cinco de Mayo, the universe threw a curve ball. I met a wonderful lady who began a slow-burn journey with me. Seems like it’s turning into a flame. Anyway, here ends this essay full of unasked-for advice from a smart-alecky, buttinski, know-it-all. Hoo-hah! Your working boy, Zorro NONDISCLAIMER: Senior communities tend to be distributors of STDs, so play at your own risk.
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