Fatigue-Induced SCS

(self-confessional syndrome)

Since this blog is read by less than a dozen people and you are all loved ones, I thought I'd share a moment from a little more than a year ago that I still think about, often. [now that I’ve written this blog entry and am re-reading it, I don’t talk a lot about the actual moments of realization but more about what it is that I realized…sorry lol – just picture all the thoughts below occurring while I’m sitting in ancient Middle Eastern cities alone and thoughtful and happy]

I had just purchased Nelly Furtado's second CD (a TOTAL unexpected gem) and set-off for 'Eid in Jordan and Lebanon with my now-lost iPod mini. Traveling alone for two weeks, you have a lot of time to think, and feel, and be reflective almost the point of obsession -- in other words: do what I do best, lol.

There is a song on her album, which remains one of my favourite songs in the world, called "Try." I think of it, now, because after I posted, earlier, about staying in NYC, I saw, for the first time, her video for this song (sort of what I imagined it would be, but a bit disappointing in the execution...anyway that's not the point). It reminded me of how that song really brought clarity and some kind of peace to me about my relationship with the oft-mentioned NYC Pook, because we'd been broken up for about two months with almost no contact, and the song, which I listened to a lot over my trip in the Levant, made a lot of sense, both in terms of our relationship, and in terms of my life at the time. Here are the lyrics, and I'll gab on a bit more [edit: a LOT more] afterward:

All I know, is everything is not as it's sold
But the more I grow, the less I know.
And I have lived so many lives, though I'm not old.
And the more I see, the less I grow,
The fewer the seeds, the more I sow.

Then I see you standing there, wanting more from me
And all I can do is try
Then I see you standing there, wanting more from me
And all I can do is try.

I wish I hadn't seen all of the realness
And all the real people are really not real at all.
The more I learn, the more I love
The more I cry, the more I cry
As I say goodbye to a way of life I thought I had designed for me.

Then I see you standing there, wanting more from me
And all I can do is try
Then I see you standing there, I'm all I'll ever be
And all I can do is try.

All of the moments that already passed
Try to go back and make them last
All of the things we want each other to be
We never will be. We never will be.
And that's wonderful.
That's life.
That's you baby. This is me baby.
We are -- we are...free in our love.
We are free in our love.
Try

What was so immediately impactful to me, apart from the relevance I think this has to my romantic life, were her comments about this kind of aged quality to her life. I have lived so many lives, though I'm not old, and while there is so much to be learned in that, and it's such a dream in many ways, it's also very rough. This is not to be self-pitying, but rather to make an honest assessment of the fact that you don't cram all this in by the time you are 23 and not be as broken by some of your experiences as you are enriched by them. There have been times in NYC and in Cairo (as Desi has witnessed) I have been both the seed-sower and the disappointed idealist, thinking I was on the brink of real, deep, and lasting interactions with people (and I don’t mean romantically as much as I do just in terms of friends) and ended up being totally let-down by how empty things were underneath the surface.

This theme sort of returns, when she talks about saying goodbye to a way of life I thought I had designed for me, only now, of course, the romantic element is also introduced. I found myself in Cairo, silently in love, with velocity going somewhere within a large and vague universe of "post-ivy kids who are supposed to make something of themselves but don't know exactly how that is measured," and I realized, quite suddenly, that all of the things that made my life from late 2003 to late 2004 so wonderful I'd totally taken from myself, and left myself with none of the things that gave the existence that I'd come to appreciate its essence. I look back, now, and think: "I had everything, including happiness...why did I need to escape that?" As I have asked myself that question SO MANY TIMES the past two years, I think that the answer is two parts: 1. I had to sabotage something I wasn't ready to accept I had, because of all the things accepting it would stand for; 2. Something in me knew that there was still some growing up that needed to be done in order to really appreciate and make use of the things I had.

In another song that I really like, "That Particular Time," Alanis Morisette talks about (to take it out of context from the song): "My foundation was rocked. My tried and true way to deal was to vanish." I look back and think about the total (TOTAL) contrast between what I had been conditioned to understand was love from my first boyfriend and NYC scene life in general, and then what Pookie presented, and I think that I didn't even understand at the time how difficult it was for me to re-orient towards something that was actually healthy -- towards a person who was actually a really amazing guy. I remember times when I would go into prosecutor mode and drill him on where he was/what he was doing, trying to catch him in a betrayal (which is just so NOT him), and when he'd say to me: "Chunk, I am not on trial, here, and you are being ridiculous" (but not in a dismissive way, just in a clear and honest way), I would realize my insanity and immediately shift, feeling ashamed of my inability to function outside a destructive romantic framework: "I'm really sorry. God, how can I even think it's ok to be so suspicious? I'm really sorry...how can you be with someone as un-trusting as I am?" and he'd just say: "Yeah, there's no reason for you to feel the way you do, but it's not a fatal flaw, and it's something people work on," and put it to rest. Anyway, back to foundations --> as well as I thought I was dealing with someone who was remarkably complete and healthy, I realized when I came to Cairo (and saw the kinds of drama that I was tempted to seek out/manufacture in certain situations, here), that the terrain I was on with Pookie was unlike any I'd been on (or witnessed) before, and I didn't quite know how to navigate. Foundation rocked, I vanished, and his own relationship doubts and perceived limitations facilitated my exit, and even helped me not understand, for months afterward, my accountability in what happened (and what didn't).

I say that something in me knew that I needed to sort of get away and grow up, and that I 100% stand-by that; there is just too much evidence of that need, and I physically FEEL -- and see, to my despair at times -- myself more as a man than as a boy, now. I say that it was difficult to accept certain things about what I had in NYC if I were to really face the reality of it, and I think that (while it's too complex a discussion to have, here), a lot of that has to do with the categories we, particularly as urban gay men, allow ourselves to be put into. Accepting valuation NOT through being young, or cute, or charming on someone's arm at a party, which was more or less how I originally came to understand my place in NYC gay life pre-Pookie, and instead having to understand my worth as an equal in a relationship between two adult men was, I think, a difficult transition for me to make. Even in terms of the physical types we are encouraged to think of ourselves as, I had been (or have been, rather) undergoing what was, at moments, an ungraceful and mentally traumatic maturation that definitively casts me outside the space of "boi" and into the that of "man." Just a few days ago I was lamenting over email the fact that I keep getting more and more muscular, and part of that lamentation is that when I see myself in the mirror, I look, well, like a man lol. {I fully accept the problematization of the "normative body" that my discussions of manhood deserves from you critical thinkers out there} Realizing, then, my own inability, at that time, to assume my place as an equal partner (despite what I always believed was my own defiance, as a boy, to be kept or be in any other way less than someone's equal), it was important for me to remove myself from my location within NYC urban gay life, my relationship, etc. and exist outside the system, so to speak, for a time long enough that I could grow and re-enter more effectively upon my return.

Back to the song --> What I think is so important in the song, not from my perspective as the person who understands it as his voice (as I clearly do, in parts) but as the person who also understands himself as the audience, what I realized during my time in the Levant, traveling, thinking, and listening, was that what I needed to do (and what I believe I have begun to successfully do, over the past year) was communicate to a certain someone that we can look frankly at our limitations, and disappointments, and still try -- in a way that is neither risky, nor damaging, and that, in reality, is very freeing. I love it when she changes the chorus to say "Then I see you standing there, I'm all I'll ever be" but says that, even being that, she can still try. I also love it that she is able to say that what is freeing (and therefore "wonderful") about understanding you and me and what we are (and are not) is understanding that we will NEVER be everything that we want -- not for ourselves, and not for each other. I think that most people, myself included, are pretty good, in the post-Oprah age, at not forcing themselves to dwell over what they are not, and I think that people are similarly good at not expecting unrealistic things from their partners (I'm not perfect and I don't expect you to be); the critical part that is often missing, though, is the ability to not expect from yourself as you relate to your partner things that are unrealistic. In other words: saying "I'm not perfect and I don't expect you to be, either" is great, but we need to also be able to say: "I'm not perfect, and part of my peace with that is also knowing that you don't expect me to be, and I don't expect myself to be unlimited in my capacity to deal you, even though I am admittedly limited, as we all are, as an individual." Got it? :)

To recap: Wandering through the streets of Beirut with nothing but some ridiculously hot Lebanese guys to heal my pain (SO KIDDING!), I began my reflections, which I continue to this day, on the decisions that I made to come here, my relationship with Pookie, and what it means to be damaged, limited, growing, loving, etc. all within this crazy world of global capital and the disciplinary state (just kidding: I threw that last part in as a joking reference to the meeting I had today wherein we discussed Appadurai’s theory of the “promiscuous movement” of financial capital, lol).

The song is extremely powerful, and beautifully (if simply) sung, and if you don't have a copy, but are in the tristate area, then I volunteer Curie to make you a copy (lol I made her go buy the CD as soon as I heard this song!).

VC