Total Perspective Vortex
What really happened to Trillian? Theories abound, but you can see what she's really been up to on this blog. If you're looking for white mice, depressed robots, or the occasional Pan Galactic Gargleblaster you might be better served here: http://www.bbc.co.uk/cult/hitchhikers/guide/.
Don't just sit there angry and ranting, do something constructive.
In the words of Patti Smith (all hail Sister Patti): People have the power.
Contact your elected officials.
Don't be passive = get involved = make a difference.
Words are cool.
The English language is complex, stupid, illogical, confounding, brilliant, beautiful, and fascinating.
Every now and then a word presents itself that typifies all the maddeningly gorgeousness of language. They're the words that give you pause for thought. "Who came up with that word? That's an interesting string of letters." Their beauty doesn't lie in their definition (although that can play a role). It's also not in their onomatopoeia, though that, too, can play a role. Their beauty is in the way their letters combine - the visual poetry of words - and/or the way they sound when spoken. We talk a lot about music we like to hear and art we like to see, so let's all hail the unsung heroes of communication, poetry and life: Words.
Here are some I like. (Not because of their definition.)
Mamas, Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Smart Girls
(A Trillian de-composition, to the tune of Mamas, Don't Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys)
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Smart girls ain’t easy to love and they’re above playing games
And they’d rather read a book than subvert themselves
Kafka, Beethoven and foreign movies
And each night alone with her cat
And they won’t understand her and she won’t die young
She’ll probably just wither away
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
A smart girl loves creaky old libraries and lively debates
Exploring the world and art and witty reparteé
Men who don’t know her won’t like her and those who do
Sometimes won’t know how to take her
She’s rarely wrong but in desperation will play dumb
Because men hate that she’s always right
Mama don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
Don’t let them do puzzles and read lots of books
Make ‘em be strippers and dancers and such
Mamas, don’t let your babies grow up to be smart girls
They’ll never find men and they’re always alone
Even though men claim they want brains
Life(?) of Trillian
Single/Zero
Thursday, February 18, 2010
What with me in a permanent state of singleness (Please, be upstanding for the mayor of Singleton) and the recent Valentine's Day avoidance success I've been thinking not so much about why I'm single, or the romantic failures, but the results, the where I am now and what those relationships mean, or not, now.
It's easy dismiss those men, especially HWNMNBS, as insignificant others. They are insignificant in my day-to-day life. Sure, sure, buried deep in my psyche there are good lessons learned and scars on painful wounds. Sure. But. Really, generally, other than collectively forming the part of my history that is the romance chapter they have no bearing on what I do or how I am now.
They didn't lead me to conclude that I'm better off alone and collecting dust on The Shelf. I made that decision. I chose to stop trying. I chose to eliminate all hopes of romantic love and companionship from my life. I chose to get off the emotional roller coaster of trying to date and mate. I accepted the role as mayor of Singleton.
But. Those choices are based on numerous failed attempts and failed relationships. So. Are those past boyfriends, significant others of my past, as insignificant as they seem in my day-to-day life? Welllll, there's a kettle of psychology fish.
Here's what I've concluded.
For a long time I wanted HWNMNBS to be insignificant to me. I sarcastically referred to him as my insignificant other. I thought saying it often enough might eventually make it true. Because I thought if and when I could honestly render him insignificant I would be triumphant, victorious, over him.
Silly girl. Silly, silly girl. What I know now is that getting over him was a matter of accepting the disappointment of losing what I wanted for us, for our future. Not a matter of rendering him insignificant.
The fact that I loved him and liked him enough to want to spend my life loyal and dedicated to him and to our would-be marriage is not insignificant. And never will be. The facts that I have the capacity for that depth of feeling, that strength of conviction, that willingness to support someone else, that steadfast loyalty are not insignificant. The fact that I am viable when it comes to love, at least in terms of capability, is extremely significant.
I know, I absolutely know that all of us have the capacity to love. It's merely a matter of choosing to explore and develop that ability. Some of us have deeper capacities than others, and some of us have pivotal situations that impact our choices regarding love. "Daddy didn't love me..." "Mummy didn't hug me enough..." "In seventh grade Jessica made fun of me for liking her..." "he left me for a 23-year-old with fake boobs" on and on and on it goes in the therapists' offices. But those issues have nothing to do with love. They're about blame and insecurity and anger. Choose to accept responsibility, choose to not be angry, choose to revel in your strengths, choose to love and voila!: Therapists join the ranks of the unemployed.
Easier said than done, I know, believe me, I know.
Big words coming from me, right? Hey, I have issues, I know. Never said I didn't. But. The incapacity to love isn't one of them. I know I love and can love. Thanks to my former beaus, I know without a doubt, that I can love and feel love. And thanks to them (among others) I know I'm not an angry person. To this day I have yet to have a moment of anger at HWNMNBS. I've been hurt, but not angry. And one more time with feeling: That's why he's not insignificant.
Don't get me wrong, I don't still "love" him in the longing sense. I just don't see any point in anger. What would it prove, or do? It would only make me bitter and old, fast. I'd still be the mayor of Singleton up on The Shelf collecting dust. But I'd be angry and growing old, quickly, and no fun to be around, either. And even though I'm partnerless, I do have friends and family who I like and respect and don't want to alienate myself from them. Anger has a way of doing that - alienating people - and I certainly do not want that. I'm lonely but the thought of the loneliness without my friends and family is horrifying.
Some of the residents of Singleton live here only because of their anger. They're so angry and self righteous that they alienate themselves from people...and love. The sad part of this is that they have the capacity to love yet they choose blame and anger instead. As Mayor of Singleton I struggle with how to help them help themselves. I'm just smart and insightful enough to grasp the situation but I'm too stupid to know how to help. Telling them doesn't help - typically they're already aware and they just get more angry when someone points out the obvious. Or they think I'm nagging them with trite clichés or that I'm naive. Or chemically altered with medication. So I try to lead by example. You know, the whole Snuggie® of compassion and sympathy thing. Giving understanding and hope without expectation or desire for anything in return is so much easier and healthier than doling out anger and being disappointed because expectations weren't met.
What separates us from animals is: Emotion. And the big deal of emotion is: Love. It matters. It's significant. And exploring it, letting it happen, embracing it, taking the chances and risking heartache are all important. And significant.
So it's inappropriate to render the exes insignificant.
Different from blame: life plays on and because of choices I made - to be with HWNMNBS and while we were together - other paths were not taken and so I am where I am now. But that's not his "fault." I made those choices. But since he was a factor in those choices he is significant. But not to blame.
He is part of the cause of some of the now, but he's not part of the effect.
But that doesn't mean I'm not over him. I am. And no, me dost not protest too much. I am over him and have been for quite some time. I don't think about him that often, rarely, in fact. It's funny, as I write this I'm trying to remember the last time I thought of him and I can't recall exactly. A couple months ago, maybe? In that respect he is insignificant.
On behalf of the people of Singleton I'd like to make that world aware that we, the people of Singleton, are not lovelorn lost souls incapable of love, commitment or lust.
Actually, we're some of the lustiest people you'll ever meet.
Ahhhh, the significance of lust. Are my crushes on young Harrison Ford, Johnny Depp, John Cusack, Hugh Jackman, and 90% of the male cast of LOST insignificant? They seem so, I mean, not gonna happen in real life, no way, no how. And I probably wouldn't want them to happen. The significance of lust is that it's a fantasy with a visual catalyst. I have no idea what the men I lust after are like in real life but that's insignificant. I'm visually attracted to them and my emotional and physical desires fill in the rest. Without a real partner those objects of desire help my imagination fill in where reality leaves off. They are insignificant but they, the collective imagination catalysts, are significant. They keep the libido thumping, the hormones on alert, and prevent a total passion system shutdown. I have a vivid imagination (you should see what my imaginary Josh Holloway does...it's scandalously delicious...and my imagination insists that John Cusack is just waiting for the right woman: Me) but without some visual stimulation my imagination would eventually struggle to keep things interesting.
Without someone to think about, fill the void of reality, I'm pretty sure my imagination would end up conjuring bland, generic cookie cutter automatons performing the same rudimentary functions a la those creepy AI robot people. Not that Jude Law is bland or generic, mind you, but, he was pretty creepy in AI and not in a good way. You get my point.
Insignificant lustful celebrity crushes aren't entirely insignificant. They're visual rocket fuel for the imagination. As long as no one becomes obsessed or confuses the boundary between a little imaginary diversion in the long, dark lonely nights and, well, reality, then they're a nice anonymous way to keep the libido blood pumping.
Yes. It's merely filling the void where reality falls short. But for those of us who have tried, repeatedly, to fill our reality with reality and failed, repeatedly, and now live in Singleton, filling the reality void with imaginary diversions is a way for us to stay in touch with our passionate and emotional capacity. And hey, for those lucky residents of Singleton who move to Coupledom, think of the all the things the former Singleton will have backlogged in their lust inventory. Some pretty lucky recipients will benefit from those imaginary trysts. To the victor goes the spoils.
Not so insignificant now, eh?
My sister insists that "all you need is love." As her smart-mouthed little sister and the Mayor of Singleton it's my responsibility to counter that with, "Tell that to Eleanor Rigby." Sarcastic poignant quip aside, I contend that love is not all you need. You also need trust, respect and the willingness to choose love, no matter the past, no matter the outcome, and overcome anger.
A lot of the residents of Singleton get annoyed with the overcoming anger aspect. They feel wronged, and in many cases they were wronged. They're mad about that. They get mad at me for not being angry. "HWNMNBS was a prick to you! I'd be furious if someone did that to me! You should do x or y or z. Why aren't you mad at him? What's wrong with you?" Hmmmmm. Well. For a start I know that anger will not resolve anything and will make me feel worse. True, Daddy should love you, Mummy should hug you a lot, junior high school kids shouldn't tease each other, and 45-year-old men shouldn't leave their wives for 23-year-old girls with fresh boob jobs. But those are their issues, their responsibility. How we choose to react is our responsibility. Expectations. Ugh. There's a hornet's nest of emotional complication. Accepting the significance of people in the past, romantic or otherwise, without blaming them for now and embracing the people of the present and future without expectation is a level of enlightenment that we the humans can attain because we have the capacity to love. We can do it if we choose. It won't ensure romantic success, it won't make us feel less lonely, but it will make us happier, healthier people.
