sixfootdwarf

One of the more interesting “features” of the human mind is our tendency to embrace an irrational belief when we’re not willing to look for (or accept) a more rational explanation. This is especially apparent when it comes to romantic relationships. Without a doubt, one of the best (or worst) examples of this is the mythical but wildly popular belief in THE ONE (emphasis not mine). Quite literally a fairy tale, this notion preaches that, somewhere out there, there exists exactly one person whom destiny has chosen for you to live happily ever after with. Your perfect match, if and only if.

The logical problems with this idea become obvious once you begin picking it apart. Start with a world population of roughly 6.6 billion people. Cut that in half to get 3.3 billion people of the opposite (let’s just say “preferred”) gender. For simplicity’s sake, let’s assume only a third of those people are within a reasonable dating age range. So there may be as many as 1 billion potential mates for you out there, and you’re supposed to whittle it down to just one? Not just any one, mind you, but THE ONE? The National Weather Service thinks you’re more likely to get struck by lightning… twice.

And that’s only the beginning. Let’s say you somehow overcome those astronomical odds, you finally find that perfect soulmate, and with knuckles white, you cling on for dear life. But then something horrible happens… Maybe the sentiment isn’t reciprocated. Or maybe this person turns out to be an abusive asshole. Or maybe, heaven forbid, your lover’s life tragically ends before yours does. What now? I mean, you can’t find a second THE ONE, right? So, if you don’t doubt the dogma, you only have two options. You can go on believing that this was your one true love, dooming yourself to wander the planet a lost lonely soul for the rest of your life. Or you can take it all back, try to convince yourself that you were wrong–that, in fact, this wasn’t THE ONE–and start looking through that haystack all over again.

Another deleterious effect of this perspective on relationships is that it can make you head for the hills at the slightest chance of stormy weather. Can’t decide on which restaurant to dine at, or what movie to see afterwards? Well, you obviously can’t be soulmates then, right? Sure, I’m exaggerating, but not by much. Just stop and think about the divorce rate nowadays. People expect too much from a significant other. All this “you complete me” nonsense sets the bar pretty high.

The ugly truth is, all relationships have problems. No one is perfect for you, but plenty are compatible. The relationships that last are the ones where both partners are able and willing to work through the rough spots. And even then, the time you spend with those you love is always fleeting and temporary. In the end, we can only consider ourselves lucky for the good times and hopefully a better person for the bad times.

Upon finding yourself unexpectedly thrust back into the murky depths of the dating pool, the natural response is to flounder and panic. “What will I do now? Where will I meet someone new? Why can’t I breathe?” And so on. You’ve seen a quarter century now, well out of college and into a career. Fishing around the local dives and watering holes only seems to net the ones you’d rather throw back. With ego bruised and confidence lost, you’ve never felt so stranded at sea.

Call it relationshipwrecked.

But you either sink or swim. And sinking isn’t really an option. Hell, even dead bodies float to the surface.

So, eventually, the waters calm, and so do you. Finally, you reach that point where you reluctantly embrace your singledom. Sure, you’d still prefer something meaningful, intimate, and stable over all those awkward dating games any day. But after spending the last five years treading water in two long-term and often turbulent relationships, maybe you’re not so keen on diving back in just yet. Maybe this is a good opportunity for a little breather. Take some time to rest, regroup, reassess.

Begin again.

What a wonderful breath of fresh air it is to realize, in a moment of clarity, that there truly are plenty of other fish in the sea. Bigger, better, tastier fish. And maybe even a few that think you’re a catch, too. And if not this one, well, maybe the next?

Don’t disregard the immensity of the ocean. You’ve merely hugged the coastline so far.

There’s something a little strange about my bathroom, but it’s hard to put your finger on it at first.

The first thing you notice is the width of the bathroom door. You might try herding cattle through this door sometime. And it’s very roomy. If you ever had the urge to squeeze a love seat into your bathroom, this is your big chance.

The second thing you see is the enormous sex tub. This is the sort of bathtub you fill with bubbles and decorate with half-empty wine glasses, lines of coke, and two or three Playboy Bunnies. You have to wonder if it’s still legal to use that much water in one sitting. You can’t even fill the thing before the hot water runs out.

What tips you off is the toilet. There are these two big metal handrails on the adjacent walls. Your first thought is, oh good, something to brace yourself with the next time you’re puking your drunk guts out. But then you sit down and your feet dangle inches above the ground.

That’s when you realize—this is a bathroom for handicapped people. Wheelchairs.

It’s nice in theory, but knowing that I might eventually learn to pee by myself again after a debilitating car wreck isn’t all that comforting.

You’ll outgrow your stuffed animals, but you’ll never outgrow hugging your pillows like the warm body your bed’s been missing.

Finally finding someone who genuinely interests and excites you makes it abundantly clear why you haven’t pursued others that you’ve been on the fence about. Once in a while, it just feels right. This is an instinct that I would do well to further develop.

We all have our own vices that will haunt and plague us until the day we die. The point is not so much to eradicate them but to understand them. The more we learn to accept and deal with the worst within ourselves, the more able we will be to approach others with the same understanding.

Escaping from the electric buzz of the city for a few days allows you to truly appreciate the wonders of a witty text message exchange. If you can get reception.

As hard as things get sometimes, they really do pass. Sometimes the only thing keeping them around is your inability to let go.

To me, dancing is a lot like sex. Sure, it’s so glamorous, watching these beautiful people perform professionally choreographed moves. But in real life, people are hardly ever that graceful. In fact, most people are just downright goofy. There is this tremendous potential to make a complete fool out of yourself. I don’t even want to bother unless it’s with someone who’s worth it. Someone you can trust. Of course, ingesting copious amounts of alcohol has been known to significantly lower this threshold.

As much as I hate to admit it, one way or another, everything is going to be all right.

It’s like you’re standing outside your home, watching it and everything you’ve filled it with burn to the ground before your very eyes. Everything you’ve worked so hard for all these years—all those memories and all those dreams—swiftly incinerating into smoldering soot, and all you can do is wait and see. Maybe, if you’re lucky, they’ll arrive just in time to douse out a few final flames, and then you can dig around and see if there’s anything left except soggy ash.

Me, I’d rather just pour gasoline over the whole goddamn mess and get it over with already. Leave not one fucking trace, not even eyebrows. They’ll grow back.

And so will you.

…four in the morning, listening to the same sad song on repeat for the past hour or so, when I begin to question my sanity once again.

I guess it’s the true mark of a pessimist to not give any weight to the phrase: “It could be a lot worse.”

Sure, it could be, but on the same token, it sure could be a lot better, too. So who wins that battle? I guess whoever flips that coin. But what does it mean to be satisfied or content, if you’re just settling? Should I let the fact that some people are even worse off than I am guilt me into feeling complacent about my life? Should the fact that some people make even worse decisions than I do stop me from trying to make the best ones I can for myself?

Maybe it’s the perfectionist in me, but I just can’t help but see things in terms of their potential… of what we could be if we only tried hard enough.