I am going to attempt to make sense of a few different ideas that have been playing pong in my head from one ear to the other. Separately neither of them have been making much sense to flush out into a full writing, but I am coming to see the jigsaw puzzle of how maybe together they form a bigger picture. Why do we put others, specifically romantic prospects, on pedestals? Why am I so much more emotional than I used to be? Why do we let the uncertainty of the future build an aura of dread? These three questions I am going to attempt to make sense of and at least for myself attempt to understand how they each influence each other. Let us start with pedestals and start intertwining the other two from there.
There are two definitions for a pedestal. The literal meaning is a base or support on which a statue, obelisk, or column is mounted. The more figurative definition is the reference to the situation in which someone is greatly or uncritically admired. To me combining those two definitions gives a fuller idea of “putting someone on a pedestal”. You admire someone so much that to you they are all but a Greek statue chiseled from the hands of Praxiteles. I do not particularly believe in the idea of perfection or that someone is infallible perfect. Several times in my life, though, I became so enamored or infatuated with the female figure that stood before me that those ideas of perfect not existing completely left my consciousness. They were so much better than I ever conceived of being. They surely have life by the bootstraps. The bull of life would never buck them off in eight seconds. That is how you view them anyway and it is likely the furthest thing from the truth.
I cannot tell you why as a whole we do this with certain people in our lives, especially romantic and or sexual partners. I can, however, lay out why I did so as it has recently begun to come clear to me why I have done this. I think so low of myself with such an almost nonexistent view of my own self-worth that I am lucky or privileged to even begin to have their attention. We are not the equal prizes in this relationship. She is the prize to be cherished, and I will do everything in my power to make her recognize the prize that she is in my eyes. How could they ever look at the pathetic that is me and not recognize how far out of my league they are. This is where the emotions question that I earlier posed starts to come into play.
An emotion is the natural instinctive state of mind deriving from one’s circumstances, mood, or relationships with others. I do not mean to insult anyone’s intelligence by defining what an emotion is, but I believe in the context of this writing that it is important to have that full definition laid out. As emotions are not something that we just have. They are formed with chisel in hand by the experiences that we have from life. Sometimes, for better or worse, influenced by the ones that we feel we can trust the most. Very early on in life I always felt a pronounced disconnect from most people and the immediate world around my everyday life. I did not know what to call it when I was younger or begin to have the understanding that this was not a normal way that most people felt. Some of it could be hypothesized to be the product of the constant tension that enveloped my family and the household that we inhabited. I would have said living, but it rarely felt like living and more resembled just existing. Probably from a combination of these feelings of disconnect, household tension, and other possibilities that I do not even to begin to understand I was a hyper emotional child.
I learned to adapt and cope over the years as I let a scab grow over the constant disconnect that encapsulated my every day. There was still a longing to belong to something or to someone that remained to sometimes becoming an emotional obsession. The only occasional reprieve was when I could find a beautiful mind or body to spend a little time with me in my daily life or at least a night or two in my bed. There was a very brief time when I convinced myself that the gender of the companion did not matter, but I now know that that was largely just a soul so desperate to feel a connection, physical or otherwise, fooling itself into accepting any attention at all that came its way. I am not ashamed of those times spent with men I only know now what it was and what it was not. The longing to feel connected to anyone at all. Occasionally over the preceding couple of decades there have been momentary reprieves of short flings, one-night stands, sexual arrangements, and money exchanging hands when nothing else could be found. Anything that might possibly blot everything else out for a seconds. Sex became the crutch and I its eager willing user. None of it, though, ever filled the emotional void that never dissipated.
Then someone came along after a very long time that began to fill that emotional void then just as fast it was gone again as she was gone. Beautiful mind, beautiful body, beautiful everything that the word could be attached to with passionate meaning I saw a perception of a light at the end of the tunnel with her, and I went from 0 to 160 with those feelings. No matter how much she asked me to slow it down or back it up I could not do that. I could not get out of the way of my own starved feelings, wants, and needs. She made me remember my longings to feel part of something. Of feeling wanted and feeling needed by someone. Causing me to fall harder and quicker than I ever had for someone before. The scab covering the emptiness of disconnect had been ripped off. Reopening the raw nerves to the reality that I had learned to hide and avoid. Making me once again feel like a hyper emotional child. I am embarrassed and apologize to her that I tried to put all of that on her shoulders so quickly without censoring or filtering. That is unfair to ever put onto another that is not asking for it to be.
Dread…to anticipate with great apprehension or fear. One last word to layout the definition for in this writing. Doubtful that they would describe their feeling as dread I believe that one would be hard pressed to find anyone that would say that they find comfort in uncertainty. Convincing myself that I had finally found someone and just as quickly lost that person has deepened the daily dread that I feel that I am alone. I know the old adage that no one is truly alone, but to this I call bullshit. The feeling of being alone is maybe more powerful and encompassing than literally physically being alone. There are days that the dread of the future of nothing is going to change for the better. That I am never not going to feel alone is so pronounced that I can barely make it through a gym workout or a run without getting overtaken and choked up with the emotions in my head. More than once erupting into borderline ugly crying while trying to hide my face in the corner of the gym while I collect the emotions back inside before returning to the weight bar I was lifting. It is a little easier to hide all this while running as I most often run at night. Just keep my head high and keep running while my emotions also run their course. Why do I feel this dread though? Am I so old that I feel that the opportunities taken for granted by the ignorance and arrogance of youth are truly over for me and the slight glimmer of hope that I try to hold onto? I am never going to feel that comfort that I felt with that person and the few others from different lifetimes?
I know that I am not come close to answering my own questions, but I have also said that I want to say for now in this writing. I have even more questions after scraping the surface in this writing. Can you deeply admire someone and still allow them to be human? Can we get past ourselves and our own selfishness? Can I become someone that makes me happy instead of trying to find someone else as a reason to be happy? Questions, questions, questions…
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