Author Archives: Christene

Not A Process

I am still reading the book that is basically the equivalent of a female bildungsroman, and as the main character reflects on her early twenties, she recounts how she met a man at a bar in Manhattan, dated him for two weeks, and essentially spent the next six years pining for him. While I hope this is not what I have to look forward to for the next six years, I came to the same conclusion she had at the end of the chapter.

Yes, the man I can’t stop thinking about was(is) wonderful, fun, intelligent, attractive and special, but what made him even more so was that, if I think about it, he was the first man I had ever really dated. Until meeting him there was always a sense of a quest, every relationship had a goal, and end product to diligently work towards, meticulously guiding the entire process. And it did become a process.

But this was different. I was able to enjoy time with him and not run home afterwards to plan our wedding while coming up with names for our future children. Our times together weren’t stepping stones to anything else. This doesn’t mean these times weren’t precursors for more, more time, more everything, but also, more of the same. I wasn’t dating to get married. I wasn’t dating to have children. I was able to enjoy being with him for the sake of it, and it was unbelievably relaxing. Almost as if before then I didn’t even know such a thing could exist. You mean people do this?

Whenever I thought of us in the future, it was simply an extension of the here and now, a prolonging of what was without definite expectations, except that it would continue to be. Well, I was wrong on the latter, but the overall sense of easy continuity was liberating.

And now that I have had this wonderful revelation, I can return to my previously scheduled pining.

 

A Perfect Circle

I was reading one of the books I bought this weekend, a work discussing happiness within relationships. And I realized what my problem is – the thing that is so wrong with me which makes me undesirable. Granted this is work of fiction, the woman describes marriage in terms of finding her other half.

It is not so much that I have never found my other half, but I have never actually sought it out, or had any desire for it. I think that is what drives men away. They are initially attracted to me, get to know me and realize I don’t have some sort of compulsion towards meshing. And then they leave.

I don’t fall in love and develop strange obsessions for their interests. I catalog them, keep in mind their likes and dislikes for future reference, but don’t take them on as my own. I am not referring to things we have in common, because that is kind of a prerequisite for any relationship to even get started, but I mean the little things, the personal interests that diverge. I have always thought of these interests as things to be acknowledge, but not necessarily adopted. Maybe that is my problem, I have never looked for a man as a missing puzzle piece, nor did I want to be his.

I have always been perfectly fine with having a man watch me dance (albeit not well) to Elton John without ever understanding why I am in love with Tiny Dancer. I just am.

Of course I spent the better part of my twenties obsessed with marriage and creating the perfect one, but at no point was I considering it as a way of finding my other self. Aside from things I already had in common with a man, or things to which he would introduce me and I actually took pleasure in, the idea of forming myself to his interests seemed wrong (says the single woman with four cats… a.k.a relationship guru extraordinaire… and perhaps cat whisperer).

Reading this book I am beginning to understand how unnatural I must seem. I see other women devoted to interests they never even knew they had, absolutely fascinated by whatever their men like. Then I see other women who don’t develop these interests genuinely, but they know how to keep a man, so they adamantly testify to loving his interests. I have never been good at that either.

Am I missing a gene? Wasn’t I supposed to be born with this innate desire to form a perfect circle with someone? Maybe I just need to be beaten around the edges.

Madeleines, Not Donuts

Have you ever eaten a donut that looked so good you wanted to be seen with it? Me neither. Donuts are delicious, but not particularly showy.

Today, I took one of those silly online quizzes to see if I could identify the “signature” foods for different novels. It was fun, and one of the prompts had a picture of madeleines. The answer was obvious. Proust. Remembrance of Things Past. (It was multiple choice, and if you had seen the other choices, the answer would be obvious to you too, because no where in Robinson Crusoe is anyone eating fancy French tea cakes).

I remember how much I had loved madeleines after having read the novel. I was young, and they sounded so sophisticated. I had never seen them sold by the box. Individually wrapped, expensive morsels of sophistication. Back in the 90’s a box of a dozen donuts at the corner shop cost about $3.50, if not less. A packet of madeleines containing exactly two cookies a little bigger than my thumb cost the same. And donuts were infinitely more delicious.

But you see, standing around with a giant chocolate donut on a paper plate was nowhere near as sexy as sipping a cup of tea with a few delicately strewn madeleines plate side.

Have you ever heard of a damsel in distress being rescued while eating donuts? Me neither.

Breakfast At Tiffany’s. Holly Golightly is having a croissant, French pastry, cousin to the madeleine, not a bear claw.

Do you understand?

Because I am kind of running out of examples, so it would be really helpful if you did.

Well, while you are thinking about it, I will be at home privately ravaging donuts, but if anyone asks, I am having creme puffs. Ok?