Lost & Found: Post VD Epiphany

That’s VD as in Valentine’s Day. Yeah, this has been percolating for some time. Just like love, eh? Actually I’ve got not much else in my head. Not that it’s full of love – I’ve unofficially given up on that pursuit for a while. But I don’t have another topic besides the plastic table number I found today, and that won’t take long to address; I’ll leave that to the addendum. Er, post script. Whatever.

Brittany Murphy in "Love and Other Disasters"

I was, however, struck with a follow-up to last week’s day-before-Valentine’s Day blog. I suck at debate. I can’t stand to lose – a game, an argument, anything – but a movie (another rom-com, go figure) and a late-discovered “After Hours” feature from Cracked.com entitled “Why Romantic Comedies Are Secretly Bad for You” had me reconsidering my philosophy.

To preface by means of backtracking, I admit again my susceptibility to romantic comedy story lines. Maybe what I really need is time travel. Just let me skip ahead to the happy ending (of the movie; which really is the happy beginning of a new life, right?).

So, my epiphany, if it was that, came during a good portion of “Love and Other Disasters,” a 2006 film set in London. You can look up the plot and cast and all that on IMDB. Let me jump to the point. It’s contained in this exchange that essentially contradicts my personal theory and conventional wisdom.

Emily 'Jacks' Jackson: So stop living your life like you're in some kind of a movie. Peter Simon: Excuse me? Emily 'Jacks' Jackson: Stop trying to cast your true love instead of just meeting him. Peter Simon: When I meet him, I'll know. Emily 'Jacks' Jackson: I'm not so sure. Love isn't always a lightning bolt, you know? Maybe sometimes it's just a choice. Peter Simon: Well, that's easy for you to say! You're flying to Argentina to meet the love of your life! Emily 'Jacks' Jackson: That's just it. I don't know that Paolo's the love of my life, but I've decided to give him the chance to be. Maybe true love is a decision. You know, a decision to take a chance with somebody, to give to somebody without worrying whether they'll give anything back, or if they're gonna hurt you, or if they really are the one. Maybe love isn't something that happens to you. Maybe it's something you have to choose. Peter Simon: So what do I do? Emily 'Jacks' Jackson: Well, you could start by putting all of those fantasies of true love where they belong, into your work of fiction.

Emily, of course, is the one with the wisdom here. Always the woman, right?

A Match date once told me romantic feelings are just that. Feelings just happen and you can’t force ’em. If it were a choice to be romantically inclined, well… As it is, we’ve become really good friends. And while she’s shared a lot of wisdom with me and put me in my place a few times when I’ve been an idiot, and I mostly agree with her assessment of romance, I find a certain rationale in Emily’s words.

I mean, obviously there has to be an attraction and desire for the possibility of a relationship with person X. But there is some choice involved. The choice comes in willingness to take risks. For me the risk has always been in just asking a girl out or expressing my feelings to her. Dad always used to say, “The worst she can do is say no.”

Duh. Hello, Dad? That’s a pretty crappy outcome in my book. I remember calling a girl on the phone in about eighth grade and asking her out. She said no. I was crushed. I didn’t even get a lame excuse – “I have to wash my hair” – just a flat no. Yeah, that was rough. I know, I’m not special that way. It’s happened to everyone at some point, I expect.

Anyway, I’ve taken that risk more in the nearly two years since my separation and eventual divorce a year ago than I did in my pre-marriage days. The emotional attraction that occurred in some of those instances was not choice. But taking the risk of asking to begin with, that’s choice.

That’s enough about choice and chance. There’s also this bit of brilliance from “Love and Other Disasters,” which, when you get past the hilarity, is really spot on.

Therapist: Relationships are best measured by farting. Peter Simon: Excuse me? Therapist: The stages of a relationship can be defined by farting. Stage one is the conspiracy of silence. This is a fantasy period where both parties pretend that they have no bodily waste. This illusion is very quickly shattered by that first shy, "Ooh, did you fart," followed by the sheepish admission of truth. This heralds a period of deeper intimacy. A period I like to call the "Fart Honeymoon", where both parties find each other's gas just the cutest thing in the world. But, of course, no honeymoon can last forever. And so we reach the critical fork in the fart. Either the fart loses its power to amuse and embarrass thereby signifying true love, or else it begins to annoy and disgust, thereby symbolizing all that is blocked and rancid in the formerly beloved. Do you see what I'm getting at?

Ah, true love: that point in a relationship when bodily functions don’t really faze you or your mate.

p.s. I promised something on No. 56. I’ve no idea how a table number from Hardee’s ended up in the gutter on Ferris Street near Cherry Street. Who walks out of the restaurant with that? Why? I’m tempted to keep it, just because it’s odd. But I think I’ll return it. Maybe they’ll give me a free burger. (Which of course will require a good, long run.)

Today's Stats

Temp: 46 degrees F

Distance: 3.4 miles

Weekly Total: 3.4 miles

Treasure: 21 cans; table number from Hardee’s (56)

iPod Playlist (Shuffle):

Lead Me Into theNight – The Cardigans

Burning Down the House – Talking Heads

D.W. Washburn – The Monkees

A Rush of Blood tothe Head - Coldplay

Someday – Rob Thomas

If You Could Read My Mind – Gordon Lightfoot