Heart Smarts

The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed.  (Carl Jung)

This is one of my favorite quotes.  It so eloquently describes the effect that we look for in friends and that we long for in love. For me, it fits nicely into my romantic ideal of a connection that subtly shifts everything I think I know about myself.  And its gets me thinking about where that romantic ideal has gotten me so far in life -- anyone who knows my romantic history would hesitate just a little in evaluating its success.  After all, technically I am a divorcée.  (And by "technically", I mean I am.)  At some point, it is probably prudent to do a little reality check on the validity of one's romantic platforms.

Ironically, what got me launched on this post was an article (or rather an online "book") that I began reading regarding the Theory of Intelligence.  Science and smarts -- not exactly the typical path to an emotion-centered discussion.  The gist of the article was that intelligence, or the capacity for learning and understanding, is significantly linked to our genetics.  What scientists and psychologists call the "g" factor influences heavily our potential intelligence, from brain's ability to make synaptic connections to how much actual gray matter (which has scientifically been linked to I.Q.) we possess.  And, while "intelligence" certainly encompasses what we would normally categorize as such (logical reasoning and mathematical aptitude), it also includes our more metaphysical thinking abilities (emotional and imaginative intelligence).  The almost spiritual understanding that is Love, being one of these more metaphysical abilities, would then be influenced by our genetic place on the spectrum of intelligence.  That is to say, to a certain extent, we are genetically predisposed to love to different degrees.

Admittedly, this conclusion may be a stretch in terms of bare logical progression.  But, I tend to think I might be on the right track.  Last weekend, I visited a friend in Washington, D.C.  (Confession:  It was a boy.  Duh -- why else would I be writing about it here.)  We had an interesting conversation (on a quiet Saturday night atop the roof of his absolutely precious row house in Capitol Hill with a view of the Washington Monument -- ::siiigh::) about relationships in general.  I recounted for him something my therapist had said around the time I separated from my ex-husband.  (She had been "our" therapist while we pretended that things might still work out, and I had continued seeing her for a while after just to make sure I still had my head on straight.)  Given that she had so diligently attempted to counsel us on how to stay together, I was more than a little surprised when she admitted that she really hadn't thought that we would ultimately work out.  What?  Why?  Well, she says, when you boil it down, there are two types of marriages... 

First, there is the "conventional marriage".  In the conventional marriage, two people get along well, work successfully as a team, have a functional sex life, have genuine affection for one another, and support one another fiscally, emotionally, career-wise, raising any children, etc.  Hmm, that doesn't sound so bad?  Exactly; it's the conventional marriage, the vanilla of marriages. It may be good, but it's also the one we see most often in typical models of the institution of marriage (probably because it is measurable by obvious benchmarks). 

There is, however, a second conception of marriage -- call it the "vital marriage" -- that transcends the conventional marriage.  The best way to describe it is to look at the word itself : vital (adj.) -- fundamentally concerned with life; life sustaining; associated with growth and renewal; full of vigor.  In a vital marriage there may or may not exist the benchmarks of successful conventional marriage.  But, this is irrelevant, because the success of the vital relationship is measured intangibly, by the spiritual (for lack of a better term) connection between two people.  It could be called a full metaphysical contact sport.  In this context, "spiritual" has little to do with religion and more to do with a deeper, more essential understanding among the partners.  (Yeah, the abstract-ness of this description drives me insane, too. But, somehow, I still get it.)  In a way, it is the difference between feeling empathy for another person and actually feeling his or her pain.  I see it in terms of Maslow's hierarchy of needs applied to relationships:  a conventional marriage does a great job establishing the foundational blocks -- security, commitment, affection, esteem.  But, the vital marriage aspires to the pinnacle -- self-actualization (self = the relationship).  A self-actualized relationship becomes all that it can be on all levels.  Get it yet? 

It's the getting that makes all the difference, my therapist said.  Someone (the ex, in my case) who sees marriage as and aspires to the conventional model generally lacks the ability to understand the fundamental difference between the conventional and the vital, and will ultimately get frustrated with a partner who pushes for more.  Someone (me, in my case) who "gets" the vital model is inevitably going to aspire to it and never be happy with the conventional.  Like ships passing in the night, she says, he and I were never going to feel "connected" on this level. Suddenly, all of my confusion about "what was missing" diffused.  But, I still wondered:  how is it possible for a person not to understand (and consequently desire) a vital relationship?

Answer: genetics.  The Theory of Intelligence put the pieces together for me.  We've all met those guys that are kind, cheerful, affectionate, supportive, but somehow seem to remain just a little bit disconnected (assuming you are one who "gets" the vital connection concept).  For some reason, they just don't seem to connect or understand you on a deeper level.  (This was my ex to a "T".)  According to the Theory of Intelligence, it may just be that that guy doesn't have the right "g" factor for you.  People are genetically predisposed to develop different levels of metaphysical and emotional intelligence.  And, if you're not on the same level, it can be very difficult to connect.  It's like dating a person who only watches Spongebob while you only watch Lost -- no matter how you solve it (Spongebob on Saturday, Lost on Wednesdays, dual TVs...), someone will always be sacrificing.  When it comes down to it, you're just never going to be truly compatible in that respect.  Except it isn't as trivial as television preferences.  It's more like sanity and fulfillment that you're jeopardizing.  Sorry, friends, but for me, that's a deal-breaker.

So, back to my original contemplation -- am I setting myself up for failure by insisting on a vital relationship, one that illuminates for me latent parts of myself and of the world that change my way of understanding (and allow me to reach the full potential of my metaphysical emotional intelligence)?  (Wow, that still sounds like a pretty tall order.)  The answer is no.  The only failure would be to not wait for a love like that.  And, I'd be doing a disservice to myself not to be with someone who allows (or, better, facilitates) the development of my potential intelligence on every level (and for whom I do the same).  Of course, that is not to say that anyone who seeks less is in any way wrong.  We are all simply different.  Which is why the greater message here is:  whatever it is you are looking for, whatever your concept of the perfect relationship, whatever your romantic ideal, have faith that you are not wrong for seeking it and that you are right in not settling for less.  Everyone falls somewhere on the spectrum of each type of intelligence, and there is no one "normal".  And when it comes to the question of one's ability to spiritually connect with you, if you think you deserve it, you do.  In fact, you might never feel completely yourself without it.

 A very wise friend of mine has this quote posted on his Facebook page: You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body. (C. S. Lewis)  The body must be nourished to survive, and this includes a physical connection with another person.  But, the soul must be nourished as well.  To regularly deny it the metaphysical connection it needs will kill it just as surely as a malnourished body.  Everyone's Soul has different needs, and the needs of the Soul are more closely associated with who we are than the needs of our body.  And, while we may have to wait a while to grow a romantic relationship that sustains us, remember that a meal shared with friends is always food for the soul...

Panna II
1st Avenue btw 5th and 6th Sts.

Panna II's slogan is "Where Christmas-Tree Lights Meets Chili-Pepper Lights."  No, not joking.  It's quite literal...the place is pretty much encrusted in lights of all kinds, including a rainbow disco ball that dances to an Indian birthday tune.  (It happened three times the last time I was there.)  If we're going for obvious slogans, theirs could have just as easily been Panna II: "Where You Can Come Eat Indian Food At A Table."  All joking aside, this place is great.  I searched for months for a good Indian restaurant in NYC.  And this fits the bill.  They have the biggest menu I have ever seen at an Indian place.  The food is good generally.  The naan is incredible.  And the spice tea is spectacular.  A perfect place for a small group or a date.  Loud and bright, but really fun as well.

Cellar Bar
40 West 40th St. near 5th Ave.

Having been in the situation many a time where our after-work destination is over-run with 23 and 24 year olds gloating over entry level jobs and dreaming of the day they will actually need to shave, I was excited to try this place.  An acquaintance told me that this is where some of the slightly more "mature" crowd from his office goes for happy hour.  He didn't tell me that "mature" meant 40 and over.  And ugly.  Sort of a let down.  But, the drinks were really tasty and inventive (and they ought to be, as they were pretty expensive).  And the ambiance of the place itself was kind of cool, sort of Gothic-chic.

S'Mac
East 12th St. btw 1st and 2nd Ave.
Love love love.  Comfort food at its finest.  My girls and I ducked in here one afternoon, and were treated to our own personal pan of mac and cheese decked out with our own personal choices of cheese and extras.  It was fast and fabulous.  I had cheddar and Gruyere with spiced hamburger, roasted tomatoes, and scallions.  R got a balsamic and mozz.  And L went all-American with cheddar, American, and hotdogs.  They were all very mmmmmm.  And, they can all be made with gluten-free pasta and reduced lactose cheese.  Score for the dietetically challenged.  Plus, they deliver.  Enough said.

Why, Thank You, I Love Me, Too!

“All charming people, I fancy, are spoiled. It is the secret of their attraction.” (Oscar Wilde)

I have been reading article upon article recently about what one psychologist has dubbed "The Narcissism Epidemic."  Even bloggers in the business world are ruminating on the benefits and detriments of a more narcissistic young workforce in the office setting.  Supposedly Gen Y employees have inflated egos, excess confidence, and an unhealthy appetite for risk.  A narcissist is, in the simplest of terms, a "user".  The trademark over-confidence of a narcissist comes from the belief that he or she is actually superior to others and is invulnerable.  The narcissist turns a blind eye to how his actions affect others if they are calculated to get him what he wants. 

While I don't really like thinking of my own generation this way, and while I think a distinction should be drawn between pathological narcissism and merely narcissistic tendencies, I have to admit that I see it all the time in the dating world -- especially in New York City, where self-centeredness is all the rage.  R's roommate provided a perfect example the other weekend when he pursued me for the first half of the evening, and when I wasn't fawning over him enough, he tried for J. When she turned him down, he tried to get back in my good graces. It mattered less who he ended up with than what he got out of it. He took a sizable risk in playing girlfriends off of one another, and ultimately failed to get what he wanted.  The next day, rumor has it that he told a friend that he had the two of us fighting over him.  I doubt his ego would have allowed him to believe otherwise.  (Never mind that it was inevitable that the three of us would piece it all together later and have a good laugh at his expense.)  But, just as often, I am willing to bet that men can use this tactic and succeed.  And, we girls are no better. In private moments, when we're being honest with ourselves, my girlfriends and I will even admit that "tonight we just want male attention" -- forget the whole finding a rewarding relationship mission; we just want someone to validate us. 

Narcissists typically use people to support inflated concepts of themselves, disregarding the effects on the other person but maintaining control over their self-image. And, while I doubt most of us would meet the clinical definition of narcissists, I do notice a growing trend towards shameless embrace of self-serving motives.  A heartbreaking example is of one of my dear friends whose fiance broke it off with her a month before their wedding, telling her that "it just wasn't fun anymore" -- of course, this was after he managed to get elected to public office on her time. But, we see it even in less appalling examples, like our willingness to sleep with each other without the intent to follow through or hand out our phone numbers along with a healthy helping of false hope. We want to see ourselves as desired and will use the nearest acceptable person to effect that result...but forget about any return phone calls.

 

Even the expectation we have that we will eventually end up with someone who meets an impossible list of characteristics is an indication of our societal narcissistic tendency towards materialism and entitlement.  Narcissist or not, basically, I get the feeling that we all think that we are better than we actually are, because we habitually seek out and adhere only to those people and activities that support that conclusion.  And only someone who we deem worthy enough to possess us will make the grade.  One blogger notes a 2007 study that examined the link between self-esteem and performance. The more the participants were presented with affirmations during the learning process, the lower their test scores got.  The lesson:  it is, in fact, possible to think too highly of ourselves.

At the same time, critics of modern "good" parenting also lament the upbringing of our generation as having been overly praise-laden and indulgent, producing young adults who expect success on the first try (i.e. instant gratification) and recognition for even paltry positive performance.  The result of such perpetual praise is the expectation of constant affirmation that what they are doing is "on the right track" and that their work is superior, even when it clearly is not.  The result is an odd breed of insecurity mixed with entitlement.

My dating translation:  In the old days, couples would have entire relationships consisting of letter writing -- and the long waits in between arrivals would only serve to strengthen their affection for their partner, each letter more valuable than the next, until the day they were united in matrimony -- the great reward for patience and perseverance.  Their thoughts were with the object of their desire, not focused on themselves. They maintained confidence in their beliefs about the other person.  And they demonstrated a constancy of emotion in the face of time and distance that is rare today.  These days, if too many hours pass between text messages, we'll start to worry that he doesn't like us.  Worse still, a matter of days without droplets of affirmation and we start to wonder if we really like him, not because our conception of who he is has changed, but because we aren't receiving positive reinforcement from external sources (namely the guy himself).  Recently, I was seeing (non-exclusively) a great, stable, cute, fun, successful guy semi-regularly for at least a couple of months.  In early August, he came down with bronchitis, so I could not see him for a few weeks, and by September, it was like we never even knew one another.  Without favorable dates to help measure the success of our developing relationship, the entire thing just fizzled.

But, how to reconcile these two characterizations of our generation?  (Over-confident on the one hand and insecure on the other?)  Philosopher Martha Nussbaum has published a book supporting education in the humanities, arguing for a cultivation of the sympathetic imagination -- the ability to examine things from another person's point of view -- with which we are born, but must develop into a functioning faculty. Narcissism is, in essence, the failure of our sympathetic imagination to mature. And it allows us to function in a self-centered vacuum.  It makes sense that we would develop these behaviors if we were praised in excess as children, leading us to believe that we can never fail.  We never come to understand the emotional implications of defeat, and have an understandably hard time imagining it in others.  Meanwhile, dependent on external praise, we also do not develop the ability to reaffirm our success intrinsically.  In some cases, I think our narcissistic thought patterns may even be a mechanism for coping with insecurity.  In essence, according to the sources above, what our parents have created is a generation of adults who believe that they cannot fail, but who need constant reassurance from external sources that they are, indeed, succeeding.  It's the tandem skydiving of the psychosocial world -- we are chomping at the bit to jump from the plane, but we want someone there letting us know that it is ok to pull the ripcord.

I have seen myriad examples among my group of friends, myself included, of this sort of insecure narcissism in romantic attachments.  In general, a pattern is emerging of men (and women) who exhibit absolute confidence in their ability to get what they want in the dating world and excel in social situations, exuding charm and guile (useful in attracting admirers), but who also require perpetual affirmation of their value in eyes of others and who give up easily when the going gets rough.  Either we take great risks (in our eyes) -- making plans to visit a guy we hardly know, planning a vacation months in advance with someone we just started dating, giving a man our phone number -- only to dwell in doubt about our value in doing so -- what if he doesn't like me when I get there?  what does it mean that we haven't talked in 4 days?  why isn't he calling me?  Or we abandon all hope of what we formerly considered success to avoid the not-knowing-if-we're-good-enough pothole, and resort to using people to fulfill our needs for validation and affection.  In fact, failing miserably in the first category may even precipitate our gravitation towards the second.

No matter what narcissistic or over-indulged tendency we tend towards, the root is the same -- being more concerned with whether the other person is willing and able to meet our validation needs than whether we are able to meet theirs.  Rather than seeking affirmation for every decision we make with regard to love, maybe we should just enjoy making the decision.  (I think they call that living.)  After all, narcissism is all about avoidance -- avoiding failure, avoiding the truth about the consequences of our decisions, avoiding having to see ourselves as anything other than our fantastical notions of who we are, but most of all avoiding the sting of romantic failure and the attendant revelation that we are not, in fact, the gold standards we think we are.  But, it's a cyclical pattern that we could very well ride into perpetuity -- our uncouth avoidance tactics only give us more to avoid. 

So, why don't we just stop avoiding defeat?  In reality, we can't have it both ways -- we can't take over-confident risks while simultaneously being afraid to fail.  We have to jump headlong, and accept the results.  Even if it feels like failing.  In failing, we learn how to succeed.  And as we come closer and closer to figuring out how to find success on our own, perhaps we will be come less dependent on other people's perception of our success.  And in feeling success as a result of actually succeeding, perhaps we will feel less of a need to use others to bolster our golden image of ourselves.  And, if we are not using others, we are free to actually appreciate and validate them and may even come to find that they genuinely appreciate and validate us in return.

Whether for mere validation or genuine interaction, some choice and not-so-choice locations hosted our hot mess of narcissism and insecurity this week:

BBar

East 4th St. and Bowery

Actually, really liked the outdoor space and open air bar here.  Not as crowded on a Friday as one might expect it to be.  A little bit bummed that the selection of straight guys was somewhat limited.  May have just been the night...or the fact that it is kind of a nice place.  Drinks were expensive, even for New York.  (Except for the $4 Corona special.) And the server was anal retentive.  But, a nice atmosphere and good people made it worth while.

310 Lounge
310 Bowery btw Bleecker and Houston
I hated this place.  Hated.  That's a strong word, I know.  Literally, wanted to leave after being there for about 30 seconds.  The music was terrible -- the kind that thinks it's dance music but that no one can really even dance to.  Way too heavy on the bass and way too loud.  It was really dark and not well attended.  And the folks that were there were creepy.  I left as soon as possible.

Bistango

East 29th St. and 3rd Ave.

Ahhhh-mazing.  Really and truly.  Such a cute Italian place.  And, bonus for L, everything can be made gluten-free.  They even asked about dietary restrictions after seating us.  We had a gluten-free Italian feast!  And it was soooo good.  I also had an apple and goat cheese salad (pictured) that was really tasty.  I don't even want to mention the gluten-free chocolate torte because I am afraid that everyone will eat it all up before I can get there again.  The servers were friendly (and quiet), the wine selection was decent, and the experience was delightful.  This place is definitely going on the rotation.

Blind Tiger
281 Bleecker near Jones St.
Another great spot!  Kind of on the small side, but cozy and crowded, just like a real bar should be.  They had a killer beer selection, which changes regularly.  I think there must have been like 30 beers on tap.  We were near the bathroom, and people were pretty rude about bumping past us, but other than that, it seemed like a good typical West Village after-work crowd.  The price wasn't even too bad.  And the bartender was all business.

The Nose Knows What the Heart Wants

** DISCLAIMER: If you're a guy, you might want to NOT read this post.  Seriously.  This is going to get very girly fairly quickly.  Just giving fair warning.  FOR REAL. ***

Over the span of each of our dating lives, we have inevitably compiled a list of the qualities that we look for in a mate -- clever, goofy, empathetic, fit, handsome, employed.  Each person you date adds a little something to the list:  That guy that turned out to have two secret kids?  Honesty.  That guy that romanced another woman on your watch?  Fidelity.  That guy that watched sports on ESPN all weekend?  Intellectual curiosity.  That guy whose ego could hardly fit through the door?  Humility.  That guy whose house smelled like a hotbox?  Sobriety.  The list builds and builds, and it gets harder and harder to find *just* what we're looking for.  (If you stay on the circuit long enough, you eventually reach terminal velocity, at which point the list actually starts shrinking.  But the the entitlement remains.)

And then, one day, you find it.  HIM.  Greek god with abs of steel, a steady job, interesting hobbies, zero interest in other women, a fabulous pasta recipe, fashion sense, and a weak spot for puppies.  (Cue: Hallelujah Chorus)  Where where where have you been all my life?  This guy just demolishes your list -- check check check check check check checkcheckcheckcheck.  Phew!  Done aaand done.  Where's the chapel?  Right??  Wrong.....It's all there.  So why am I just not feeling it?  You know -- IT.  That thing that you're supposed to feel when the man of your dreams steps into your life.  That part swoony, part giddy, giggly, smiley, dopey thing.  The thing that makes you want to call all of your friends, and even your mom, to tell them that your life is definitely, truly, irrefutably changed forever.  Why isn't that happening?

From personal experience, I'll tell you that the moment you realize that you simply lack chemistry with a man that actually meets all your papered parameters is revoltingly disappointing.  Even worse if he seems to like you, but you just can't muster up anything in return.  You're disgusted with love, disgusted with luck, disgusted with yourself.  What is wrong with you?  Are you that mentally and emotionally scarred that you've lost the ability to feel?

Actually, probably not.  (What a relief!)  I recently read an article by Elizabeth Svoboda in Psychology Today that discusses the role of scent (call it pheromones, chemistry, whatever) in attraction.  In it, she explains the effect that a man's scent can have on a woman's feelings about him.  It has nothing to do with cologne or deodorant, but rather with his actual physical odor.  You know -- that smell that he leaves on your pillow in the morning or on the collar of that sweatshirt of his that you accidentally borrowed for infinity.  To your roommate it might smell like he needs a shower, but to you it smells like heaven.  It makes you feel safe and warm and sexy all at the same time.  Ahhhh.  Love those major histocompatibility complexes (MHCs).  Wait, what?  You heard me.  MHCs are the proteins in body odor that either attract or repel us to a member of the opposite sex.  And, it's no crap shoot -- we are attracted to men with MHC patterns that are just different enough from our own to ensure optimal offspring.  (And vice versa.)

Great!  This solves everything.  Instead of going out to the bars and striking up conversations, we can just walk up to guys and bury our noses in their hair.  Perfect.  And efficient.  I like it.  Right up until the guy I sniff out turns out to be a total douchebag.  Turns out scent is only one of the many important factors that go into choosing a partner.  (Hang on a sec, while I fish my list out of the trash.)  But the fact remains that that thing that we like to so vaguely refer to as "sexual chemistry" may be, as Svoboda puts it, "a direct result of this scent-based compatibility."  So calling it "chemistry" is really not so far off -- maybe "bio-chemistry" would be closer. 

According to Svoboda, if you are with someone whose MHC patterns are too similar or dis-similar from your own, you might experience a lack of sexual arousal, multiple miscarriages or unhealthy babies, or an inability to remain physically or emotionally faithful.  A study has even shown that women with MHCs 50% similar to their man's had a 50% chance of cheating on him.  Woah.  But, if we instinctively pick out our fellas based on whose smell attracts us, how would we ever end up in that situation?

Get ready for a revelation: birth control pills.  (I told you this would get girly.  I am going to start talking about oral contraception now, so if you're a guy, I really do recommend proceeding with caution.)  Of course, there are other ways to wind up in a relationship with a scent-ually incompatible man.  But, the pill is one way that might shock and affect the most women at once.  And, unfortunately, it makes sense.  The way in which the pill operates is to trick the body into thinking it is pregnant, halting ovulation and, thus, any chance at pregnancy.  Svoboda notes a study in which pregnant female rats spontaneously aborted their young when exposed to a strange male.  In a pregnant state, women's scent preferences may change from men with substantially different MHC proteins to men with significantly more similar MHC patterns.  In other words, they pick people more likely to be related to them.  Makes sense for a pregnant chick to want to be around family that would protect her.  But, what happens when a whole population of women on the pill run around picking out mates that might as well be their cousins?  Trouble in River City, folks.  (With a capital "T" and that rhymes with "P" and that stands for Pill -- If you don't know the lyrics to The Music Man, I am sorry.)

All of this struck pretty close to home for me.  Having been on the pill for over a decade, I started to wonder if all of my bad choices when it comes to men haven't been just a teeny bit to blame on my inability to smell a man for what he is.  I am historically skilled at sniffing out infidelity and dishonesty, but maybe I'm deficient when it comes to sniffing out a decent match.  Maybe the very thing that makes me attractive as a potential partner (i.e. not having to worry about getting knocked up) is keeping me from finding a suitable one.  Plus, if the pill changes my perception of men's smells, then I can only assume that the MHCs I am emitting change as a result of taking the pill as well.  In fact, one study suggests that it's true -- being on the pill confuses men's noses as well.  Svoboda recounts the research showing that men tipped 50% higher the strippers who were not on birth control than the ones that were. (Incidentally, they tipped the strippers who were ovulating even higher than either of those groups! Hehe. Gross.)  While I am not exactly working for tips, this result probably means that not only am I not finding the right men, but they're not finding me either!  Double whammy.  Not only that, but Svoboda goes on to relay some scientists' theories that once a woman in a relationship stops taking the pill (e.g. to try to get pregnant), her attraction level to her husband may shift dramatically, making it difficult to conceive (duh).  And their children might not be as genetically strong as they would had their parents been better chemically matched.  Ugh.

The bottom line is that scent-based compatibility (which is really, in essence, genetic compatibility) can be just as much of a deal breaker as being ugly or stupid or boring.  And, we wouldn't go out to the bars in a blindfold and earplugs, now would we?  So, why on earth would we send ourselves out into the dating fray with scent receptors set on reverse?  If this research is true, then I might have been going about dating all wrong for years.  How much credence should we give this MHC stuff?  How much am I really effecting my ability to find someone with whom I've got that elusive "chemistry"?  Only one way to find out.

You got it.  As much as I enjoy the benefits of the pill, only by going off of it will I really be able to tell how it has been affecting my choices.  Pure retrospection gives me a few ideas of where I may have gone wrong.  But, I'd like to know for certain.  I am not sure if this move would be considered taking matters into my own hands or giving them up to the fates.  But, I am all in...let's see where my scent-ces take me.  If this experiment helps me better identify someone who has the potential to be the other half of a happy relationship, then there is no price too high to pay.  And if not, well, then it will probably at least help me cut down on the promiscuity. (Winks!  Just kidding, mom.)  And, I am not alone.  I have talked to quite a few of my female comrades approaching 30 who are all embarking on the same experiment.  Go off the pill, go into a bar, and try to smell Mr. Right from across the room.  Or, at the very least, stop looking at his chiseled jaw line and dark wavy hair long enough to give him a really good sniff...

(P.S. Due to working like crazy this week, I really don't have anywhere exciting and new to review this time around.  But, I'll be back with something come Monday, I am sure!)

Well, Now, That's Just (Un)friendly

I think the entire world has a love-hate relationship with Facebook.  Six years after its inception, it has reached an almost ubiquitous status within almost every age group with the manual dexterity to type.  Everyone, everyone, belongs to Facebook.  Even the "hold outs" have secret alias pages from which they surreptitiously spy on their friends, family, and secret obsessions.  (Oh come on, you thought we didn't know?)  It's almost instinctual and unavoidable for most of us to key into our accounts at least semi-regularly and click through our persons of interest. 

And it makes sense.  Humans are, by nature, pack animals.  Historically, we have organized ourselves into tribes and clans.  In the modern world, we choose neighborhoods and teams.  We gravitate towards community.  Facebook simply brings that effort to the digital world, and, frankly, makes it easier to expand one's community from next-door neighbor to people across the world.  I see more clearly my acquaintance in Singapore than I do the stranger that lives next door.  And the myriad emotional and mental benefits we get from building a Facebook community -- love, belonging, intimacy, acceptance, security -- are easier to collect online than in the "real world".  All it takes is the click of a button, and someone is your "friend", acknowledges your association, and affirms your place in their personal relationship schematic. 

I recently went on a trip to "adult" summer camp, where I met a bunch of new people, formed the bonds that only summer camp can foster in such a short amount of time, and came away with shared experiences that will connect me to these people for as long as the memory lasts.  On the last day, my new friend RG said to me, "As sad as I am that summer camp is over, I can't wait to go home and make like 30 new friends on Facebook!"  Um, AGREED.  The next few days were filled with friend requests, photo sharing, and comments galore.  We all indulged in the excitement of a new community.  No wonder we're in love with Facebook!

Intermittently at least.  The next week, the other side of Facebook reared its ugly head when I discovered what could only have been a recent "unfriending".  In 2009, the New Oxford American Dictionary actually added "unfriend" to its lexicon and named it "word of the year", beating out a slew of other heavily used tech jargon.  Fitting, I think, as it evokes so much more of a reaction than "netbook" or "hashtag".  To be "unfriended" actually means something to most of us.  The joy of a new "friending" on Facebook is countered in equal measure by the dismay of a new "unfriending". 

When I discovered the loss of this particular "friend" -- a man with whom I had attended high school and only recently (romantically) reconnected with, only to be stood up (see previous post -- "Rude Is the New Black") a week and a half later, I was a bit taken aback.  The unfriending only added insult to injury.  So, of course, it was followed by a semi-public announcement to my New York family (R, J, and L) and laborious re-hashing and invectives.  Over-analysis is a particular strength of any group of ladies with higher-than-average intelligence, but we usually spend at least some time on trying to outline the good reasons for any behavior.  Often, we can even settle on a neutral explanation that allows us to avoid the work of actually being mad.  But, in the case of "unfriending" this has proven difficult to do.

Unfriending is excusable if one is having issues with breaches of privacy or harassment, or they are purging business contacts or people they don't really "know" or haven't talked to in a decade.  But, I have been similarly unfriended by men with some degree of past romantic attachment a few times in the last year, and each time none of these categories fit the bill.  In such cases, it is difficult to categorize unfriending as anything but a personal insult -- sending the message: "you offended me," "you are of no consequence to me," or "I just plain don't like you."  Ow, ow, and owwww.  Especially coming from someone who once gave you the butterflies.

This is where the community-building aspects of Facebook stray away from reality.  In the "real world", a community is built by connections, which notwithstanding all the outward appearances of friendship, are largely mental and emotional.  Intangible ties exist between members of that community.  In order to break those ties and leave a community (or eject another from your community), those ties must actually be deconstructed.  In other words, in real life, you have to actually get dumped.  And, break-ups are hard to effect face-to-face without some form of explanation of the reason for the dismissal.  You're still canned, but you have a better chance of knowing why.  And you can employ the "why" the next time you make a connection, hopefully, building stronger communal bonds as a result of prior adversity. 

Facebook, on the other hand, allows the bond to be "broken" with only one click.  I say "broken" in quotation marks because I believe there is some question over whether the bond formed on Facebook -- i.e. digitally -- doesn't somehow translate into an actual emotional/mental bond that outlasts the electronic connection.  In fact, I believe that, in many cases, it does.  We are a society of symbols -- team logos, religious icons, street signs.  And, often, the message communicated through symbolism is as strong as if it were spelled out word for word.  (Just ask the pastor who threatened to burn Korans on the anniversary of 9/11.)  To friend someone on Facebook may operate in a symbolic way to affirm the existence of a non-digital, totally human, otherwise intangible association.  Perhaps this is why unfriending has so much potential to hurt the unfriended.  To the unfriender, it may be just a click, a formality, an afterthought.  But, for the unfriended, it is as good as a break-up, without the benefit of explanation.  Not even "it's not you; it's me" to soften the blow.

The irony of Facebook is demonstrated here.  That is, a device which feeds needs we all have (for connection and community) that are so essentially human simultaneously allows us the opportunity to conduct ourselves in a way that is essentially inhuman, or at the least, inhumane.   I say "opportunity" however, because it is just that -- an opening to opt into incivility, not a command.  I think that we can learn a lot about ourselves in such situations.  Facebook has been called a (digital) social revolution, but while it has changed the way people socialize, it has not changed people.  Facebook does not change one's character, but reveals it.  So the question becomes: When we are presented with an opportunity on Facebook to take the route that is passive-aggressive, lazy, and/or comfortable -- do we take it?  Do we take breaking the bonds of community lightly while we know the other will take it hard?  Do we continue to demonstrate consideration of others feelings when there are no consequences for not doing so?  Are we intrinsically motivated to care? 

Based on personal experiences on both sides of the "unfriending", I tend to think that the reason Facebook so easily facilitates bad manners is because it is also missing another essential element of community connections -- physical interactions.  You can "stalk" someone's page until you feel that you know that person as well as you might have had you spent a respectable amount of time together.  But, the fact is that only actual interpersonal interaction yields the most accurate results when it comes to assessing and connecting with a personality.  Facebook allows us to access only a projection of a person, not the person him or herself.  So, while the positive benefits of Facebook feel pretty darn fulfilling at times, in reality, it is something of a shadow or an empty shell of community -- that can only be filled in by actual communing.  So, get out of the Facebook -- dance, sing, drink, chat, explore with your friends.  Let it be a tool, not a crutch.

For me, I am choosing to define myself by my "real" relationships with people who interact with me on a personal level.  While it is tempting, functioning primarily on a digital platform is ultimately unfulfilling, and anyone who would substitute genuine interaction, especially regarding sensitive issues, for digital signaling is not "real" enough for me.  The life I have cultivated outside of the digital world is more exciting, more fun, and more dramatic than anything I could have crafted online -- just ask the people I spent time with this weekend -- strangers became acquaintances, acquaintances became friends, and friends became family.  No photo album or comment section on Facebook could quantify or contain that joy for me.  And, as usual, New York City played venue to some true "community building":

Sing Sing St. Mark's (Karaoke)
St. Mark's Place between 2nd and 3rd Ave
The main bar area is smallish and serves as the stage for some of the stranger types in the crowd.  Of course, there are rooms available for reservation, if you're the shy type.  I came here around 1 a.m. with my friend from high school, M, and discovered his delightful singing talent!  Who knew?  That's the magic of karaoke.  Standing room only, but a great place to come after a night out to chuckle at the guy in the cowboy hat and leather vest.

Pianos
Stanton Street at Ludlow (Lower East Side)

Everyone and their brother knows Pianos already. But, I'll go ahead and review it anyway. Huge NYU crowd, but c'est la vie. The upper floor was comfy and crowded, and the dancing was pretty good. Not the best DJ on the night I was there, but it worked (I have heard rave reviews of the DJ, but was just not impressed). I have been here once before, and in my experience it is a pretty good place to meet people (that you don't already know). But, maybe that's just me.

The Stag's Head

Corner of E 51st Street and 2nd Ave

This place was pretty quiet for a Friday night and closed the roof top early, the middle floor next, and the bottom floor last.  Being moved around all night was a bit annoying.  But they had giant beer towers that the guys loved and cheap vodka sodas.

Sushi Lounge

St. Mark's Place and Avenue A

The neighborhood un-fancy sushi place.  It's actually delightfully Japanese, with modern Japanese kitch (read: anime and silly celebrity buttons) all over the place.  I actually didn't eat here.  I did have a cup of tea, which was not all that great and did not come with honey or splenda or anything to compensate.  But, R and L said the rice bowls were pretty tasty, and sushi is sushi, so....

One in 8,008,278...

I have always thought of myself as a subscriber to the "variety is the spice of life" school of thought.  One of the reasons I adore New York City (and one of the main reasons I moved here) is the absolute glut of options when it comes to food and wine, fashion choices, art and culture, environments, people, music, restaurants, neighborhoods, falafel, subway stops, little Chinese nail salons, street fairs, brunch locations...the mere thought of all that the city has to offer precipitates a chemical reaction in me.  It feels almost like being in love.  Ironic, considering that it seems that actual love here is so hard to find.

Someone once theorized with me that dating in NYC versus dating in smaller towns is like shopping in the salad dressing aisle.  In a smaller city, the selection of dressing is smaller -- ranch, blue cheese, balsamic, and french.  Within a reasonable amount of time, you are able to sample all four and pick the one you like the best -- say, the french.  And you are happy with the french because you know what else is out there and are positive that you got the superior dressing.  You keep going back to the french, and you like it every time.  But in NYC, the salad dressing aisle is a mile long and holds 700,000 types of salad dressing...flavors you've never even heard of.  So, you'll keep sampling and sampling. You can try some and like them a lot, but you'll never be certain that there is not a better flavor out there.  In NYC, the french will never make you as happy as it did in the smaller town, even though it is the exact same dressing.  Options form the obstacle to salad dressing satisfaction.

Maybe that's over-simplifying things.  How can having options be bad when they feel so good?

Not happy with just condiment-based analogy, I went in search of a more "scientific" explanation for the reason it seems so hard to focus on just one person, hold on to one relationship, in the big city.  Being a lawyer, I was immediately drawn to a 2003 study by Stephen and Rachel Kaplan in a peer-reviewed article in the American Journal of Public Health that developed a theory based on "The Reasonable Person Model"  (lawyers live and breathe by the "reasonable person standard").   The article linked environmental factors with human behavior.  In the study, subjects were drawn to photos of environments that supported the three basic "informational needs" of humans -- the ability to (1) explore and understand the environment, (2) to take meaningful action based on that understanding, and (3) to effect restoration of these first two abilities by avoiding prolonged episodes of mental fatigue.  All three informational needs must be met for humans to be able to act reasonably.

In order for humans to be most rational, they must be able to control the rate and volume of information flow and effectively build a mental map of the environment.  But control is not enough.  People must also be able to take meaningful action based on this information in order to avoid feelings of helplessness that diminish reasonableness exponentially -- this can also be read as a need for a feeling of competence and participation.  Finally, even environments supportive of the first two elements may ultimately overwhelm a person if there are too many sources of distracting superfluous information.  The result is not so much physical mental fatigue, but what the Kaplans describe as "directed attention fatigue."  One loses the ability to focus on the task(s) at hand due to a cacophony of extraneous sights and sounds.  The gist of the study result was that people are naturally drawn to and behave more reasonably in an environment that is manageable in terms of influx of information, which is most often found in a sort of ordered nature.  (Read: wilderness with navigable trails and other familiar landmarks.)

Having just had the opportunity to juxtapose the bustling city and the more rustic camp within the frame of a single weekend, I need no more convincing of the truth of this model.  Information flows languidly in nature, while in the city it rushes on with the force of a metropolitan tidal wave. The city is a Jackson Pollack of cross streets, signage, and lights.  While I love the fuss and flurry of the Big Apple, I do find it difficult to truly and completely soak in the majesty of human creation the city exemplifies.  True revelation in the awesomeness of the city, let alone actual navigation, takes deliberate focus and a singular objective.  It is difficult enough just to stay afloat, at times.  It was, however, far easier to lounge on sunny dock in a lake in the middle of the woods and let the silence penetrate every inch of me.  I felt safe in my surroundings.  There was only one, maybe two, paths from here to anywhere.  Things made sense out there.

The most brilliant thing about this theory, however, is how seamlessly it applies to romantic relationships in small towns versus big cities.  Just like the salad dressing aisle, in a small town, the amount of "information" available is more likely to be digestible.  In the context of romance, rather than being the physical layout of the land, the "information" is the emotional layout of the dating "scene".  This is where the sheer number of dating options comes into play; the volume of eligible individuals alone may make dating in NYC unmanageable.  But, even if a person is able to navigate the sea of men and women the city presents and find some sort of system of ordering and participating in the dating game, it is unlikely that the third element of basic informational need will be met.  That is to say that New York is a veritable buffet of romantic stimuli -- it is the home of the most beautiful models, the most creative performers, the most transformational fashionistas, the richest men, the smartest women, the most brooding hipsters, and the most conducive venues in which to immerse yourself if the neon jumble of romantic possibilities.  It's a constant barrage of information and distraction.  No sooner do you find a person you like than you get side-tracked by another shiny object strolling past.  We might as well all have relationship ADD.  

It is no wonder, then (assuming you are able to vault the first two informational hurdles and find a single person that meets your criteria and to whom you have a connection) that it seems so difficult to maintain focus long enough to build a relationship around that core nugget of connection.  With so much to distract us in the world of dating, it is easy to remain perpetually (emotionally) detached.  There is always something (or someone) more to explore, something brighter to catch our eye, something more tempting, more alluring, and more foreign.  With the constant stimulation of NYC dating options, behaving reasonably (in the direction most likely to bring happiness) becomes problematic.  Rationality requires the ability to focus on the task at hand.  Relationships require the ability to focus on developing familiarity and trust.  With all of the "pretty lights" distracting us from the business of building interpersonal connections, the emotional security and reward of a deep and vital relationship with another human being almost seems like a statistical impossibility.

Pretty dismal prognosis.  So, where is the silver lining?  Honestly, I can't be sure.  But, I sure hope it is in the knowing itself that a ray of light shines through this cloud.  I believe in my heart of hearts that most people want what seems so difficult to attain.  We all have different career ambitions, lifestyle choices, and political ideologies, but if there is one goal that unites us as a species it is the pursuit of love.  It is a cliche for a reason -- because it is true -- to love and be loved in return is one of the greatest triumphs of the human condition.  To set our goal and recognize the likely impediments propels us each so much closer to actually achieving it.  The city will always be the city, with all of its glorious and terrible options.  And, as long as we're here, it is only armed with awareness that we can save us from ourselves.

Maybe a good place to start is just in getting back to nature.  It is so easy to get caught in the current of work and play in NYC that we forget what it means to slow down, strip away the things that tend to divert our attention, and take the time to center ourselves and tap into the spirit and energy that connects us with the rest of the world.  Urban Escapes is an NYC (and Boston and DC and Philly) gem whether you fancy yourself zen or zany...check it out for a much-needed change of pace...

Urban Escapes
http://urbanescapesusa.com (or follow on Facebook or Twitter @urbanescapes)
Whether you’re an outdoor enthusiast or someone who needs a weekend away from the grind, we’ve got a trip for you. From overnight hiking excursions to serene yoga getaways, Urban Escapes aren’t just vacations—they’re experiences. You will discover beautiful places, learn invaluable skills and make real friendships by meeting fellow New Yorkers in a different setting. So if an afternoon in Central Park is feeling a little too crowded and you’re getting sick of the same old bars, come join us on one of our adventures and see why people keep coming back.  (Content from Urban Escapes on Facebook)

Rude Is the New Black

Picture this:  you meet a guy online and, and after some witty banter via email and a titillating phone call or two, you make a date to meet in person later in the week -- Saturday, afternoon, will call with details.  Thursday rolls by.  So does Friday.  No, problem, you say to yourself, we'll play it by ear on Saturday, decide day-of.  In comes Saturday morning.  And out it goes again. No call.  You begin to wonder if you've been played for the fool.  By the time Saturday afternoon ushers in Saturday evening, you're pretty sure of it.  You rant and rave to your girlfriends, lamenting your bad luck in finding the lone prick who would stand you up like this. 

But, then it happens again.  Is it me?  No, because then it happens to J.  Is it just self-centered attractive guys? No, because then it happens with merely average-looking guys.  Is it an online thing?  No, because then it happens with someone you met in person and had a good time with.  If it's not just me and it's not symptomatic of online daters, then what the heck is up with this new trend??  After careful analysis with my similarly rebuffed commiserators, we determined only one common thread -- a behavior that I am calling "The Reservation."  All of the men guilty of this disappearing act did the same thing when setting up the date -- reserved the day (and maybe even the time) but did not set specific plans for the content of the date, leaving them up to a last-minute decision.  Do they really think that just because they leave us standing alone in our living rooms as opposed to a crowded restaurant or bar that they have saved us any humiliation?

Now, my girlfriends and I, we are not unreasonable.  Life happens.  Things change.  If you need or want to cancel, then go ahead and cancel.  But for crying out loud -- CANCEL!  Have the decency to make up an excuse.  To let us know we can and should make other plans.  To truncate any hopes we have at the earliest possible point rather than letting them sink into indignant rage at the pure rudeness of your evasive maneuver.  From a strategy perspective, leaving us hanging is pretty much the worst possible move.  A bona fide cancellation can be rescheduled.  Or at the very least, understood.  But a pure unadulterated stand-up scenario can hardly be repaired.  I was actually really excited about the last guy that did this to me, and even that was not enough to save him from the shit list.  That wound runs deep, and I doubt most men are physically capable of the amount of grovelling it would take to stitch it up.  Even if the guy had decided he is not interested, isn't it better to make a clean get away than a messy one?  You never know when the world will suddenly become very small and the only thing standing between you and your new object of desire will be the girl that you unceremoniously ditched without explanation.  Pretty hard to dig yourself out of the role of the bandit unmasked.

The one thing about this phenomenon that continues to elude me, however, is why now?  I struggled through some rather tumultuous boy-crazy high school and college years and more than my share of inconsiderate jerks since then, but never in all that time (over a decade!) was I so unequivocally ditched (for lack of a better term).  Why now -- when we are approaching thirty, an age when men are finally supposed to start to get their strategy down and their crap together, do we see this regression into non-communicative, indirect, passive-aggressive avoidance techniques?  Perhaps I will never know. 

One final word of advice -- and this is for the men, not the ladies -- if you are decent guy who wouldn't dream of the incivility of the acts described above, seek these suckers out.  Kick their asses.  Seriously.  They are really tearing up your playing field.  The apparently prevalent and expanding employment of this tactic means that more and more women are touched by it each day.  And each of those women move forward knowing for sure and certain that a great date with a great guy doesn't mean he won't completely abandon you the next time.  The guys that verify for women that men are, in fact, assholes set you all back a few pegs.  The Great Disappearing Date does no one any favors, including himself.  We already expect rudeness on the sidewalk, in the subway, on line for lunch, and crossing the street -- do we really need to add it to the canon of dating norms as well?  If we do, just don't be surprised if the business of men and women ends up tasting just a little bit more bitter. 

As usual, I am noting below the site of my most recent rant session with J -- who also seems to run into more than her fair share of douchebags.  Note to self however, excessive consumption of champagne does not make one feel better in the morning...

Lasagna Ristorante
8th Ave between W 19th and W 20th Streets

This place lured us in from the street with its giant "Ladies Drink for $5" sign.  And for $5, we were able to get some pretty decent glasses of pinot grigio and vigonier.  If you're a lasagna fan, this place might be quite an adventure, as it had the longest menu of just lasagna that I have ever seen.  Being the "ladies" that we are however, J and I just chose to split a salad and a lighter pasta dish.  The Arugula Salad was just ok -- nice light dressing, but skimpy on the goat cheese.  The pasta with chicken and broccoli was pretty tasty, but I would issue the warning that their "pink sauce" is not pink.  It's red.  Just sayin'.