In Pursuit of Nextness

There is no better time of year than Christmas to remind us that getting what we want is not all it's cracked up to be.  Most of us learn at an early age the magic of anticipation, the wild fantasies that surround those things that are just out of reach, and the eventual anticlimax of holding the object of our desire in our hands and finding it to be disappointingly ordinary.  In the end, that toy that we dreamed about night and day turns out to be just a toy with a finite range of functions and limited possibilities.  Within days, we're writing our wish lists for next year.  Because, when it comes down to it, the fun was actually in the wanting and not the having.

During a recent visit, RG said something that struck me:  "Next is the best place to be."  A simple thought made more poignant by its timing and its truth.  If wonder and optimism are our measuring sticks, then the best present the Christmas season brings is the gift of anticipation.  Germane to anticipation are the thrill of hope and the purity of unsullied expectation.  Until tomorrow arrives, nothing can prove that it won't be better than today.  And, as New Years Eve approaches, it occurs to me that, as a society we innately know this -- the night before the new year is the biggest party night of all.  We celebrate our nextness and the possibilities it brings.  For all of the control of our universe we attempt every other day of the year, on that one night, we revel in the joy of not knowing what comes next.  On that night, tomorrow could be anything. 

Anticipation, our sustained interest in what will happen next, is what makes the world go around.  It keeps us moving forward in our studies, our careers, our travels, our hobbies, and our relationships.  One of the things that makes being single so appealing to me, especially in a city like New York where possibilities pass us in the street in throngs, is that feeling of anticipation -- every morning I step out into the city may be "the day," every new bar I try at night might be "the place," and every new person I chat up on the train may be "the one."  One by one, my friends couple off, and I remain single, only reinforcing the fact that I am next, that my shiny new toy is just around every corner.  I have met a lot of men this year that didn't turn out to be the end-all, be-all.  And I couldn't be happier.  In disappointing me, they've each perpetuated my nextness.  Built my anticipation.  And affirmed my fantasies that there is something amazing out there meant just for me. 

But, if anticipation is the silver lining of being single, does it disappear once you're not?  After all, you've got what you want, you've hooked your fish, he's in the bag, dreams become concrete, and she's standing right in front of you.  Yikes.  But, fear not! The best thing about anticipation is that it can't be caught.  No sooner do we reach one horizon than another rolls out in front of us.   Answering the question of "which one?" only leads to deeper and more complex questions about "who?" that will hopefully take a lifetime to sort through.  Wondering what else there is to discover about a person is what draws us together.  Conversely, feeling that you've got a person entirely figured out is what allows us to fall apart.  I think this is where most of us get into trouble.  Whether the problem is a waning zeal for discovery or a want of things to discover, reaching the promised land and settling in leads to complacency.  And, especially in relationships, things can begin to feel stale. 

The truth is that we are all deep wells of thought and being.  Theoretically, there should be no end to reach in any of our personalities (if only because experience is constantly changing our perspectives and evolving our characters).   So why do we become complacent in relationships?  Short answer: I think that, while as a people we know the value of anticipation, it's easy, as a person, to forget.  Long answer: We fall short in one of two ways: (A) We're lazy when it comes to exploration.  (As it turns out, anticipation takes work to perpetuate.  Curiosity and wonder are wheels that we must make the effort to turn at times, and once many of us feel we've reached an oasis, we peter out.) (B) We're lazy when it comes to evolution.  (We get into ruts and fail to make the effort to do things and create experiences that enrich our mind and our spirits.  We stop chasing things that have the capacity to change us.  We stop thinking.  We stop doing.)  And, in either case, we stop pursuing.  Whether we seek a deeper understanding of others or of ourselves, without pursuit, the concept of "next" cannot exist.

So, as the New Year comes upon us, and we look forward to the ensuing 365 days, don't let the anticipation of what's to come end on New Year's Eve.  Resolve in the new year to pursue.  Plumb the depths of others.  And, become someone worthy of pursuit, yourself.  Develop your interests, sharpen your skills, think and feel deeply, observe, opine, take initiatives, practice kindness and curiosity and introspection.  Be a person in whom there is always something else to discover, and you'll find that people will pursue.  When it comes to relationships, the onus is largely on us to create our own "nexts," to continue to seek what's next in others and to take the initiative to seek what's next in ourselves.  If we do, then we'll roll into 2011 not in helpless anticipation of what the world will bring to us, but empowered by the anticipation of what sort of "nexts" we will find.

As always, to the extent it's New York City you hope to discover, here are a couple of "nexts" to get you started:

Against the Grain
East 6th St. between Ave. A and Ave. B

This place is an annex to the restaurant/winery, but is definitely not an afterthought.  It's small and cozy and features local artists' work on the exposed brick walls.  But the best part is the awesome collection of craft beers.  The bartender was awesome and knowledgeable, gave us time to get through our tasting flight of six quality brews.  On a Sunday night we pretty much had the place to ourselves...eventually even the bartender joined our little party.  Come to this place...you can't help drinking just one great beer after another.

Rai Rai Ken
East 10th St. between 1st and 2nd Ave.
Tiny with a capital "T" but Good with a capital "G".  Located in the heart of Little Tokyo, this isn't your standard college ramen.  A handful of noodle bowl options, rice, and dumplings -- you can't go wrong.  It's all cooked right there behind the noodle bar by real Japanese guys who barely speak English.  It's a little dark, cramped, and papered with Japanese script.  And, according to RG, who studied Japanese, it feels a lot like the real thing.  I can see stopping by here every once in a while to get your Japanese fix.

It's a Resolution Revolution!

"He conquers who endures."  (Persius)


I love talking on the phone with my long-distance girlfriends because, in order to cover all of the events that have transpired between the last time we talked and now, we end up condensing weeks of triumph, disaster, and debauchery into one concise nugget.  Looking at everything like that, all lined up like a roll of Life Savers, it is easy to begin to see patterns.  JI and I were on the phone last night, rehashing the last couple of months that got away from us.  Of course, at least a third of the conversation was dedicated to the trials and tribulations of relating to the male population.  And, at some point, we both began to see a familiar pattern emerge in my dating life...one that we have seen in the lives of quite a few of our girlfriends in the past.

We all seem to have run into this series of men who are super interested in us for a month or so, and then seem to rapidly fade away into oblivion.  "I don't get it," I tell JI, "I feel like I am getting duped every time."  I'd love to say that it is as simple as misreading signals or even being fooled, but even JI (the eternal skeptic) agrees that all outward signs pointed to "Yes" in most of the cases.  No, she says, it's the instant gratification that New York City affords that is to blame for the ridiculously short shelf life of affection.  A man can sit on his ass and order anything his heart desires, and it will be at his apartment in under an hour, she points out.  We can work remotely, order in, take out, talk on Facetime, and shop online.  We can even have laundry detergent and beer delivered to our door.  Practically everything is digital, instantaneous, and convenient.  So, how can we expect men not to want the same prompt result from women that they get from the barista, the delivery man, or the Flavia machine?

We are a generation of hyper-accessibility and rapid response.  A casualty of our times.  Could it be that we have forgotten what it means to work for what we want?  Everyone is familiar with the phenomenon, come the first of the year, when suddenly it is impossible to get a machine at the gym because everyone has made their New Year's resolutions to get fit.  But as January turns into February, the boom subsides, and by Valentine's Day, we're all fat and happy again.  It's like we expect simply making the resolution to precipitate the change.  When it doesn't, we lose interest. 

Losing weight doesn't happen over night.  In fact, very few things in life happen in an instant.  Love in particular.  When it comes to dating and romance, it is possible for relationships to ignite spontaneously upon meeting.  Like JK's current relationship: one minute they didn't know one another, and the next minute, they're planning a life.  Fireworks.  A chemical reaction.  The Big Bang.   But these relationships are very, very few and far between.  Usually, things take a little more time to develop, feelings take more effort to sort out, and "you and me" slowly evolves into "we."  Especially as we get older and have more history to wade through, relationships are less likely to be ready-made.  We are already comfortable with our identities as single people, independent, self-sufficient, happy in our own skin.  We've got to make the decision to invest in a person, and then work to earn our return.

Like going to the gym, being in a relationship with another person will take a while to change us.  We've got to keep going back to the treadmill before our skinny jeans start to fit again.  Similarly, just because we meet someone we like and decide to give it a go, that doesn't mean that we will be comfortable in a relationship right away.  Like anything, it takes some working out, going back again and again even after the excitement of prospective change wears off.  No wonder few of us have the patience and determination it takes to stick it out past month one.  It's a shame, really.  Because, while February and March can feel anything from mundane to gruelling, come April, you'll have a really beautiful result.  (Whether you're loving or lifting weights.) 

I wish I knew how to change us.  I wish there was a magic formula for fortitude.  Unfortunately, I can't and there isn't.  Results are three parts desire and one part decision.  We never know how the "desire" part will pan out.  All we can be certain of is that, if we want something badly enough, we are going to have to work for it.  We have to make the decision knowing that what follows might be difficult.  That being said, while it won't yield a payoff tomorrow, the resolution is the first step.  So, let's not diminish the importance of that step.  After all, all of the other steps need that first one to follow. 

Ultimately, we can't know when we start the journey whether we'll have the perseverance to end it.  But, that is not a reason not to try.  In the spirit of the season of new beginnings that is upon us, maybe we should all just resolve to take a first step.  To decide something.  To begin.

With all that work ahead of us, it might be nice to fall back into instant gratification every once in a while.  Good thing that New York City is not short on places like these, that are sure to yield immediate results:

Bubble Lounge
West Broadway between Franklin and White Sts.

Instant class.  The atmosphere in here is sexy and sophisticated.  Plush seating, deep purples and golds, and champagne everything.  It's a nice spot for a date or a small group of aristocrats like ourselves.  Plus, bubbles are fun.  Who doesn't like a nice champagne cocktail?  The only down side was that service was slooooow.  Don't go here if you've got a deadline.

Chick-A-Licious
E. 10th St. btw 1st and 2nd Aves.
Instant dessert.  I came here after dinner with my aunt one night.  She wanted cheesecake.  I wanted French Macaroons.  Theoretically, this place should have had all of those.  But, it was 10 p.m., and they had run out of pretty much everything.  She did get her cheesecake, which came in miniature size and was ordinary at best.  And I had to settle for a cupcake of some kind, which was tasty but nothing compared to Butter Lane, which is only a few blocks away and fantastic.  All in all, if you need a fix, stop in.  But, if you really want a great dessert, go somewhere else.

Common Ground
Avenue A btw 12th and 13th Sts.

Instant home.  If bars were comfort food, this place would be your mom's mac and cheese. Couches, books, and board games abound.  The girls and I played dirty-word Scrabble and Connect Four by candlelight.  And the bouncer bought L a drink for her birthday.  The vibe was relaxed and friendly.  Not an overly-aggressive pick-up artist in sight.  All the drinks you know and love, and space to reserve in the back if you've got too many friends for your own good.

675 Bar
Hudson and W. 13th St.
Instant flirting.  Yes, this bar is in the Meatpacking District, but it's not what you'd expect of the area at all.  Walk down the relatively non-descript looking stairs into the basement bar-come-wine cellar.  To the left, an open area with couches, a pool table, and a bar long enough to find a place to sidle up. To the right, a hallway of cozy nooks, exposed brick, dim lighting, and books and games.  Perfect for a birthday get-together, which just happens to be the reason we were there.  The crowd was all young professional types, and the gratification is instant if it's fraternization you're looking for.  The only downside -- at 9 p.m. this place already had a line.  The bouncer was only letting people down selectively, even though the place was far from crowded.  Eventually, it gets packed, but I had to question the artificial crowd control.

On Hope and Heartache

Here's the thing about living and loving in New York:  There are days that you feel invincible, one with the city, its energy, its possibilities.  You walk down the street and think (no -- everything in your being screams) with absolute certainty, "This is the life I was meant to live!"  And then there are days that make you question everything you think you know.  You have a life of living and learning behind you, and you think that you have pretty well figured out how to sort out the joy from the sorrow.  And then something you had pegged as joy deteriorates rapidly into sorrow.  Before you even know what is happening, a part of your certainty is undone.  And you are reminded that there are too many people here, to many hearts, and too many minds to ever be certain of anything, even your own heart or your own mind.

I had my heart broken for the first time in a long while today.  Funny really, because these days that is not an easy thing to do.  I approach most romantic prospects on what some would call "the defensive."  I have too much experience to believe that there is any ending but heartache (ah, there's that skepticism).  But, there is also that eternally optimistic (read: foolish) part of me that lives to hope.  So, while it was not easy (and was perhaps against my better judgement) I allowed myself the luxury of hope.  As a lawyer, my profession relies substantially on drawing distinctions and constructing arguments based on what we know and why this case is different, why this situation is so special that it should fall outside of the law.  Sometimes, despite everything I know about people, I am able to convince myself that this one, this one, is different or special or uncommon.  (And maybe I am right, in every way but this -- the leaving, which is so exhaustingly common.)  Perhaps I am too good at my job.  Or perhaps I am foolish.  Or perhaps I am simply human. 

This dichotomy of skepticism and hope is not an easy act to balance.  There is always too much of one, not enough of the other.  Of course, if they are present in the same amounts, then they wash one another out and you feel nothing.  Sort of a double-edged sword.  When it comes to living in New York City, it is easy to err on the side of hope.  The city, with its constant capacity to surprise is, in its own way, predictable.  What makes it so easy to embrace the chaos of the city is that it, maybe ironically, feels like home.  Familiar and unconditional.  When it comes to loving in New York City, however, many of us opt for skepticism.  If only because we know all too well that, as constantly as the city surprises us, it also disappoints.  And all the more shame on us if we voluntarily reached out, allowing disappointment to fill our empty cup of hope.

So, then, who do I blame for my heartbreak?  The heart breaker for disappointing, or myself for providing the opportunity?  My girlfriends, my loving, supportive, funny, wonderful girlfriends of course blame the "villain" or the "dunce" (whichever seems to better fit the circumstance). Bless their hearts.  I never cease to be amazed at the diatribe of invectives they seem to conjure from thin air when the moment comes to shore me up against the ache that follows absence.  But, I am not convinced that all of the glowing thoughts I had about a person in the morning could all be proven so horribly wrong by midnight.  After all, I am the one who flipped the switch from skeptical to hopeful in the first place.  I am the one who left the light on for disappointment to find me.

After the initial shock wore off, I took a walk around my neighborhood.  Maybe it was the cold or maybe it was the city itself, but something in the air stirred me during that walk.  New York City, still vibrant and alert at 1:00 in the morning, couldn't help but remind me that the city keeps on going, even when time seems to stop.  Skepticism, on the other hand, is a static state that allows us to exist somewhere between pessimism and optimism, where we sometimes want to believe but never allow ourselves to dream.  Hope, however -- the city and hope have something in common: they constantly renew themselves.  They keep on going right over disappointment, right over skepticism, right over heartbreak.  No sooner do these things present themselves than the perpetual nature of the city and of hope remove them to the past. 

Do I regret hoping?  No.  Do I blame anyone? No.  Would I do it all again?  Yes.  And I will -- I'll inevitably do this same thing a hundred times over.  Because, although no amount of experience or skepticism can make me certain of my choices, my hope renews.  It cycles around to its origin and begins again.  I can't regret renewing hope any more than I can regret the sun rising.  It puts heartache in the past and illuminates this city full of possibilities in my future.  And, although I am reminded that I can never be certain of anything I think I know, I can be certain that what I don't know yet will be beyond my imagining.  Or, at least, I hope.