Insanity, it is said, is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. However, with a meditation or awareness practice, one has the opportunity to observe oneself in the process of repeating history and then choosing not to in the end. Last night I was deep into deja vu all over again while sitting across a restaurant table from a 30-something year old man I had met online. In a moment of loneliness, intensified by a periodic fleeting desire to reconnect with my earlier self who had lived in Budapest, I had e-mailed this person whose screen name was in Hungarian to simply ask him if, indeed, he was. Igen. And he was also new to this area and seemed eager to meet new people, including me, even though I'm considerably older than the age range he had specified in his profile. He had posted photographs of himself in which he was outdoors and had what appeared to be a relaxed smile on his face. After a few e-mail exchanges we agreed to meet for dinner last night. Since he was driving some ways to meet me, I chose the restaurant, a funky Thai place that had received good reviews.
"So, you've been here before," he stated, as we took our seats.
"No, I haven't" I said.
"So, for a first date you've suggested an unknown place?" he asked, a bit taken aback, as if I had broken some generally accepted protocol and/or asked him to take a chance.
I, too, was taken aback. A first date? True, we were meeting for the first time, but I did not consider it a date with a capital "D". We had not even spoken on the phone beforehand, except for a few minutes immediately prior when he called to let me know he was running late. While I had been interested in meeting him I was not focused on coming up with an impressive evening or setting. I had asked him what food he enjoyed and made plans accordingly, choosing a place that would be conducive to conversation.
"Well," I said, "I asked some people for Thai restaurant suggestions and they recommended this one. The fact is I haven't eaten out all that much since moving here and I like trying new places."
Immediately, we dropped into a conversation about my impressions of Hungary and Hungarians - he had asked me in an e-mail and I thought it best to respond in person.
"Well," I said, not wanting to offend, "There seemed to be a cloud of gloom hanging over the country. People were pessimistic. But you don't seem to be like that at all."
"Actually, I am," he responded. At least he was being honest.
His remark released a range of uncomfortable sensations that I had felt while living there two decades ago, as if these had been sealed in a pouch all these years, waiting to be opened so they could be fully processed or digested. Now the pouch was leaking feelings of incompleteness, sadness, of longing for wholeness, resulting from being disconnected - by geography and genocide - from ancestral roots, and wanting to transform the experience of my Hungarian heritage into a happy one, despite the seeming impossibility of this task. No wonder I had packed this emotional goulash into an inner Ziploc, storing it somewhere deep in my guts, hoping that over time it would just pass through my system without my having to feel its painful contents.
The waitress came over to take our orders but we had not even opened the menus. We sent her away, and within minutes she returned.
"We're still not ready," I said to her. "Do we get a third try or are you going to kick us out?"
My companion laughed. I was relieved.
For what felt like a long time the waitress ignored us, and I got to hear a bit about his family history and journey to America. Like many Jewish men of his generation, he wasn't told of his religion until he was Bar Mitzvah age, a time when the word "Jew" was a common insult. An engineer, he had studied at the same university where I had spent my junior year abroad. We had eaten in the same cafeteria, whose offerings included soup with chicken feet, a dish that delighted the locals but freaked out the Americans.
As he spoke, I could not help but notice that he sounded almost exactly like another Hungarian Jewish engineer I had met, and dated, many years before. This genre of human being, in my experience, operates almost entirely from the left-brains, is analytical and logical to an extreme, lacks an aesthetic sensibility, has a scarcity mentality and can be very single-minded bordering on self-righteous. At one point during our meandering conversation my companion switched topics in order to pick up a loose thread. I can't recall what the abandoned subject had been, but I got the distinct impression that it was important to him to not leave anything hanging, that everything needed to be put in its place.
Some people might find this constellation of character traits attractive or positive in some circumstances, but I heard a little voice in my head comment, "You moved to Colorado to change your life...so why are you having dinner with a slightly more polite and refined version of an ex-boyfriend from hell?"
Perhaps I needed to revisit some old psychological territory from a new perspective, to hear nearly the exact same thought processes, mindset and beliefs from this more junior man as I had heard from my ex who, at the time, had been my senior, and to have a completely different experience. As I nibbled my drunken noodles I realized that I'm no longer the person who was afraid to trust herself and who preferred to rely on what others had to say, particularly people with strong views and clearly articulated opinions. In what had been a disastrous and painful relationship with my ex, I had abandoned many parts of myself in order to conform to his views of the world and to fit his image of who he needed his girlfriend to be.
Slowly I have learned to not do that again. All this seemed quite clear while sitting in the restaurant and when saying good night to my dinner companion after we had finished our meal. It was raining by the time we left the restaurant and, after a brief and somewhat awkward discussion about continuing our evening in a more happening part of Denver, he chivalrously suggested that we save that for another time and better weather. I was free to enjoy my own company for the rest of the night.
When I got home, however, my self-doubt and conditioning kicked in with a vengeance, berating me for not having picked a restaurant in a more lively location that offered the possibility of a post-dinner stroll, as if I had blown my very last chance to find a fulfilling relationship because I had not orchestrated a perfectly seamless, multi-stop evening. For a few moments I actually fell for these nasty voices in my head, voices that have been telling me most of my life that I need to be romantically involved with someone to be an acceptable person and that I need to twist myself into knots to either enter into or maintain such relationships. The fundamental message of these voices, a malevolent mantra as it were, is that I am not enough, that by myself I am inadequate. I think I am finally catching onto these insidious bastards and their very dirty tricks.
Showing posts with label Dating. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Dating. Show all posts
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Monday, March 17, 2008
Idiazabel
With my refridgerator empty save for a bit of mayonnaise, aoili mustard, a few eggs, some maple syrup, a loaf of whole wheat bread and one container each of milk and cottage cheese, it was time to replenish. Wishing to have an adventure rather than simply doing a chore, I headed over to Russo's, a food market not far from where I live. I did not bring a list but decided to follow my intuition and buy what looked interesting, colorful or otherwise appealing and figure out what to do with it all later.
I had been to Russo's years ago, before it had been renovated and expanded and I wasn't quite sure what to expect. All the better to make this expedition exciting. I found a shopping cart and entered the building. The first thing that caught my eye was a heaping pile of inaptly named red cabbages, which actually are purple. I simply had to add this amazing color to my cart. Next I encountered a gigantic carrot. Impressed by its size, I tossed it in next to the cabbage. This carrot turned out to weigh nearly a pound. Moving down the aisle I scooped up some red potatoes and an acorn squash with a dark green shell. A handful of yellow onions balanced the colors a bit. Turning the corner I saw basket after basket of shimmering apples, pears, oranges and grapefruits! I wanted them all, except these were sold by the basket. Moving along into the main building I was confronted by even more fresh produce and other edible goodies.
Fresh dates! It had been awhile since I had eaten one, or been with one. I plucked a package of them and then continued to peruse the fresh fruits. The apple section alone was inspiring. I couldn't resist such pretty pommes, especially with names like Jazz, Pink Lady and Cameo. And then there were pears! Not just any old pears, but pale yellow Chinese Ya pears, whose name reminded me of the Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, and so I had to add some of these individually wrapped beauties to my cart. And shortly thereafter is when I looked up and saw him, a cute guy I had briefly dated over the summer. I called out his name and he turned around. But it turned out it wasn't him, but his twin brother, who is used to answering to both names. I'm glad I met him, because I had seen the twin once before at a Whole Foods and had been too shy to ask him if, indeed, he was this person's twin. Now I can shop angst-free.
Relieved, I proceeded to the end of this particular aisle and into a smaller room filled with all kinds of vegetables, including carnival cauliflower. It is orange. A must have, even though I have no idea what gives it that distinctive color. Exiting the smaller room I spotted some artichokes and imagined dipping their leaves in my aoili mustard. Mmm. Passing some refridgerated cheeses I was tempted by goat cheese and smoked maple cheddar. Moving along into Russo's largest space I came face to face with the aptly named Ugli fruit, which looked liked a citrus gang leader with its tough, pockmarked greenish-yellowish surface. The store had sliced one in half so one could see that its interior, resembling an orange, was much less menacing. I tried to apply my fruit selection intuition to this beast even though I had no way of knowing which were riper than others. I chose one with a more yellow-orange skin. And then I spied my dear old friends, Thai bananas, at the end of this same aisle. Thai bananas are tiny, barely two-bites of fruit are protected by the peels. Fun to look at and eat, I plucked a small bunch out of the bin.
Wheeling around the corner I saw even more cheese and the deli section. And that is where I met Idiazabel. Even if it turns out I don't like this particular sheep's milk cheese from Spain, I do love the name and may have to change mine to it. Idiazabel's neighbor was Boerenkaas, a raw milk gouda from Holland. Not wishing for Idiazabel to be lonely in my fridge and to remind me of my sola cycling trip from Amsterdam to another famous cheese producer, Edam, I added a small wedge of the Boerenkaas to my cart.
I perused the pastry section but decided to pass. Perhaps I'll sample it on another trip. I stopped at the deli counter for a sandwich - a "small" sub was just $3.98 and it turned out to be quite large. A container of half sour pickles, some stem tomatoes, a head of garlic, a quartet of yams, a package of baby romaine two cukes and a singularly sumptious yellow pepper rounded out my purchases.
The total came to less than $60. I am now tempted to return, shopping list in hand, to find ingredients to complement the colorful and exotic foods from today's highly enjoyable but somewhat impractical adventure.
I had been to Russo's years ago, before it had been renovated and expanded and I wasn't quite sure what to expect. All the better to make this expedition exciting. I found a shopping cart and entered the building. The first thing that caught my eye was a heaping pile of inaptly named red cabbages, which actually are purple. I simply had to add this amazing color to my cart. Next I encountered a gigantic carrot. Impressed by its size, I tossed it in next to the cabbage. This carrot turned out to weigh nearly a pound. Moving down the aisle I scooped up some red potatoes and an acorn squash with a dark green shell. A handful of yellow onions balanced the colors a bit. Turning the corner I saw basket after basket of shimmering apples, pears, oranges and grapefruits! I wanted them all, except these were sold by the basket. Moving along into the main building I was confronted by even more fresh produce and other edible goodies.
Fresh dates! It had been awhile since I had eaten one, or been with one. I plucked a package of them and then continued to peruse the fresh fruits. The apple section alone was inspiring. I couldn't resist such pretty pommes, especially with names like Jazz, Pink Lady and Cameo. And then there were pears! Not just any old pears, but pale yellow Chinese Ya pears, whose name reminded me of the Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood, and so I had to add some of these individually wrapped beauties to my cart. And shortly thereafter is when I looked up and saw him, a cute guy I had briefly dated over the summer. I called out his name and he turned around. But it turned out it wasn't him, but his twin brother, who is used to answering to both names. I'm glad I met him, because I had seen the twin once before at a Whole Foods and had been too shy to ask him if, indeed, he was this person's twin. Now I can shop angst-free.
Relieved, I proceeded to the end of this particular aisle and into a smaller room filled with all kinds of vegetables, including carnival cauliflower. It is orange. A must have, even though I have no idea what gives it that distinctive color. Exiting the smaller room I spotted some artichokes and imagined dipping their leaves in my aoili mustard. Mmm. Passing some refridgerated cheeses I was tempted by goat cheese and smoked maple cheddar. Moving along into Russo's largest space I came face to face with the aptly named Ugli fruit, which looked liked a citrus gang leader with its tough, pockmarked greenish-yellowish surface. The store had sliced one in half so one could see that its interior, resembling an orange, was much less menacing. I tried to apply my fruit selection intuition to this beast even though I had no way of knowing which were riper than others. I chose one with a more yellow-orange skin. And then I spied my dear old friends, Thai bananas, at the end of this same aisle. Thai bananas are tiny, barely two-bites of fruit are protected by the peels. Fun to look at and eat, I plucked a small bunch out of the bin.
Wheeling around the corner I saw even more cheese and the deli section. And that is where I met Idiazabel. Even if it turns out I don't like this particular sheep's milk cheese from Spain, I do love the name and may have to change mine to it. Idiazabel's neighbor was Boerenkaas, a raw milk gouda from Holland. Not wishing for Idiazabel to be lonely in my fridge and to remind me of my sola cycling trip from Amsterdam to another famous cheese producer, Edam, I added a small wedge of the Boerenkaas to my cart.
I perused the pastry section but decided to pass. Perhaps I'll sample it on another trip. I stopped at the deli counter for a sandwich - a "small" sub was just $3.98 and it turned out to be quite large. A container of half sour pickles, some stem tomatoes, a head of garlic, a quartet of yams, a package of baby romaine two cukes and a singularly sumptious yellow pepper rounded out my purchases.
The total came to less than $60. I am now tempted to return, shopping list in hand, to find ingredients to complement the colorful and exotic foods from today's highly enjoyable but somewhat impractical adventure.
Friday, January 4, 2008
Indulgences, Intimacy, Impediments
The other night I got a phone call from a person who was in the middle of taking a bubble bath. Not just any bubble bath, but a green apple scented bubble bath. That is probably not the aroma I'd choose if I were to take a bubble bath, which I haven't done in years. This person - a man, actually - told me that he's in touch with his feminine side and regularly indulges himself in a hot bath. I think hot baths are a fabulous idea, and I even have a medicine cabinet with bath products from overseas, including bath tablets (Sprudelbad) from Germany in two scents: grapefruit-lime (for vitality) and vanilla-bergamot (antistress). These tablets have not only traveled across the Atlantic but have also been stored in two bathrooms and one attic over the years. I wonder if they are still good.
As I was saying, I think hot baths are a fabulous idea, and I often think this thought while traveling, figuring that, when I return home, I'll take a bath. But often, when I could really use a bath, it is simply too cold to get undressed to get into the tub. I'd rather stay fully clothed, rather than risk a wee chill en route to relaxation. But last night, one of the coldest we've had this year, as I warmed myself by a radiator and spoke to this person, I began to think about why I don't take baths.
"My bathtub is somewhat small," I explained, while trying not to imagine him in his green apple scented tub. I had had two dates with this person a week before; there had been a mildly flirtatious vibe going on between us but nothing much beyond that. He doesn't live around here and it seemed prudent to take things slowly. His decision to phone me while bathing came across as a unilateral acceleration of intimacy to which I wasn't completely receptive.
"If you don't take baths, what do you do to relax?" he asked. A fair question, I thought, but then I realized that I'm not particularly good at relaxing. Intense yoga helps, as does attending synagogue on Friday nights and meditation. But none of these activities feel like indulgences -
I see them as necessities, without which my stress level would escalate and become an enormous impediment to functioning.
Meanwhile, my foam covered friend pointed out that I was creating impediments to conversation by not being open enough to some of his questions. I don't disagree with his assessment. It's hard to pinpoint precisely when my defenses went up and why - perhaps a combination of his intensity, the geographic distance and the not insignificant difference in our ages - but towards the end of the long call, during which he had transitioned out of the tub, the good vibes had stopped flowing. There was no acrimony or anger, but the lightness had disappeared, much like the bubbles down his drain.
As I was saying, I think hot baths are a fabulous idea, and I often think this thought while traveling, figuring that, when I return home, I'll take a bath. But often, when I could really use a bath, it is simply too cold to get undressed to get into the tub. I'd rather stay fully clothed, rather than risk a wee chill en route to relaxation. But last night, one of the coldest we've had this year, as I warmed myself by a radiator and spoke to this person, I began to think about why I don't take baths.
"My bathtub is somewhat small," I explained, while trying not to imagine him in his green apple scented tub. I had had two dates with this person a week before; there had been a mildly flirtatious vibe going on between us but nothing much beyond that. He doesn't live around here and it seemed prudent to take things slowly. His decision to phone me while bathing came across as a unilateral acceleration of intimacy to which I wasn't completely receptive.
"If you don't take baths, what do you do to relax?" he asked. A fair question, I thought, but then I realized that I'm not particularly good at relaxing. Intense yoga helps, as does attending synagogue on Friday nights and meditation. But none of these activities feel like indulgences -
I see them as necessities, without which my stress level would escalate and become an enormous impediment to functioning.
Meanwhile, my foam covered friend pointed out that I was creating impediments to conversation by not being open enough to some of his questions. I don't disagree with his assessment. It's hard to pinpoint precisely when my defenses went up and why - perhaps a combination of his intensity, the geographic distance and the not insignificant difference in our ages - but towards the end of the long call, during which he had transitioned out of the tub, the good vibes had stopped flowing. There was no acrimony or anger, but the lightness had disappeared, much like the bubbles down his drain.
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