“… Whose the Forest of Them All?” See What I Did There?

Imagine somebody offers you a friendly smile, but you snarl back. What might be their next reaction? Would they be amused and take it as a friendly jibe, just typical “you”? I suppose that would depend on how well they knew you. Would they be bemused because they don’t know you so well? Really, snarling at a friendly smile…? We’re perfect strangers, for goodness’ sake! Would they be confused because they’re not from around here and just can’t reckon the response in any way? A person’s reaction to your snarl might conceivably be anything—it depends on so many factors, and even in these three suggestions, one can find how-many-more details, nuances, and possibilities that take things further. Any “next reaction,” you might finally conclude, just depends on the person.

That response, “it depends,” is often criticised as merely wishy-washy yet, apparently, there’s an ironic ring of absoluteness to it, like the postmodern clarion call that nothing is true except for this statement. The reason I pose the scenario at all is to consider who really provides us with our sense of self. Supposing this person smiled at me, I might snarl in the first way, as a jibe, because I’m sure they’ll get the joke. But what if they don’t get it? What if this person even knows me pretty well, and they just don’t get it, not this time? Or what if they feel this just wasn’t the time for joking around? Their next reaction will depend on these and / or plenty of other factors. But again, I raise the scenario to consider how we gather—or, no no, to consider who really provides us—with our sense of self.

And there you have it, the issue: do we each gather our own sense of self, internally, or do others provide us with our sense of self, externally?

I don’t want to revert simply to the nature-nurture argument or chicken-and-the-egg. We seem inescapably bound to considering these by degree—hence, the absolutism that it depends. So, then, to consider by degree… the metaphor I have in mind is that of a mirror. Something someone does induces a response from me, and subsequently, what I provoke in that other person can tell me something more about myself, so long as I’m willing (and able?) to discern my self—myself?—from what they reflect. Whatever next reaction of theirs follows my snarl, this other person’s reaction serves as a mirrored reflection of me, at least insofar as this other person is concerned. If they laugh at my snarl, then hey, I guess they affirm me as a friend with an appropriate sense of humour; the jibe is appreciated, and maybe we’re even a little closer friends than before. Their positive reaction is my feedback, like looking at myself in a mirror, and my sense of self is in some way provoked on account of them by what they reflect.

I suppose there’s room to discuss a lack of empathy, here, even sociopathic behaviour—these seem also to be part of that endless list of details, nuances, and possibilities. But in acknowledging them, let’s leave them for another day.

If my snarl induces a frown from the other person, or some kind of puzzlement or disapproval, then what they affirm for me is less friendly or wonderful, yet may be just as clear—maybe they snarl back, even more fiercely, or maybe they stomp away with clenched fists. Maybe now I feel worried, in which case my sense of self could suffer from insecurity or dismay—oh dear, they didn’t get the joke! Or maybe they are saddened, and I feel smug—take that, you deserve it—or hostile—get lost, I never liked you anyway—which reinforces my sense of superiority, some kind of self-importance. The list of possibilities goes on—it depends—but, in any case, I’m able to find myself reaffirmed by that other person’s reaction. “Able to” because my snarl clearly exposes my stake in how this other person influences the way I consider my sense of self: why would I even take notice of them in the first place, much less snarl, much less take concern of their next reaction, if they meant nothing to me?

The point is that the other person’s reaction provides me a measure, a reason, a reflection by which to gauge my self as myself. Basically, thank you, because I couldn’t do it without you and everybody else, and you’re welcome because neither could you without me, or everybody else.

Now, pretend there are no other people—you, alone, exist as the sole human being. You happen to be walking through a grove of, say, birch trees, obviously getting no reactions as we’ve just considered about smiles and snarls. But as the wind whishes by, fluttering leaves and swaying branches, you take in the world around you with a relative means of judgment that wades through various combinations of reactors provoking reactions from reactees: Are the trees reacting to me? Is the wind reacting to me, or the trees to the wind? and so forth. You can see all sorts of things happening, but how can you be sure what provokes or reflects what else? Some songbirds are flitting about, high up in the branches: Are they chirping at me? You might not even call them “song” birds (that is, if you even had language—what need for language, really, as one sole person?) For all we know, the birds would actually scare you, and you might rightly call them “scarebirds” or something—in this pretend scenario, with you the sole human being, we’re also pretending that you know nothing in the way of biology or flora or fauna. These are ways of understanding the world developed in the real life community of human beings, not in some pretend scenario of solo existence.

In that land of pretend, after weeks of sunshine, what might be your sense of self on the day it rained, or on the day the leaves yellowed and fell to the ground in heavier, colder winds? Would you even be considering your “self” apart from the entirety of what surrounds you? Here we are, again, at nature-nurture, only this time you might conceivably consider the two in synthesis: not as separately discrete influences—there is nature, and there is nurture—but as one-and-the-same, naturenurture, thereby placing you into the world of existence as part-of-a-greater-whole. Your sense of self could conceivably be more cosmic, in that literal sense of orderliness, and more holistic, in that sense of connectedness. To mix metaphors, you might feel a mere cog in the wheel, a mere wheel of the gears, yet entirely necessary, just the same. Or how about this: I wonder how imperative my right hand feels, as compared to my left, when I write with a pen, but they’re both pretty important when I play golf.

We can conceivably warrant our selves to ourselves, but—as we step back into the land of real life and other people—we cannot live in total oblivion of the people around us. I grant the possibility of living within ourselves as our selves, rendering the responses and reactions of any one and those alongside as nothing other than colliding self-interests, but still… That other people can authorize our sense of self—your sense, my sense—seems as inescapable, as definite, as did nature-nurture or chicken-and-the-egg.

In this little thought experiment, I’ve been wondering whether we each sense our self as reflective of the reactions we induce, e.g. the feedback we get after snarling at a friendly smile, seeing that other person like staring at ourselves in a mirror. And, if so, whether that means we’re each of us necessarily, essentially, and thereby compellingly part of a greater whole, like trees of a forest, or cogs in a wheel, or limbs to a body. And, for all this, maybe it’s only an issue because we’re able to raise the question, to begin with.

‘Tis the Season to be Silly!

Here’s a curiosity… I wrote this thirty years ago in Grade 12 for – wow! wee! – the high school newspaper. Good lord, thirty years. When you’re able to say such-and-such happened thirty years ago, and remember it…

!!!!!

Sigh. Beats not remembering, I suppose. While we’re at it, how about a wow-wee for thirty-year anniversaries: diamonds, pearls… joy buzzers? Better watch your back at the reunion, folks.

So what do I remember? My Journalism teacher, Mrs Sullings, had been waiting for me to overcome writers’ block and finally granted me an extension until the following issue, figuring I’d never make the deadline for end-of-March.

I really appreciated that from her but now felt all the more determined (and a bit guilty…) to meet the deadline the next morning. I remember sitting on my bed later that afternoon, struggling woe-is-me, and finally just flipping through the thesaurus as some desperate chance-worthy way of inspiring an idea. I think it was “rapscallions” that got the ball rolling, and from there, as the saying goes, the thing just wrote itself! Then it got buried on page 7 because every newspaper has a layout crew. Joke’s on me, I suppose.

Fringe benefit, though… the next time I nearly missed a deadline, for the June edition, Mrs Sullings wasn’t nearly so concerned. She left that to me, that time.

I’m pretty sure this is the second piece I ever wrote for a public audience, as in something actually published somewhere, out of my hands. Boxing Day - Humbug!.jpgThe first was a few months before, this Boxing Day editorial for the December edition, although officially my class hadn’t switched over yet – you either went from Journalism to Creative Writing in January, or you were vice-versa like us. Admittedly, neither piece is rocket science, much less brain surgery, but hey, every piece does more than just fill its own space in the puzzle. A curiosity, like I said.

So here ‘tis! a piece from the past, yet as much for posterity inspired! O Come, all ye Jokesters, unite!

(If you’re interested, click here, here, or here to learn a little more about the history of April Fools’ Day.)

 


‘Tis the Season to be Silly

March 1989

With the end of March comes the eagerly awaited Spring Break, and with Spring Break there is invariably April 1st – All Fools’ Day.

April 1st is the pressure release for everyone whose desire to become a practical joker just can’t be contained another side-splitting minute. Jokesters, jesters, and clowns alike all join together in an harmonic convergence of comedy, where conventional precedents of whimsy are discarded, long-established antic-morals know no bounds, and the quest for the ultimate in rusing excellence reigns supreme.

But as one may expect when the wells of witticism have run dry (as is the case in the world now), spotting any sort of Page 7.jpgexuberant attempt at outlandish tomfoolery proves more difficult than raking wet leaves with a plastic fork. And the Ministry of Education has hardly accommodated the desires of those jovial few desperately striving to keep April 1st, the Prankster’s Paradise, from losing all significance in this once derisory society of ours.

In its infinite wisdom, and unquestionably sound methods, the Ministry has conveniently arranged things so that April Fools’ Day occurs in the middle of the holidays, thus eliminating any hope of school-time merriment. In all fairness to the government, though, they (unlike you or me) wouldn’t recognise a cavorting rib-tickler if it walked up and shook their hand with an electric buzzer. Because of this, school must be dropped as the hostel of hilarious high-jinks.

Where, then, can one perform those pie-in-the-eye shenanigans and still achieve slapstick perfection? Home seems a logical place to start. And why not? For the abundance of potential targets, direct family ties keep anger broiling at a constant low, which is a major determining factor when dealing with the art of rabble-rousing, as are the many options open to the aspiring mischief-maker while on a mission of mirth.

There are the obvious escapades like exploding cigars and fake barf, or such monkey tricks as switching the salt and sugar, baking chocolate EX-LAX brownies, or stretching Saran Wrap over the toilet seat. As well, there are some old favourites to fall back on during instances of carefree nostalgia, like the bucket perched above the half-open door, or replacing the shampoo with NEET. Even the family car isn’t immune, as some skylarking rapscallions decide that switching on the radio to full volume, the windshield wipers to maximum speed, the air-conditioning to its coldest setting, and just about anything else located on the dashboard before the ignition is started, can provide for boisterous buffoonery in the highest degree.

Frozen Bunny.jpg

If this doesn’t tickle your fancy, then send someone you know a letter filled with sneezing powder – make sure it’s post-dated April 1st. You may try soaking your mother’s underpants and then freezing them overnight. Or remove the Sani-flush from the toilet and put green food colouring in the toilet bowl. When the shocked victim flushes the apparent “algae,” it is replaced by red-stained water from the toilet tank, which you have surreptitiously prepared the night before, in the name of all that is hallowed and holy amongst the flamboyant heroes of comedy whose Day you’re helping to celebrate.

Obviously, April 1st – All Fools’ Day – is one of the most important events of an otherwise blasé year, breaking the cat-gut tension with its relaxed, devil-may-care attitude. It is a time for everyone to get, get gotten, and be a good sport about it, either way.

Enjoy your April 1st this year, and if you’re one of the fortunate few to succeed in your sally – CONGRATULATIONS! You can appreciate the hearty effort undertaken by all those looking for an April Fools’ Fest.

And if you’re one of the unlucky targets of this annually occurring “puerile idiocy,” just grin and bear it, because half the joke is watching the victim’s reaction. Stay calm, laugh along with them… and then start plotting for next year.

Thu Pham.jpg

On Love

The word love has a long and layered etymological history, which I encourage you to get started tracing for yourself.

“Love” has lots of connotations in English – among them are affection, fondness, friendship, comradeship, selflessness, exhilaration, elation, narcissism, and of course, romance.

And, of course, Valentine’s Day is the go-to celebration for all things Cupid, or Eros, or whichever cherub happens to be your persuasion. After all, love just may be the most important quality we share… even if things these days seem to have two-stepped just a little closer to Hallmark than to holiday. Still though… any excuse to party, and all. Keep those bars and nightclubs full.

There might be an ironic reference to be had here about the two “al”s – alcohol and Al Capone. There are also more sobering references to be had here about the kind of culture that we seem to value. But I digress.

You can find lots of explanations for the observance of Valentine’s Day – maybe as many as the types of love – although they don’t all seem nearly as sweet as a box of chocolates or a heart-shaped cut-out. But hey, being human means being rhetorical, Big Four Bridge, Louisville, KYand the Rhetorical WHY is nothing if not sentimental, so…

Just for you, St. Valentine, a meditation on love.

 

 


On Love

The foundation of love is lasting friendship, which itself has as cornerstones trust and respect. First, take the Golden Rule as a straightforward way to understand respect, and second, we trust that the person we love will treat us respectfully, under all circumstances. Without trust and respect, relationships can’t properly recover or grow more healthy from struggles that inevitably arise. A good thing about trust and respect: they tend to reinforce each other with time and familiarity, cementing what’s good, growing impervious to what’s not. Another good thing: they can go missing, then be rediscovered later, and still be influential; it’s never too late to repair and grow relationships, as long as both people are willing. And if you had them before, you know what it looks like, for later. Clearly, there’s more to being friends, but the basis of trust and respect is essential. Without it, there will never be real or lasting love.

Love enables you to forgive without strings, without second-thoughts, unconditionally… or maybe it’s better to say that love is “how we forgive without strings.” Love makes you willing to forgive because, in the greater scope, you’d rather save and build and love the person who’s important to you than risk having things with them suffer or waste away. Not to say that people don’t get angry or have trouble forgiving; we do, nobody’s perfect, so this is the “how” thing from above: say you’re angry with the person you love, yet you find a way to forgive them because you love them, and you see that what’s long-term matters more than whatever happened just now. In life, any fight or dispute requires somebody to break the impasse and offer peace, and I think the point to take here for relationships is that love propagates that ability, that strength to step up and forgive, to let go of ill feelings. From the one side, avoid grudges and guilt-trips (and maybe even take one on the chin, whether you think you deserve it or not). From the other side, don’t suspect grudges and guilt (and don’t throw one to the chin carelessly). All of which takes you back to trust and respect, mutual trust and respect. With that said, forgiveness does not mean being weak and letting someone walk all over you – being humble is not being weak, and in that sense, forgiveness requires confidence and strength-of-self. But here, too, the person you love aids your confidence because you are comfortable being honest with them, being yourself with them, as they are with you, whether things are blissful, or stressful, or anywhere in between.

Love provides the encouragement to resolve something that’s wrong – a fight or whatever – because what’s so good ultimately just outweighs whatever’s bad. It’s what is meant when people say relationships take effort or work: you can be upset, even hugely upset, with someone you love. (Sometimes love is why they upset you the most!) Yet you find a way through; somehow, you want to. You’re willing to struggle through the issue because you know your relationship is worth fighting for, not against, the person you love and everything that you are together. It’s desirable work, not laborious work, and at later times, you might even find that you crave the collaboration, the synergy, that accompanies the facing of challenges. You grow to trust it and rely on it because it works. As a pair, you work.

Love also encourages two people to share equal voice on matters… important matters, and not-so-important, too… no sense of competition even enters. It becomes not a question of one or the other having to say, “Listen!” or “Give me a chance”; the equality is natural, and the first person just wouldn’t move forward without having heard from the second, just wouldn’t, as a matter of respect, until they’d heard from the other, trusting that both must speak in order to make valuable contributions that help everyone.

Love helps you to be patient. Maybe the person you love needs to learn or discover something in their own time. Maybe you want to say something, but it would be premature before the full context is there for complete understanding. Or maybe you just need time to keep a nice secret or plan a surprise. Patience can be a hard thing because it always involves curbing your own interests in favour of the person you love.

Love enables tolerance. The person you love might need a chance to vent, and even if it’s unpleasant to listen, they still might need the chance. Or say one person enjoys something that the other doesn’t… but whether you participate or they go it alone, you still put up with it, for their sake (as long as it’s not destructive or harmful), because you know it makes them happy, and you want them to be happy because you love them.

Love will require sacrifice. Sometimes loving somebody means behaving in the opposite way, doing the opposite to what you want or even need. This may be because the person you love asks you to sacrifice. Or the person you love may not understand why you sacrifice and resent you for it. You can see, then, where sacrifice, tolerance, and patience connect when it comes to love. Time can clear things up, but not always, or else not in enough time for things to get better between you before they got worse. But that’s not to say love is lost. But it will take the trust and respect of the original friendship to take on the work of recovery, which is what makes being friends beforehand so much more valuable. So you can see where friendship and forgiveness connect when it comes to love, too. Sacrifice involves so many aspects of love and thus is maybe the harshest test for true love to endure, but if it is true love, it will endure.


 

“… the real current of what love is [is the] opportunity for mutually pursued spiritual growth, its potential as THE transformative force available to us which I, too, have often thought is the true nature of love and partnership.”

– Kathleen Gyurkey, Parlor editor

 


Love incites a genuine willingness within you to try new things or change old ways, based on what you find yourself learning and experiencing with the person you love. This is not the same thing as, say, when resentful friends mutter “Ball-and-chain” or “Ever since she started seeing him, she’s so different.” The changes I’m talking about are more positive, more admirable – even something as simple as trying new foods or exercising more. What Gyurkey explains above in the quotation I’ve found true, too: this transformative nature of a loving partnership – specific to me, my willingness to try new things, to change old ways, and generally to have a more ready, unsummoned conscientiousness, I guess like a kind of empathy. My experience was all these things, a willingness to become somebody else, somebody new, as compared to all I’d been up until then. And the prospect of change was exhilarating! I felt most honestly, vulnerably willing to be and think and do things anew… almost even surrendered to it although not from duress, not at all. From inspiration. I was excited to see who I would become, to see where her influence and our relationship might take me and, thereby, her and us. I looked forward to the future, to time together, because of what it promised. Separate to romance and couples, I think a good dramatic example of what I mean is Ebenezer Scrooge, whom love changed for the better, long-term, in a way that everybody else could see and appreciate.

Love needs balance. The one person can’t be always giving and the other always receiving, the one always complaining and the other always consoling. If one cooks, then have the other do the dishes. At the extreme, just to carry the example, if one says, “Love, I will die for you,” and the other replies, “As for me, I’m not so sure,” then this relationship will not work. But wait, don’t fault only one side. The first person speaks passionately but only ought to make such a committed pledge being reasonably certain the second will reciprocate. The second person should reconsider (a) whether they’ve truly been appreciating their partner’s amazing love or just consuming it, and (b) whether this relationship is what they want at all if – as (a) would suggest – return-sacrifice just hasn’t been happening. Hmm, this is not the greatest example since no one would rationalize, “Well, since they are willing to die for me, I’d better return the favour”; two people who are willing to die for each other just are, they would just do it, and likely, it would simply be one of those deeply felt but unspoken things. Anyhow, I think the point is clear.

Love can induce ridiculous irrationality, whether as acute panic or burning more slowly over time. The clichés are out there, “crime of passion” and “temporary insanity” being of the acute nature, and “love is blind” being slower. These tend to be negative clichés, too, but I don’t mean to say that irrationality is only negative. Essentially, love can make people do or say things they may not otherwise have done or said. I stress “may not” because, without a situation, it’s hard to know consequences (as in, “He did this because of the consequences,” or “No, she did this in spite of the consequences”). And hey, obviously, everything has consequences, but if we act in search of certain ones, or if we act at the risk of certain ones, either way we might look irrational. Hollywood uses irrationality as a sympathetic character trait – “Ah, they did it for love!” – and it usually pays off with the Happy Ending, where everybody else smiles at each other, as if to say, “Gosh, do you feel as silly as me now for judging them?” It’s ironic that I turn to Hollywood for my positive-cliché counter-point, and hey! if only life were that simplistic every time… but I think the larger point is about the kind of judgment we level upon people – people we label “irrational” – who are acting out of love. I guess I’m saying (again, as long as it’s not destructive or harmful) that we ought to afford such “irrational” people a little empathy and patience before judging them.Riverfront, September 2006

Love develops your empathy. What’s more, you grow not just more willing but more able to see matters from the perspective of the person you love. And what’s more, your empathy will grow stronger with the passage of time, as you grow closer and more intimately connected with that person: seeing through their eyes, thinking with their thoughts, eventually becomes as natural to you as seeing and thinking with your own. You wind up sharing in a way that’s inseparably connected, where the two people together sort of take on the qualities of a shared, mutual person. It’s part of (but not all of) the whole two-become-one thing of marriage.

Sex alone is not love. Sex is a physical act, an actual connective joining of two bodies, and any pair of people can have sex – physically gratifying (perhaps not even) but either way, over when it’s over, regardless. But when two people who love each other, who share all these other, profound aspects of love between them, when they physically, sexually connect, yes, it’s still something physical, but I think what’s physical must be transcended, mentally / emotionally / spiritually. The physical act becomes something so much more than just the physical joining; gratifying in so much deeper a way, exponentially better than some orgasm-finish. In fact, sex between two not-in-love people eventually can drive a wedge between them, and while I’m not sure why, I can guess part of it is because it never gets any better and maybe even gets dull.

There’s also an emotional destruction that I’d argue results from sex between two not-in-love people, which is harder to pin down other than to say it happens. Maybe it’s because sex is so personal – even in a one-night encounter, to have sex is to join, and that reveals an intimate part of yourself to somebody else; you really leave yourself open and vulnerable. And if you’re that intimate and open with this somebody else how-many-times over, having sex without love, paying for the cost of fleeting orgasms with vulnerability, there’s bound to be a devaluing effect on you eventually. Perhaps you’ve witnessed this or, unfortunately, experienced it – I suspect I have. But we need love if we want a lasting, meaningful relationship that includes sex. Love keeps sex fresh and enticing, and love gives sex a reason, one beyond your ‘self’. That might sound strange, a ‘reason’. Love gives sex a context – that probably sounds strange too! – where the climax way surpasses physical pleasure. Love makes sex meaningful, and beautiful. Finally, if you were to substitute here for “sex” any other intimate physical encounters, clothes on or off or whatever, I think it’s fair to say all this still basically applies. Or how about this: whatever the case may be, intimate encounters between two people are only as meaningful between them as the time they’ve spent developing their friendship first and, subsequently, their love. But romance, intimacy, whatever to call it, needs time and can’t be rushed. It has to work for both. It might develop for you. It might not.

Love needs passion. Passion is its fuel, or no, better to say, passion is the hi-test / premium-grade fuel, the stuff that burns the hottest, the most efficiently, and (therefore) the quickest. For that reason, passion needs to be replenished more frequently. When it’s not, things grow stale, fun fades, a relationship becomes diluted by mundanities and same-ol’ same-ol’. Passion is also infectious, contagious. Your passion for the person you love excites them just as theirs excites you, and it’s a mutually-perpetuating cycle… but so is the lack of passion, which means it’s up to both people in a relationship to share the renewal of that burning passion where they found their love for each other in the first place. That’s where the other facets and benefits of love come in. If all the other facets contribute, a couple feels all-the-more exhilarated, thrilled, rewarded, making two people, deeply in love with each other, pretty motivated – selfishly, yes (as in, ‘If I do this for the other, it will give back for me because they will make me feel good’), but selflessly too (‘I appreciate all they do to make me feel good, and I want to give back to them, which will then return to me, which then I will appreciate’, and so on in the mutual cycle, without a necessary end).

I would often say, “I like who I am with you,” utterly sincere, feeling it as much a compliment for her as truth for me, something motivating and feel-good for her in return. Helping me to be a better person and feel better about who I was, she lifted me, made me genuinely happy. It was the most free, uninhibited, willing-and-able-to-be-myself experience I’ve had in adult life. And I tried my best to be something she could feel happy about; something visceral and transformative for me was a return for her, investing that part of myself into her and, so, into us – helping the other helps you, which helps you both. Win:win, and ever onwards, self-propelling. Passion. I suppose I can only truly say I had begun to commit everything of me to her, going the other way. I have never been more genuine or vulnerable with anybody as I was then, with her. I offered all of me, all I had, without pretension – that was how genuine I felt, and confident, and comfortable, and safe, to be utterly myself and feel accepted and appreciated for it. To feel loved: as motivating as motivated. I trusted her absolutely, and I offered her me, the most true love I had or even knew how to give.

Love is wondrous. Who wouldn’t want to feel all these good things about themselves and the other, especially knowing that it’s all felt thanks to themselves and the other? People are social creatures, and being alone is not how we’re built to flourish. Love and all its facets together are proactive, which makes love self-sustaining, but self-sustaining is thanks to the effort and existence of the two singular people, together in love, if that makes sense. It’s not dependency for either person, but maybe the love itself is dependent on the willing effort of the two people – to exist, love needs both people contributing and committed to each other. Love is dependent upon the two people to sustain it: willingly, mutually, lovingly. You want to do things for the person you love, it wouldn’t even cross your mind to think twice…

 

“I am doing this for the person I love.”

“Really, why?”

“… um, er, because I love them!”

 

There’s that irrationality, basically a logical fallacy of cyclical reasoning. But it works. For all its illogic, it’s human, and it works. And for that, love and all its facets are to be valued, enjoyed, and treasured, and accepting of idiosyncrasies, annoyances, or even character flaws that the other person might have: “I love this person!” But understand: love is not blind, and not a dependency; neither of these is love. Love is not love “in spite of” the partner’s flaws, or your own. What’s good about the person you love, and what’s good between you, together, diminishes negatives as “not worth troubling over.” You may not even notice some negatives. Or, hmm, not to say we don’t notice things – foibles, irritations, worse – but some of what we notice we grow accustomed to, perhaps even fond of! But, at the core, you love that person (a) because of who they are to you, (b) because of who they are for you – and yes, I think (a) and (b) are different – and (c) because of who they help you to become, who they make you want and strive to be. As you strive both for yourself and for them in return, you complement each other – the hand-in-glove, engaged in what is really the ultimately perfect mutual trade-off of taking for personal growth and giving for relational health. Well, maybe that last bit sounds like an advert or magazine sidebar, but I still think it’s true.

Love can leave us vulnerable… even in a blog post. I think that comes from being honest, which maybe doesn’t seem so odd to say while posting on-line – how many might read this whom I have never met? It’s a big, big world, and even the most popular could still be said to live in a world of strangers. And if we haven’t been taught along the way to be wary of strangers, to not trust just any old person who comes along, then surely we’ve learned that lesson the hard way. We ought to respect everybody, fundamentally at least, if not any more than that. But I agree and think it’s prudent not to trust everybody.

Yet if we stop to consider what our vulnerability can teach us about trust and respect, and about friendship – perhaps, in our honesty, we might yet find we’ve learned a lesson about love.

Fraser River Shore, July 19, 2005

On Friendships On-Line

Lately I’ve been having a shift of perspective.

The first I heard of Facebook was from a Gr. 11 student, Sarah, back in 2005-06. I understood the basic idea and remember calling it, I think, “narcissistic,” or no, it was “otiose,” throwing down the vocab-gauntlet to impress and intimidate all at once. Of course, I was mostly kidding, in that Haha-Foolish-Youngster-Teacher-Knows-Best kind of way. And of course, the friendly feud that followed lasted several weeks or longer: “Mr Rob,” they’d ask, “when are you going to sign on? We want to Facebook you.”

I’d say stuff like, “… neither of those words is a verb,” or “How many more ways do I need to stay in touch with people?” or “You go on wasting your life in front of a glowing blue screen.”

Jokes. All in fun, just kidding, except for… a touch not.

What I didn’t say, from underneath, was, “I’ve never felt much need to draw attention to myself.” Maybe on a performance stage but, even up there, for me, definitely all for fun, not passion. We’re all built differently, what is me is strictly me, and passing judgment wouldn’t have been right or fair, just condescending. So I didn’t say.

I did say “narcissistic,” in fun, to play my role, push the joke. But what I didn’t say was how look-at-me syndrome had always made me itch a little: “Look! Look at me! Are you looking at me?” There’ve been times I’ve even looked away from someone, on purpose, feeling so grated by it. That’s aloof, I admit, and not to excuse it. But again, not mean-spirited, just really different hard-wiring beneath my control. For all our kidding around, adults vs kids, feuding generations, I really just didn’t understand my students’ enthusiasm for sharing themselves on Facebook. For the same reason, not unlike others I’ve known, I never felt much desire to be sharing my own life and times – on-line or off, made no difference.

So, naturally, the day I did sign on, August 2013, Sarah was the first Friend request, right after my brothers. And, naturally, she had me eating crow. And we laughed and said how glad we were to hear from each other. There I was on Facebook, a mere eight years behind the wave – typical me: still waters running deep where the currents are inexorable, even sluggish. I finally joined for the ease of staying in touch with another friend, Mark, one of those friends for a lifetime, going on forty years, who’s been living 700 miles away for nearly half that time. It’s been great hearing from him more regularly, and catching up was pretty seamless – same laughs, same interests, same ol’ good ol’ friendship. In fact, my gradual unfolding with Facebook has found me appreciating friendship a little more altogether. But, more than that, my experience has found me appreciating otiose, narcissistic Facebook itself.

Facebook’s essential concept – people connecting, sharing, and expressing themselves – hasn’t changed much since its launch in 2004, and I still spot the odd look-at-me in my newsfeed although, to be fair, those pleas have lately seemed fewer and further. By lately, I mean the past two, three years – sluggish currents. Introvert that I am, I’m wary of over-posting my life, and I try to select only what I feel my audience of friends would appreciate or spend time to see (which is somewhat closer to how I’d describe stage performance, and writing too, though still not exactly). I’ve been pondering my rising appreciation for what Facebook is, or what it can be. I’ve been wondering whether all my itching over limelighters merely amounted to me guarding myself, and if so, from what? Or whom? And I’ve been wondering about what my old profs called the liminal space, specifically the overlap where Facebook ends and I begin, or maybe better to put it the other way around. I no longer wonder whether, deep down, my inexorable currents are able to ebb and flow. Lately, I’ve been having a shift of perspective about connecting and sharing and friendship.

It’s come about not from Facebook but from travelling. In the past when I travelled, I knew somehow, deep down, I wasn’t getting full value. Some part of me, too much, remained at home. I was afraid to let go, which is another story, but it was essentially the same reticence I had for sharing myself on-line. Travel, though, has that enticing way of inviting us to venture and explore, familiar wisdom that the more we learn, the more we realise how much there is to learn. In more recent travels – by recent, I mean the past five, six years – the more places I went, people I met, the more I learned that sharing myself wasn’t some desperate grab for attention, some break with humility. It was acknowledgement that others would judge me for themselves – not “look at me” but “Hey, this is me,” said with self-confidence and a willingness to meet other people in the overlap. Emerging from the cave is humbling, and either daunting or encouraging, but it doesn’t just broaden our horizons. It can transect them, if we let it. And fair enough, not all at once. But if I’d only ever stayed home…

Questions linger, a sluggish introvert like me doesn’t change overnight. Certainly, though, I’m far less guarded these days, more outgoing, more willing to share in that friendly confident way. When I travel now, I no longer leave some part of me at home when I depart so much as I leave a piece of me behind when I return. By travel, I mean anywhere, from London Drugs to London, England. If we travel to see for ourselves, we’re running errands. Travel should be for sharing. Life is a chance to tell the world we exist, to leave a little of ourselves behind, and to bring some of the adventure back home.

One friend I met while travelling I credit the most for opening my eyes. Today, 2300 miles apart, I consider Audrey one of my best friends. Early on, Audrey shared a travel story with me about appreciating something unexpected all the more for its rarity. Her story – but, really, her generosity and respect – helped me reconsider the traveller – but, really, me – as uniquely worthy of recognition. Audrey offered me the space to overlap. Where her story ended, mine was able to begin. We’ve stayed in touch ever since …by e-mail. Audrey feels a little averse to Facebook and social media which, to be fair, is not uncommon. Maybe you know somebody similar.

So, am I glad I signed on to Facebook? I definitely don’t kick myself for waiting, not like Sarah did, anyway. On the other hand, I scroll through it every day, so maybe I’m addicted. Like I said, questions linger. But it’s unlike the utility, say, of plain old SMS, which I find really useful – where texting is an errand, Facebook is for travel, and travelling’s something I’ve learned to enjoy. I’ll need more time to decide about blogging, and I have an opinion about on-line comments, too. As for the bulk of social media apps – Twitter, Instagram, all the rest – shades of grey. How many more ways do I need to stay in touch before the means become the end? But let’s take care not to judge with real offense, not with real people at each end of every message.

To let Sarah and Mark stand as representative of my Facebook experience, the value and quality I’ve found on-line is not that of drawing attention to myself so much as people taking genuine interest in hearing from me – like I said, a shift of perspective. More importantly, a shift for the better. Life can still get lonely, at times, because where there’s a place for Type A, that’s just never been me. But the current, somewhat-improved version of me is glad to be more outgoing than before and glad to have an outlet for expression. In an odd sort of way, Facebook helped me practise, and if not for that, I wonder whether I would have spoken to Audrey that first time.

Facebook has offered me something I’d thought neither possible nor desirable, the chance to let the world know I’m here. Facebook makes that possible. What I must never forget is that my friends are what makes it worthwhile.