Mars and Venus Revisited Part I

The idea of intimacy sounds wonderful on paper but is often much harder in practice.  Terms like trust, vulnerability, and love are often thrown out in conversation with enthusiasm and excitement, as they should be, but in practice they can be confusing, tense, and terrifying.  So how do we make sense of this crazy little thing called love?

Let’s start at the start…

I was sitting at the Nairobi International Airport waiting on a flight.  There was a boy there with his parents.  He was excited to the point of sliding across the floor and dancing.  This was his first flight alone.  From what I could tell he was traveling to India to visit family.  His Mother and Father were with him, definitely looking a little nervous about his first venture alone.  As he was dancing and sliding he looked over at me and I waved.  He suddenly stopped dancing and with some embarrassment he hid his face in his Mother’s dress.  He waited for a few seconds and then looked back to see if I was still there.  He smiled shyly and slowly began to slide and dance again.  The more confident he became the more he danced, finally to the point of showing off his dancing skills.  He knew that he had a captive audience and was working to keep that attention.  He slid harder and looked over more frequently to make sure I was seeing his athletic prowess at work.  I smiled again and he smiled back.  Sliding harder, to the point that he fell over, he became a embarrassed.  With that he ran back to his Mother’s side hiding once more.  He repeated the process two or three more times.  The reality was that he wanted attention, approval.  The more positive my response the more he risked.  He fell two or three more times but finally was sliding and falling all over with out embarrassment. 

By nature we all want to be acknowledged and accepted.  As we grow up our slides and dance moves become more complicated.  Our audience becomes much wider and our displays at times end up looking like the actions of a little boy sliding and falling.  We often grow embarrassed and run to the arms of safe behavior.  We rebuild walls of propriety and act, “normal” again.  The more we risk, the more normal the falls and slips become and eventually we learn to have a confidence in our own actions.  Sometimes we become excellent at embracing risks and performing in front of our imaginary audience.  There are times when we come across a very different Audience.  For men, we fall pray to the attention of the fairer sex.  We crave to be noticed and accepted and our slides and dances look more like an awkward mating ritual.  We try to look cool and in control.  We try to pull off the smooth dance moves of a George Clooney but often look more like Curious George.  This performance is one that we wrestle to balance.  Questions come to mind and insecurities mount.  We have to decide is it worth the risk of looking like a Curious George bouncing about awkwardly to gain the attention of the lovely object of our bumbling ritual.  As men we don’t do awkward well, though we do, do it often.  At the root of the insecurity we are asking two questions… One, are we acceptable? And secondly are we enough to maintain the attention of our new audience.

If you want to see this theory in practice just go out in public.  I play basketball at the local courts in Salmiya.  Mostly the audience is a group of sweaty guys talking trash and attempting to exert some form of social dominance on the court.  But, every so often there is that subtle feminine presence, it could be someones girlfriend or just a girl with her friends.  When, “She” is present everything changes.  The guys play harder, their look is more intense and they will try harder shots hoping to gain her attention and to prove to themselves that they are enough to hold that attention.  They basically want her to know that they are, “The Man”.

The lighter side of this is when those shots are missed and a guy looks more like a ball hog, receiving the criticism of his teammates.  He will quickly puff up his chest and become defensive.  He will return criticism with anger and sometimes will become even more of a ball hog or the opposite will simply pass the ball and not shoot any more.  Rarely do you see a player recognize the potential grace in his awkwardness, the gentle or not so gentle tug of his teammates and find balance as a player but mostly as a man playing a game with other men in the midst of a beautiful onlooker.

Why do we crave this attention so much?  Why, when you go to a club do you see the same dynamics at work?  You will see guys dressed in everything from Armani to Thug, strutting through the club as if it’s very existence dependent on their presence.  You’ll see guys come up with the craziest lines, silliest bravado, and some strange dance moves.  This of course is often reinforced by a few shots of liquid courage, which pushes them to risk more and balance less.  It is a truly amazing sight.  Most of the time this persona is met with rejection and the exchange of a fake phone number.  The guy walks away feeling like he’s won the trophy of manhood and in the background is a group of girls giggling and laughing.  The guy feels affirmed, that is until the following day when he dials the number and someone at Pizza Hut answers.

We crave to be accepted from the time we are a little child until we are the awkward guy on the basketball court or the king of disco fever performing intensely 30 years after disco died.  We have a deep need to be seen, to be known.  I think that we confuse being praised by our image for being truly accepted.  So our image grows regardless of whether it is genuine, fueled by insecurity or one too many shots of Cuervo.  Deep down we know that we are awkward and we crave to be accepted in our awkwardness but fear being seen as weak.

Girls, at this point I know you are all agreeing and probably remembering all the times you have been the object of this awkward show of testosterone and caveman behavior, but you are in this as well.  Being more graceful by nature and having twice as many neural connections for social engagement you are much more elegant in your awkwardness but it’s there…

I was recently talking to a good friend about her perception of herself and how she sees the world around her.  She is very graceful, quite beautiful actually.  When we got down to the facts, she shared that rare moment of fleeting composure.  Her eyes looked down and she said, “you know girls are so critical of each other.  It doesn’t matter what I wear, how smart I am, what I do for a living there are always girls looking for tiny cracks and imperfections.”  I was amazed.  I thought she was a really confident person and that she pretty much had it all together.  She continued, “you know what I really want?  I want to just walk out with no make up, no heels, just pretty much me without the covering of who I’m told I should be, and just be accepted for that.  Don’t get me wrong, I like it when men notice how I look, but there’s a lot more to me than my hair and my heels.”  I asked what it was like to have those moments where guys would do silly things to get her attention.  She said, “sometimes it’s sweet, you know?  Here’s this guy who’s probably really nice trying to be something that he’s not, I can see it from a mile away, but you know, he’s risking.  I like that.  Those other guys that pretty much live like they are the coolest act in town? Those are the ones who believe they really are that façade.  Then they want me to be in the façade with them and then it’s all about my hair and heels again.  I want more than that.  I’d rather have the silly guy that is awkward and knows it, at least he can see there’s more to me than that other stuff. “

I thought this was truly profound.  Guys, here’s the reality… They know we’re goofy and awkward.  It’s out there.  Girls, we know that beneath the layers of grace and beautiful eyes that there’s insecurity.  We see it. 

So that leaves us with one question.  What do we do now?

Here’s the deal. Over the next couple of weeks I want to know your feedback and stories.  I want to take those stories and begin a conversation that will hopefully lead us to an answer.  Guys?  What do you want?  How do you go about it? Ladies?  What is it in a guy that you treasure?  What do you really want from all of us awkward hairy humans?

I’m looking forward to hearing your input and also to continuing this conversation.

-JRS

The Side Nobody Knows.....

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After a few months and a little travel I am back at least for a week…  My silence however has not been due to some extended trip or even because of a hectic schedule, in fact, I usually write a lot more when things are hectic.

For those that have followed my blog for the past several years, even when it was on the other website, you know that I have a tendency to look at the world around and draw some sense of meaning from it.  Please don’t be disappointed, because in this entry I am going to shift gears.  I’m going to look inside, I want to share with you the side that nobody knows.  I know that we all have that inner monologue, kind of like a sitcom.  That inner voice that drives us and often expresses in our minds what we would never dare say out loud.  I can talk about that, but I want to go a step further.  Behind that sarcastic, skeptic, and often critical monologue is something else.  It is a side, that even as I write this, I struggle to grasp.  I have learned to ignore it, to let the monologue drown out this other side.

This year I have made my way around the region.  I made a couple of stops in Dubai, a quick day trip to Bahrain, and a week in India.  In ten more days I’m going to spend a week in Kenya.  The idea is to get away from the rush of daily life and spend a few days on safari in the jungle.  As excited as I am about seeing lions, hippos, monkeys(especially the monkeys), and what ever else might swing out of the trees, there is something more that I want.

There is this amazing feeling when you step out of an airport in a country that you’ve never visited.  You are immediately surrounded by the sounds of a different reality.  You hear languages that are unfamiliar, you see people who dress differently than you are used to and in that moment you face an enormous decision.  Do I play it safe, take on the normal mannerisms of the American tourist?  For those of you that have traveled abroad I’m sure you know what I am talking about.  It usually looks something like this, and this is a true to life example….  I had been in Mumbai for several days.  I had visited an island with a temple and carvings that were almost a thousand years old.  My hotel was directly infront of the famous Gateway to India and I spent some time at Mani Bhavan, this is where Gandhi had lived when he was in Mumbai. I had been to the local taverns, not the tourist traps, the ones that you have to know a little Hindi to order you Kingfisher and tikka.  By no means do I know Hindi..  I am slowly learning through Podcasts and friends who speak this beautiful language.  On this particular day however I was rushing to find souvenirs for my coworkers and friends. I was all over the main street in Colaba.  I walked up and down the streets bargaining with the vendors talking to different people that were either living there or visiting.  Needless to say the street was very crowded and was a buzz with visitors from all over the world.  I decided to depart from what had become my daily ritual of tikka at one particular local restaurant.  I decided to eat in a restaurant on the main street.  I am still adjusting to the categories on some menus as I travel.  You often have the options of chicken, beef or meat.  This usually leads me to the question if it’s not chicken, it’s not beef then what exactly is this mysterious other meat that has no specific name.  I ordered the lunch special and a large bottle of water.  As I was sitting I saw a group of tourists eating across from me. One man had a shirt that proclaimed George W. was his president, another had a bright orange hat with a State side college logo.  They were loud and demanding, calling the waiter over at least a dozen times.  They were making jokes about the staff assuming that no one around could speak English and if they could, would probably see the humor in what they were saying.   The look on the waiters face spoke volumes.  He was tired.  I’m sure he had worked extremely hard all day and now was dealing with the table from a nightmare.  I waited tables in college and I know that feeling all too well…  Being a counselor I did what all counselors would do in this situation (and in most situations), I sat back and observed.  At first I felt angry.  I was angry for the waiter.  I saw this kind man respond with amazing patience and even with a kind smile when complaint after complaint was shouted to him.  I remember dreading these parties when waited tables and on more than one occasion I had to put on the smile and wait patiently as people complained about things that I had no control over, it’s not fun.

After twenty minutes I heard a shout… “Hey!... Hey!... You American?” It rang out with a deep southern draw.  For a moment I thought I was somewhere in Arkansas or Louisiana.. 

I told you in the opening I was coming from a different direction in this entry so here it is.  I’m going to give you the dirt. I’m going to give you every reason to not read another entry I ever write… I’m going to let you in to the mess that is me.

I sat, still eating the plate of noodles in front of me.  My head began to rush. I had been so successful all week, just blending in with the scenery, just being.  I had hung out the previous night with a taxi driver who spoke about as much English as I spoke Hindi.   We spoke the common language of beer at a local tavern.  We sat for two hours playing an app on my Ipad just laughing in those awkward moments when we didn’t know the right words.  I wasn’t proclaiming some national pride, I was waiving the red white and blue.  I just felt comfortable being a guy in a tavern hanging out with another guy playing ludo and laughing.  I wasn’t analyzing nonverbal, my hypervigilance was at rest.    I didn’t feel a need to compensate with a flag waving session.  It was a great moment and I wanted to drink in every second of it..(pun intended)

Now, sitting in front of a group of people that were doing the very thing that I had intentionally avoided I was faced with a huge decision…  I wish I could say I had the perfect answer.. In my mind I looked at the group and my first thought was, “Bro the election was four years ago move on”.  I sat for what felt like an eternity trying to decided how do I respond in a way that shows friendliness and yet still offered me the distance to not be lumped in with these guys.  For a moment I felt like such a mess.  These seemed like nice American people.  If I had seen them at the local watering hole in Florida I’m sure it would have been a different story.  My perception of them would be completely different.  They probably wouldn’t be in that awkward state of compensating for their insecurity of being in an environment that felt totally foreign to them.  I might have been playing Ludo with one of them for goodness sake.. Who knows…

The lasting thought, the one that produced action was so off the wall and out of no where that I just went with it.  I realized, they didn’t really know if I was American that’s why they were asking, and I did spend eight years studying different languages.. I knew that Koine or Attic Greek wouldn’t do much for me, plus I wouldn’t even remember where to start, not to mention that they’re both dead languages..  There was one hope… I had spent six years studying Spanish!  Spanish… That was it… Now what do I remember from all over those declensions and conjugations.. Aaaahhhh!!! Of course!  Then without thinking the word flowed out in my best Spanish accent… “Como?”  I crumbled to my pride and went for a language that no one would know.  I’m in India, in Mumbai and I’m being yelled at by a group of Americans…  Como?  It fit and before I could really process it, it was out there.

The man looked at me with a puzzled expression.   Before he could gain a sense of composure more Spanish popped out from that vast expanse deep within the recesses of classes past.  Como?  Lo siento, no yo hablo un poquito Ingles.  How accurate my recitation was I have no idea.  The man’s expression changed from confusion to disregard.  With a brush off hand movement and a laugh he said nevermind.  Then he went on to tell his companions that you can’t find an American anywhere in this place.

I reflected on this for the rest of the day.  Was I ashamed of my own heritage?  I have always been a huge supporter of the States and was very active in the 2008 campaign.  I volunteered hours and hours at the local campaign headquarters.  I felt this deep sense of guilt.  I thought over and over at how my response to these guys was to intentionally speak yet another foreign language to these obviously confused visitors.

The more I thought about it though my ideas evolved.  I realized that it wasn’t about nationality.  Those were the details that I noticed directly seated in front of me.  What it came down to was this.  To jump in to that conversation I would have had to step out of my comfort zone.  I would have had to decide to take a position in a limited public place saying, “yep there with me”.  It was at all about nationality.  In this sense even in the States I avoid these compensating advertisements of party pride and allegiance to college football teams that play for schools that the majority of the fans never attended.  The football thing is it’s own topic entirely.. I could blog for days about that…

I have dark hair, an olive complexion and Hazel eyes.  I look every bit the Mediterranean many do in this region.  I can blend.  Just as the guys in the restaurant were compensating by proclaim their various national allegiances I was doing the same.  I was compensating, not only that but I went deeper.  I am by no means even fluent in Spanish.

See in the moment I was faced with a huge dilemma.  Do I step out of a comfort zone that allows me to just exist without the stigmas that I fear or do I risk?  This is not a question of nationality at all and as a matter of fact it is a deeper insecurity.  It’s about intimacy.  I realized that I would rather dive deeper in to my own camouflage than risk meeting people that exist outside of my comfort zone.  I see it all the time in counseling.  We all do this to some degree.  It looks different for each person but what it comes down to is this.  I want to have intimacy but I don’t want to risk.  The truth is that by it’s very nature intimacy is risk at every single level.

I realized that I have had friendships that could have been full of so much depth and joy but I responded with the emotional equivalent of Como?  Now I’m going to let you into a little secret about therapists.  For those of you that are therapists I know that this is like a magician that says look this is how you do that trick, it’s not real magic…lol  For those of you that are not therapists you might already know this.  The safest place to sit in a counselors office is the counselors chair.  We are trained to nod, encourage, to even proclaim the anthem of Jung, Erikson, or for the less vetted therapists Dr. Phil.  We observe, we wait, we long for our clients to make that connection and to experience the intimacy that they have long avoided but it doesn’t mean that we are any better at the practice of the sermon that we preach than anyone else.  So if you attend therapy, know that you are by far the bravest person in the room.

I have run in packs of therapists that in their free time stimulate themselves with amazing stories of self-discovery and at times over compensating non-verbal gestures.  These are our George W. shirts, our college mascot hats and worst of all the Halloween masks that we often wear through out the year.  Please know that I am not saying that all therapists are fake, or not real people.   Quite the opposite.  We have the training to have the most complex facades.  I can share stories all day, I can emote with the best of them.  Why?  Because at the end of the day there is a side of me that very few know, that aches to be known.  All the training, all the hours in the safe chair in my office they just allow me the position to appear like I have answers.  In theory and in therapy sure.. We are trained observers but observers by their nature are great at watching and describing in brilliant detail what they see.  I have come to the conclusion that when looking for a therapist the vetting process should consist of two questions..  As much of an antagonist as I am of CBT the criteria has nothing to do with theoretical orientation.  It comes down to two questions.

            What is your façade?

            Who knows the real you?

If the answer is anything other than honest reflection and a clear answer… Run…  No one and I will say it again no one escapes the façade on some level and if there is no outlet for the real person behind the therapist then the client becomes the outlet.  I have my façade just like everyone else but over the years I have learned that I have to have an outlet.

Many of you know that I live in Kuwait.  I have been here a little over two years my façade has been tested time and time again.  I have made more than my fair share of weepy phone calls to close friends.  Not with eloquence most of the times just weeping and venting.  My friends always prove that they love me for the weepy mess.  I think that often times they tolerate the therapist waiting for that moment to see the side that nobody knows.

-JRS