resolution: be a man

At one time, I was one of two tad-older members of a group of relatively young people. The other elder took care of everyone: counseled, fed, drove. When time came for her departure, some looked to me to fill her soccer mom shoes.

"I don't do mom," I clarified. "But I can be your hard-ass, emotionally distant father figure."

In typical egomaniacal fashion, I've long considered myself to be more of a man than most boys I know. (Uh... present readers excluded, of course.) So I've fallen head over heels with this online guide to manliness. It contains such practical gems as "How to Give and Take Criticism Like a Man" and "How to End a Relationship Like a Man." Some of the tips (ex. "always end it in person"), as painfully obvious as warning label attached to consumer products (ex. "do not set tree on fire"), make clear that while certain instructions are male-specific, most fall in the more general category of "How to Behave Like a Grown Person."

I resolve to work on my "manliness" in the coming year, to be more of a considerate adult who exercises common sense and decency. Or, at the very least, to avoid bursting into tears and throwing up in response to criticism.

lucked out

I made plans to have dinner with a friend tonight. I left work early, shopped, cooked, shoved my mess into closets. When my guest arrived, I went to let her into my building. A split second after my door locked behind me, I realized that my keys were on the other side.

But somehow, I feel more cheerful at the end of this night than I did at its start. Some contributing factors:

• Unable to enter my apartment, my friend and I walked to a nearby restaurant, ate, then lingered well after we finished our meal. Restaurant within walking distance: plus 3.
• On our way to the restaurant, we heard helicopters overhead and saw a police cruiser zoom past, all part of a pursuit that ended a block down the street. Police pursuit on my street: minus 1. Abundant police presence in general: plus 1.
• After dinner, my friend and I returned to my apartment and made valiant efforts to break in. But the window were placed too high and the lock on the door refused to succumb to tampering. Uncompromising security: plus 5.
• As I was fidgeting with the door, my downstairs neighbor - who I've yelled at through the floorboards - offered his condolences... then offered us bottled water. Good neighbor: plus 2. Killing me with kindness: plus 3.
  
• While rummaging through my friend's trunk for tools to escalate our attempted breaking-and-entering, the apartment manager - also my next-door neighbor - returned home from an evening of Christmas caroling with her grand-daughter. After expressing compassion for my plight, she quickly located a set of keys for my apartment, did not charge me a fee (as she was entitled under the terms of the lease) and gave me a big hug to warm me up. Sweet apartment manager: plus 5. Fee waiver: plus 1.
• Even though she was promised a home-cooked meal, my friend bought me dinner, stayed and waited with me (despite my urgings for her to go home) until I was let back in and left me a bottle of wine. Good company: plus 10. Good wine: plus 3.

Overall, not a bad tally for getting locked out on a cold night.

retainers

I had my orthodontic braces removed the summer before my senior year in high school. The elation of the moment was dampened by stern instructions to make nice with my new friends - retainers - on a nightly basis. I wasn't altogether released; I was merely paroled.

I complied for a couple of years. Then my wisdom teeth started their migration and it became increasingly painful to use the top half of the retainers. So one day, I simply stopped trying to make it work.

Earlier this year, I stopped using the bottom half. My teeth of wisdom had been pulled, I wasn't traveling, the retainer had not been lost. I simply grew tired of the restraint and the daily discipline. And I knew that with each passing night, it would be increasingly difficult, and eventually impossible, to ever fit it on again. At some point, my teeth would move beyond restoration and become irreconcilable with the shape of the retainer.

About a month ago, the same thing happened in a friendship. Unspoken retainers stand guard in every relationship and in a moment of hubris or innocent lapse of judgment, we ventured beyond those boundaries. We saw the line as we crossed it. We expressed confidence that our friendship would hold up given its age, given our maturity.

We were wrong.

Pride goeth before the fall, then exacerbates the injury. It would cause some pain and discomfort to return to the old shape of things, but that's not yet impossible. And I know, with each passing day, as we cradle our egos and lick our wounds in our respective corners, waiting for the other to make the first move, the task grows bigger.

It seems a lose-lose situation. I'd feel like I'd lost if I make an effort now, and I know that I'd lose if I don't.

and the winner is...

I spent Friday night strolling through "the Grove" in Los Angeles. While its name conjures trees bearing oranges, the Grove is actually an outdoor shopping center complete with shops, restaurants, a trolley and a dancing water fountain. In December, it also boasts a giant Christmas tree, Santa and 12 reindeers suspended in mid-air and a larger-than-life gingerbread house. At night, it "snows" on the hour.

Yes, yes; it is a tacky hot mess. But I love it. The lights, the scent of pine, the music, the color scheme, the hot beverages. It's the one time of the year when the schmaltzy schmuck in me revels in plain view.

Then I see the long line of parents and children waiting to meet Santa (for no small fee)... And I grow slowly livid. Why do parents do this, sell Santa to their own kids? Some people may compare this to parents telling their kids to believe in God. But parents who tell their kids about God actually believe in God. No adult in his or her right mind actually believes in Santa Claus. So parents who encourage their children to believe in Santa are intentionally deceiving their children and encouraging them to believe in a bald-faced lie. And to what end? Is it really better for kids to believe that a stranger will reward them for being good, than for them to know that their parents will give them good things simply because they're loved?

Meanwhile, atheists are paying big bucks for bus ads challenging the existence of God, Christians are buying counter-ads and Muslims are buying counter-counter-ads. Santa, however, gets a pass. And Madison Avenue, Santa's perpetuator-in-chief, pockets all the change.

neither here nor there

It's that time again.

 

No, I'm not talking about the commercial extravaganza masquerading as a religious holiday.  I'm talking about the recurring moments in life when I'm steps away from making a decision that would require some sort of longish-term commitment.  Something about these decisions - even ones as minor as signing a one-year lease - sets off five-alarm panics and makes me want to run for the hills.  

 

The problem - my problem - with commitments is that they eliminate options.  And the option that I most fear losing is the option to go, to leave here and be there.  Because the grass is always greener there.  Sure enough, a couple of days after I moved into my new place, I learned that another unit is available for the same price in the same building.  That unit has a ceiling fan and a newer refrigerator.  I bet it gets better light, is adjacent to quieter neighbors and comes with magical fairies who would do the dishes and the laundry while I'm at work. 

 

The problem with my problem with commitment is that life can't be lived in limbo.  The only way to keep all options open is to do absolutely nothing, to never settle into a community or invest in relationships, to always be merely physically present but mentally and emotionally absent from my present circumstances.  I could entertain all of my options in theory or actually exercise a few of them in reality; surely the latter is the only rational option.  And surely I am too old to still be itching for instability. 

 

As a few panic-inducing decisions loom the near future, I resort to the method that has served me adequately in the recent past: take some deep breaths, let my rational side take over long enough to make the necessary decision, then yield to my emotional side for an extended period of melodramatic mourning over the death of freedom and all that I hold dear.