Musings On Love: Attraction

There is something cathartic and ceaselessly amusing in simply sitting back, and watching a plump house pet. Whether impossibly cute or entirely repugnant, observing their hastened waddle across a newly mopped kitchen floor, the way they labor to keep up with the nimbler, more lithe animals of the neighborhood, chase around their zigzagging food bowl, slosh through their drinking water, or suffer through the heat of the day just makes my life seem suddenly less of a struggle.

With a wide grin I cannot fully explain, I pat its fur-coated back fat, and while ruffling its jowls with both hands I chuckle with affectionate empathy, and say in my baby voice, "Oh, you poor little bastard!"

And yet, when they rest their heavy, wet faces on your lap, or spin their awkward fuzzy bodies into a pile on top of you, you can’t help but be taken with the genuine enthusiasm for where they are and surprisingly warm, well meaning nature. There is nowhere in the world they would rather be, and it shows. Despite the drool and the sloppy kisses, you feel the same way.

I have witnessed relationships that seem to function in MUCH the same manner.

I have known guys far less than perfect who defied all shallow peer expectations by charming the hearts and minds of class-A beauties. From a distance it seems as though these women, intelligent, attractive, and talented have either based their choice solely on commodity, or that strange, love-pity hybrid. But up close, astonishingly, they are very much in love, or are well on their way. They connect on every level; enjoying each others company, and a mutual physical and emotional spark.

Over time I came to view the good fortune of these peers with a mixture of satisfaction and frustration. On one hand it was great to see people of real substance and goodness come away with something great, desirable, and meaningful. On the other hand, it has truly sucked to see other people hook things that were great, desirable and meaningful.

I suppose it’s because I came to view myself in the same light. While not fat, or hairy, I believe I too possess a certain ragamuffin dog appeal, like the male lead from Lady and the Tramp, or a canine Oliver Twist. A bit shy, ever loyal and well meaning, I’m the thin, possibly underfed, under loved pup with a heart of gold and a patch of dingy brown fur over his eye that you can’t fathom, because the rest of me is off-white in color. I’ve got the big eyes that howl "Take me home!" My nubs of ears suggest I made a little extra scratch wrestling raccoons in back alleys. If I had a resume attached to my makeshift, fishbone collar, it may read:

*Affectionate
*Works well with other pets (and children)
*Can herd sheep (and children)
*LOVES peanut-butter (...)
*Does not bite (too hard...)
*Guard Dog: will watch the house, the tv, the stove (and children)
*Toilet trained
*Proficient in sit, lie down, play dead, fetch, reverse-lie down, etc...

...Among other things.

There may be this desire for you to throw money at me. Perhaps that’s the reason I might be seen with a hobo at first.

So I lack the superficial purebred features of a Great Dane, or the intimidation factor of a Rottweiler. I can’t compete with a Golden Retriever in ruggedness either, but so what? Those are just images, is any of that honestly important? I’m the dog you really want. I can jump through all the hoops, and more.

Take me home, Dammit!

Repeatedly Reproached, or kicked to the roadside, I couldn’t understand what I was doing wrong. Were people really that critical, and elitist? Well, Some are for sure.

Then my mind got moving...

There is another familiar side to the image I’m channeling. It’s one of a dog that always seems to be cold, and shivering. It sometimes cloisters itself away rather than approach people. Upon being reached out to, it may quiver nervously, a clear sign it’s been hurt before. Disaffected, it projects itself as though there is something wrong with it, as though it were somehow aware that that brown patch doesn’t match the rest of it. Hopeful, it may follow you around after this.

The revelation that hit me was a bit painful.

If such an animal were to amble over to me seeking affection I would find myself thinking, "Hell, this thing needs SHOTS, not hugs and kisses." I would approach it from a strict distance with an obligatory kindness, and respect mixed with sprinklings of pity and discomfort.

I suppose if I couldn’t imagine letting my canine alter ego bury its head in my lap, I couldn’t much less imagine a woman allowing my less shaggy true self to do the same in hers.

...

Oh I get it; it’s a post about how his love life sucks!

Well, no, not entirely. This isn’t designed to be a bitter, self-loathing rant. I am not weeping with my hands in the air, beckoning the love deities yelling WHY?! If that were the case, I would have learned nothing at all. Instead, more so than being an outlet, I hope this shines a spotlight on an understanding I’ve come to that maybe will help other nice guys like me.

At almost twenty-four, I learned these lessons late. I’ve had my heart bruised many times to finally grasp them.

There is this loud and clear projection of something defined and unique, this confident embodiment of what people believe, BY those people. It is what attracts. Intrigues. Captivates. It is sexy.

In Neil Gaiman’s novel, American Gods, Loki, the trickster from the Norse pantheon illustrates this point perfectly when he describes the essence of god-hood to the novel’s protagonist Shadow:

"It’s not magic. It’s about being you, but the you that people believe in. It’s about being the concentrated, magnified essence of you. It’s about becoming thunder, or the power of a moving horse, or wisdom. You take all the belief and become bigger, cooler, more than human. You crystallize."

But what proof is there when you don’t believe it yourself? Or if the projector is broken or damaged, or the essence fractured somehow? People can’t believe in, or grow with something that isn’t whole.

Sure those awkward looking pets may seem pathetic at first, but on the other hand, a stately fat English bulldog seems to thoroughly enjoy the simpler things in its life, and in doing so, reminds and encourages you to do the same. They run about unselfconsciously with such vigor, unaware of any of the shortcomings or imperfections I or anyone else may perceive about them. Wherever they are headed, they’re well on their way.

It’s in those very subtle displays that they let what is best in themselves shine, and because of that, bring out the best in whomever they are around.

In the end, that’s one of the most meaningful, heartfelt compliments anyone can hear:

"I am at my best, when I am with you."

So, if the pieces are all in place, if you believe that you can breathe fire, then breathe it: brightly, fiercely, whatever shade or color it is. Maybe next time out proves greater than just another lesson to be learned. (Try not to burn anyone of course...)