But of course, on Sad Men’s Day, what would one expect from me but some rumination on the helplessness of my situation?
It’s not that I don’t believe that the rational, scientific efforts I use in every other part of my life won’t work for love. It is a rather naive view that somehow we humans aren’t predictable, that we can’t make (fake?) ourselves attractive to others. Everyone has buttons that can be pushed.
However, I don’t want to think of love in that way which would work easiest. Just because it is as much a matching problem as finding a job doesn’t mean that we must treating finding a girlfriend the same way. There is a fundamental desire to work in a different light, to not have one’s entire life conform to one strict philosophy, to keep some parts of this world left to wonder. So even if I as a rational agent don’t believe in true love, I desperately want to. I don’t want to prepare for dating as I would a job interview. And I am willing to give up that success in order to keep this belief alive. Perhaps this is undue stubbornness on my part. But we are made to compromise on everything else in life that I think maybe this is somewhere where I can take a stand. At least you know now how to be alone for 27 Valentine’s days.
Part of the problem is that I’m not even sure what I want, or what I could even offer. I don’t want someone to love me for material reasons, and so I do not pursue wealth. I also don’t think anyone will love me for my mind. I’m not dumb, but I’m no genius, either. Perhaps it’s because my cohort is so amazing, or maybe because I don’t like myself all that much, but if you’re my friend, chances are I think you’re stronger, smarter, and sexier than me. And no one will love me for my physical self, I can guarantee you that. So what else is there left for me to give? I can only offer my flawed self.
I do know, though, that there are three people in the world who would love me for as me. And the record shows that I could be a better son and a better brother.
But shouldn’t love be something simple? Life is complicated enough as it is without all these machinations, speaking obtusely, complicated societal rules of engagement. Surely someone else also sees through the masque; truth is simpler than fiction.
All of this is to say that I am confused and alone, as always. It is silly to think that we were put on this world to be happy. Most of us suffer, and it’s not hard for me to believe that love is only for the lucky and the strong. So until inspiration hits, I will wait until my grave, and I will wait.