Giving Up, Letting Go

A post that's way too short for its complicated topic:

"Giving up" on marriage or romantic relationships is often seen as the most pathetic, rock-bottom thing that someone could do in our culture. Depending on the circles in which you socialize, it could be much worse than giving up on your education, career, religion, the pursuit you are most talented at, or pretty much anything else. Isn't that odd? But although it might sound even odder, I think my problem is that I haven't given up enough. Let me explain. I don't think there's anything wrong with giving up on marriage etc., as long as you can feel like this was your choice. But I think it can cause a lot of psychological turmoil when you try to move on, but have nothing to move on to. I learned this very clearly when my term at a certain job ended. I had lofty ideas about "moving on" and going on to better things, but since I actually had no idea what those things were, I ended up extremely frustrated. Actually, the whole concept seems to be a theme in my life. And it's the same thing with marriage etc. When there's no clear alternative to it, it can be hard to give up completely. So you're left in this weird mental netherworld.

As we've seen, I haven't exactly been adept at creating, or even defining, the "alternative relationships" I talk about. But does the alternative need to be a relationship at all? Marriage etc is such a huge pressure that a shadowy, inarticulate goal can't go up against it. I think this is true, but I don't know how to visualize it. At least I know there are others muddling through the same thing with me. I'll muse some more on this, and see if I can come up with anything more useful.

More Involved, More Determined

A little over a year ago, I did a series on historical BFFs (best friends forever!). One pair that I wrote about were Paul Cezanne (painter) and Emile Zola (writer). I had no reason to think I'd ever mention them again...this is a blog about asexuality, after all. But I recently went to an Impressionist painting exhibit where I saw this quote on the wall, and just knew I had to blog about it (Thanks to my mom for risking a stern talking-to in order to take a picture of it for me):

In 1869...Manet invited me to join him every evening in a cafe [Cafe Guerbois] in the Batignolles quarter, where he and his friends would gather and talk after leaving their ateliers. There I met Fantin-Latour, Cezanne, and Degas...the art critic Duranty, Emile Zola, who was then embarking on his literary career, as well as some others. I myself brought along Sisley, Bazille, and Renoir. Nothing was more interesting than our discussions, with their perpetual clash of opinions. They sharpened one's wits, encouraged frank and impartial inquiry, and provided enthusiasm that kept us going for weeks and weeks until our ideas took final shape. One always came away feeling more involved, more determined, and thinking more clearly and distinctly. (Claude Monet)

It sort of reminded me of this, the "Epicurean" living arrangement. But even more so, it reminded me of this-- my own dream of a personal "utopia" involving a community of creative types. Oddly enough, what impressed me even more than the assembled names was the fact that they all met daily in the same cafe. It sounds like a simple thing, maybe, but it seems so elusive to our 2010 world. Even if you exchanged "Batignolles quarter" with "Duluth" and the famous artists for amateurs, something about their meetings and the way they felt about them would have still touched me.

Their gatherings met many of my "pillars of community": A shared purpose, individual fulfillment (at least in Monet's view), commitment, a meeting place and exceedingly regular contact. And from the quote, it all seemed enjoyable. That exhilaration described by Monet is something that I've come to associate with community. I think a lot of people have gotten the idea that you can only feel that kind of excitement through romantic love, but I find that to be an overly narrow view, and an undersell of community.

We all know that attraction tends to happen spontaneously, whichever sorts of attraction you experience. But if you wanted to, say, get married, you'd have some idea of a strategy for that-- dating online or in meatspace, getting friends to set you up with their friends, going to places where your preferred gender congregates. But if you want community, there's not a lot of common wisdom on how to go about that. There are no rules. I don't think I'm capable of writing them, and I'm not even sure there should be any. But in this series that I'm sneaking on you folks, this nuts and bolts discussion of community, I want to at least talk strategy.

And because pop culture only gets you so far, here's my favorite painting from the exhibit:

"The Bridge at Maincy" by Cezanne. I wish I could walk into that painting and stand on the bridge for awhile. I feel similarly about this one, "Snow at Louveciennes" by Sisley:

I love those random little alleyways that you can find in some places. Sadly there aren't a lot of them in the suburbs.

Long-Term Single Men: Ruskin Bond

I talked about women who are single for the long haul, so here's a real-world male example. Last week, my friend A. was telling me about an author she really likes, Ruskin Bond. I'd never heard of him, but he's well-known in India, where he and A. are both from. She told me a little about his life, and it seems like he was able to come up with a solution to the "dying alone" thing that's working for him. The fruits of an internet search imply that Bond has been a life-long bachelor, and that his first love was India itself. His admiration for the country, its people, and its natural beauty seem to comprise a large portion of his works. As A. tells it, Bond was living alone when he took in an orphaned boy. Now in his 70's, Bond lives with his adopted son, his son's wife, and their children (I just hope they have a big house). He says in this interview:

I feel humbled by their love. I may have adopted Prem, but they all have adopted me. They have looked after me so well, for so long. They made it possible for me to write. They took care of the worries of keeping a home, all I did was write. My grandchildren are my joy.

I thought it was interesting how the interviewer said "You are a great grandfather now, without having to marry!" as if Bond had found this awesome loophole. And maybe he did. All I know is that when it comes to relationships, we need more "loopholes". If being surrounded by a big family is what you dream of, it turns out that there's more than one way to get there.

This book seems to explain some of Bond's views on sexuality, at least as they appear in his writings:

Hence anyone who approaches Bond with the hope of enjoying boy-meets-girl romance would surely be sorely disappointed. What Bond tries to portray in his various short stories and novels, is neither physical attraction nor platonic relationship, it is the Indian mysticism of love that permeates the entire creation. (pg. 68, "Ruskin Bond of India" by Norah Nivedita Shaw)

Whoa...*bobs head around as if wearing 3-d glasses*

My Own Not-So-Private Utopia

"Yet one of the things that gets in the way of that struggle is the ingrained belief that our deep needs for loving community are actually aberrations and holdovers from childhood fantasies or immature yearnings for utopia that the mature individual will eventually overcome (175)."
--Michael Lerner, Surplus Powerlessness

When I read that, I did a double-take-- I felt like I was reading something out of my own journal. I've longed to feel a sense of community for as long as I can remember, and my interest in community-building is the main motivator behind my activities in the asexoverse. I know I'm not alone-- that most people, sexual or asexual, yearn for community too, even if they can't name the feeling (this is what Lerner writes, as well). However, it's not something that's usually spoken of. This is something I wrote in my journal on April 1st, 2006:

Ever since I read that article on Manchester in the 80's, I've been thinking about how cool it would be to be part of a minor cultural renaissance. Find my own Manchester to put on the map, you know? Living in a random town somewhere with a small group of artsy people, I'd record my friend's band, maybe play some keyboards on it, the people living next door would do the cover art and we'd sell it at the record store down the street. We'd get picked up by a small label, become a cult classic, spawn a few imitators and never be filthy rich. And of course we'd still meet at the pizza shop or whatever local place we've been frequenting since the beginning. I have no idea if this sort of life exists exists or is even possible, but if it did, I think I would be satisfied with it...I think...that what I really want is to be a part of a movement, or at least feel like a part of one. Even if it was auxiliary, or I didn't accomplish much, or I didn't realize it at the time, I guess I've always been a part of something...until now. And I wish I didn't care, but I do.

When I wrote this, I was almost about to graduate from college, and knew little of the world outside of school. I had no idea what the future might hold for me. Looking back, this entry strikes me as something that might look strange to someone who wasn't me and also a bit sad. Strange, because even though this was a vision of my future, it contained no details about where I lived, what job I had, if I was still single or not, or any of those details. Sad because I hardly wanted to rule the world. I just wanted to record an album that some people liked, a relatively minor thing, but I still had "no idea if this sort of life exists or is even possible". Even so, I gave voice to something that was a big dream for me. Today, it almost frightens me to think too much of that dream, and it definitely feels like a faraway utopia; I don't know how to connect the life I want and the life I have. Is that everyone's issue?

I know this post probably seems even more depressing than the last one, but Lerner's whole point is that this stuff shouldn't be. It should give us some hope, maybe, that other people feel the same things we do, even if those things are rarely mentioned and beaten down in our culture. Apparently, our desire for community is part of a "human essence" that even the most powerful forces can't take away. At any rate, I'm a very "solutions-focused" person and I know that my dream will never have any chance of manifesting if I keep it a secret. Sure, the chances may not be good for it now, but they're zero if I never tell anyone about it.

(Also, I did ask for "awkward" and not "highly disturbing" depictions of sex. However, I have to declare Gatto the winner of this challenge. Thanks for being a longtime reader, oh feline one. If you dare, check the original post for his winning comment.)

The Trap

The Trap, a 2007 book by Daniel Brook, pretty much describes my life. It's about intelligent liberal-arts grads from well-off families who, by way of America's third-world level economic inequalities, are forced between corporate jobs (and never seeing their families again) or nonprofit or public interest work and poverty. Seeing as I have no idea how any corporation would ever hire me, I'm pretty much stuck with the poverty.

But it's the effect that "the trap" has on relationships which interests me most for my purposes here. Brook talks about a return to Victorian social mores in which people are yet again feeling forced to marry for money as the cost of living climbs. Emily, a teacher in Northern California (I guess this is supposed to be me, although I'm not a teacher), is quoted as saying: "Talking with my other friends who are teachers, who aren't married, most of them are saying 'I'm a girl'--er, 'I'm a woman, I'm a teacher, I don't make that much money. I better marry someone who makes at least this much or I won't be able to buy a house" (47). True, if Emily lived in, say, Omaha, maybe she could realize her dream. But in the not-so-distant past, people didn't have to choose between leaving their friends, families and jobs and home ownership.

Brook continues, "In the egalitarian economy of the 1950s, a single female teacher willing to buck the social pressure to marry could buy a house on her own. Despite our modern mores, in many parts of the country, this is no longer the case. Today's wealth distribution resembles that of the Victorian Age more than the 1950s, and it is shaping social life accordingly" (48). This wealth distribution has, indeed, impacted my own relationships (and my longtime ambition to own my own home). I had to leave my Inner Sunset neighborhood, where I felt some small sense of community, and move to another area in which I knew no one. Then, I had to move out of San Francisco all together. I've been described as having "a bohemian soul", and sadly for our times, this is true. As much as I want to cultivate relationships with my fellow starving artists and social change agents, there are no bohemian neighborhood left, like the North Beach of yore, where I can go and find them. As young idealists are constantly forced to move due to the rising cost of living, it's much harder to form those networks.

It's all enough to make you want to try to marry for money.

Well, at least the next post will be a happy one...report of the Pride parade!

Optimism from an Economic Casualty

After my sad story about being kicked out of my house by a crazyperson, I think it's time for a spot of optimism, don't you? Here's some great things about living with my mom and sister:

• Best of all, to live with people who love me! Okay, it's a little corny, but I love my family and get along with them most of the time. Even if I annoy them, they're genetically programmed not to kill me, which is nice.


• My own bathroom. BOOYAH.


• Modern conveniences previously unseen in San Francisco, such as a dishwasher and more than one power outlet in my room.


• My very own brand-new (okay, 1995) car!


• Proximity to some cool places, like Target and Yumi Yogurt, and a park that is, apparently, serviced by an honest-to-goodness ice cream truck.


• Flatter land, enabling easier bicycling.


• The possibility that my mom will actually feed me sometimes, so I don't have to constantly be wondering what I'm going to eat.

Hmm, I may not want to ever leave...

Anatomy of a Fool

So, I thought I'd provide a nice little arc and write about the conclusion of my thanks-to-Craigslist living situation. I sort of got kicked out of the house at the end of April, when the guy who's been living there the longest said that he wanted the rest of us to leave and his friends to move in. Maybe that was for the best, since I wasn't crazy about living there anyway. So, I'll be moving in with my mom and sister this month. (I remember multiple people telling me before that living with family as an adult is a great unsung option, and now I get to see for myself. Maybe all this pressure to live away from your family is just "the man" trying to get you to work more and spend more money, so living with family is actually pretty radical?) Anyway, this would all work out somewhat fine, if not for the fact that the first housemate apparently stole our security deposits to pay his own rent, and the landlord is just as flaky as he is. I really want to see that money again, but maybe, as a person who isn't motivated by money, money really isn't attracted to me, either. That really seems to be the case.

This was an extremely expensive, extremely annoying lesson that is going to make me paranoid about people I don't know for quite some time. Sorry to be a total downer, but I'm not sure what else to say.

Strangers in the Night, Second and Final Part

I don't want to admit what I'm about to admit. It feels like an admission of some horrible , embarrassing weakness. But I'm not sure why this is, so I might as well come out and say it: I like to come back to my house at the end of the day and know roughly what to expect there.

I know, I know, I'm a huge wuss. You'd think I have some kind of aversion to adventure, but that's not true at all: I've climbed Mount Fuji in a monsoon, worn Hawaiian-print pants, and came out as asexual. I think that because I'm a writer, I can handle any weird situation that happens to me. You know, I can just use it later for material. However, I still want my home to be my relatively uneventful castle. Is that really so strange?

And this is the problem of living with strangers-- a problem that I think asexuals in the San Franciscos, Londons, and New York Cities of the world are especially likely to face. Maybe I'm just extrapolating my own situation to other people-- I tend to do that. But I really do think that asexuals, who are less likely to have live-in partners, are more likely to live in inadequate situations. When I lived by myself, this was the most unusual thing that happened: I came back from a trip to find that my friend who had been cat-sitting had left the hot water running in the bathroom, and every surface in the apartment was covered with condensation. I can't remember walking into any unexpected circumstances in my time living with friends. I usually just came home to people sitting around playing MarioKart. But when you live with strangers, you're never quite sure what will happen. You could come home to your housemates doing anything from building a spare room to growing marijuana in the garage to having their friends live in the house while they're on vacation. All that, plus sharing a cubicle with 5 people during the day, is just more than I can handle.

I feel like as a "young person", I should be able to take this all in stride. But saying I "should" do something doesn't change anything. You've probably heard of Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs-- frankly, I'm tired of hearing of it. But from my recent experiences, I've been able to come up with my own hierarchy of living situations. Here it is, from best to worst:

• Living with people I know, whom I like, and who would be good housemates (similar neatness levels, schedules, etc).


• Living by myself.


• Living with people I know and like, but who may not be compatible in living styles.
  
• Living with people I know, but not well enough to know if I like them.
  
• Living with strangers.


• Living with people I know and don't like (I tend to think the devil you don't know is worth a shot).

I don't know why I value "living situations" so highly-- enough to make them a semi-regular topic on this blog. I wish I could just live anywhere, but apparently, I get extremely indignant if a place isn't up to my standards. While I can joke about crashing on the Velvet Undergrounds' manager's couch a la Jonathan Richman, I'd find doing that for more than about a week profoundly unsettling.

My current situation would be fine-- and not even worth mentioning-- if it had a forseeable end. But it doesn't. Even though the economy is in the outhouse, rents have stayed stubbornly astronomical here. This isn't just a personal problem or an asexual problem-- it's a social problem, especially in places like San Francisco. I've talked here before about how asexuals seem to have greater rates of mental illness. But mental illness, and stress-related illnesses, are on the rise for everyone. I think a lot of this could be ameliorated (woot, SAT word) if we just had a little more peace, quiet, and personal space. Sure, some of us have chemical imbalances in our brains. I am absolutely not making light of anyone's problems, especially when I've had them myself. But should we really be trying to adapt to a crazed world? According to the Stoics, the key to happiness is living life in accordance with nature. How I'm supposed to do this in such unnatural surroundings remains largely a mystery.

Strangers in the Night

A new label has been added: Living situations. I think that where you live and with whom is important in terms of relationships, but unless those relationships are romantic (ie, how to combine your home decor with that of your spouse), living situations are rarely talked about past college roommate issues. So guess what I'm going to do? Yep, that's right, talk about them.

Up until last month, I lived with my 2 cats in a large (although decrepit and overpriced) studio apartment here in San Francisco. Then, the cats and I moved to a house on the other side of town. We now live with two people, a dog, and another cat. The reason for this move was mostly financial-- my rent is now a little more than half of what it was before. But I was also often lonely living by myself, and I thought living with other folks would be a nice change. It turns out that may or may not be true. Like many people in San Francisco, my housemates are from Craigslist, people who were complete strangers before I answered their ad seeking a housemate. I don't know if this is a common thing in your area, but here, it's not relegated to just the young and poor (although I happen to be both). Some of these random people do become good friends. But I think most people who meet in this way continue to lead very separate lives. And somehow, that's even lonelier than living by yourself.

I was surprised at the generally positive publicity that living with total strangers seems to get. I'm always told that living with friends destroys friendships, and that when you live with strangers, you're "on your best behavior". Well, I can finally compare the two situations from my own experience. In my senior year of college, I lived in a house with 3 good friends and one stranger. There was drama sometimes, and lots of it. But at the end of the year, I emerged still friends with my friends. If I wanted to be alone, I could go to my room or the usually-empty running track near the house. But if I wanted to see my friends, all I had to do was walk upstairs to the living room. Now, I have to take a bus to see them-- any of them. For me, living with people who were already friends is the clear win. But, awkwardly enough, I'm not sure how to go about achieving that. It's not like college where everyone changes their housing at the end of the year.

Also, totally unrelated: Per one of your suggestions, I watched A Home at the End of the World. You're right, I really liked the unconventional family in the movie. And parts of it ("Come on, we're all beautiful and lonely here") were really funny, although others were quite sad. But I totally didn't read Bobby as asexual. I can see why someone might, although if I had to choose, I would definitely call him bisexual.