THE REAL LIVEJOURNAL IDOL "FRIENDS AND RIVALS" -- WEEK 10.0
TWO LEFT FEET
I can’t dance. I just can't.
I can’t keep a rhythm, I never really learned the proper moves, and with my advancing age I’ve reached the point where it’s painful for me to even try… not to mention that I have good reason to believe that I’ll fall flat on my face if actually make the attempt. I just can’t dance. It’s as simple as that.
I’m sure several of you out there are wondering whether I meant all that literally or metaphorically. After all, there’s vertical dancing and then there’s horizontal “dancing”, as the word can eupemistically refer to another rather enjoyable physical activity that couples (and sometimes larger groups) can do together.
So let me clarify the point: I am of Polish descent on both sides of my family - Hell, on ALL sides! While growing up I was taught to be proud of my heritage and attended many festive events organized by members of my extended family where music and dancing was part of the celebration, yet despite receiving detailed lessons on numerous occasions I am completely incapable of keeping the beat of even a good old-fashioned Polka. It’s supposed to be as simple as counting And-a-one-two-three-and-a-one-two-three-and-a-, with a beat that people can literally feel in their bones, yet I continue to screw it up. No matter how many times I try I can never seem to learn the moves, much less read the signals from my partner.
Make absolutely no mistake about this: when I say that I am physically incapable of dancing, I mean that literally and metaphorically. As in both interpretations of the phrase, simultaneously.
Mind you, this is not to say that I’ve never “danced”, but the few times it actually happened to me was on those rare occasions when a lady took the initiative and picked me as their partner, and even then they pretty much had to drag me out onto the “dance” floor. These ladies did their best to teach me the moves, the give and take, the ebb and flow… but despite their best efforts I was never able to properly read their signals and I tended to forget steps between lessons. And so eventually (as in sooner rather than later), they would give up on me and seek out a more capable "dance" partner.
I have occasionally tried to ask ladies if they wanted to "dance" with me, but it never went well. For example, there was a young woman I was platonically friends with who confided to me that she was extremely upset and frustrated because she hadn't had a regular “dance” partner in a very long time. After spending months hearing her bemoan her situation I very gently asked her whether she had any interest in being more than just friends with me, using those exact words. I thought my choice of words and tone clearly indicated that I would have accepted a simple “No”, and thus I still don't understand why the lady angrily exploded at me for even alluding to such a possibility.
Apparently I am completely incapable of properly reading the signals that women give to indicate whether they are interested in a man as a potential “dance” partner or just for general companionship. The last time I thought a woman might be interested in me as being more than a friend was when a co-worker from another department took the trouble and effort to visit me an average of twice a week to ask me about what I did in my spare time... and she always had a beautific smile on her face as we conversed. After a couple of months of such visitations I came to the conclusion that she was interested in me personally and asked her to lunch. It turned out she was happily in a committed relationship but due to a number of factors she had almost no free time outside of work to pursue her own personal interests, so she did it vicariously by listening to the exploits of others. The lady wasn't smiling at me but rather the stories that I told her.
Sometimes I see signals that aren't there... and other times I miss the blatantly obvious ones. A particularly egregious example occurred while I was in high school; a female classmate of mine once pulled me aside where we could be alone and she told me that she wanted to draw the attention of another boy; she asked if she and I could pretend to date in the hope of making the other young man jealous. I turned down the lady's request and immediately walked away so she couldn't see the tears welling up in my eyes; at the time I thought the girl was being completely honest with me, and I was deeply hurt by her suggestion because I was so desperately lonely myself and couldn't understand why none of the girls I knew had any interest in me.
It is only now, decades after the incident, that I realize what that young lady was actually saying: In that era girls were never supposed to ask boys out on dates, but one of the ways that ladies would communicate their interest was by proposing this exact sort of “pretend” dating scenario to the young man they were truly interested in. At the time I was too wrapped up in my own emotional pain to pay any heed, but looking back on the young lady's shocked and crestfallen reaction to my refusal I now realize that I literally turned my back on a sweet young girl who was desperately trying to say she was attracted to me.
I'm utterly incapable of finding or even recognizing a potential partner, so I don’t "dance". At this point I don’t even try. Folks tell me repeatedly that I’m missing out on something wonderful, that life is far more interesting when you have a partner. I have lost count of the number of people who have asked me why I’m not married; friends and relatives keep telling me that I’d make a fine catch, that my sensitivity to the needs of those I care about is an amazing asset… and they express worry that I will die alone. They tell me that people can only be truly happy when they have a partner, both for “dancing” and for everything else.
It sure doesn’t look that way from where I’m sitting. I've looked back over the various partnerships I’ve personally met, and the majority of them have been troubled at best and a few have been horrific disasters where everyone involved was miserable from the get-go. I’ll admit I’ve seen the occasional exception to this rule: Two good friends of my parents named Doris and Sal are apparently still quite happy together after being married for over 60 years. Mind you, they never had children together; the closest they ever came was the multiple dogs and cats they’ve kept down through the years. Also, I heard second-hand that they went through a serious rough patch about 30 years ago and very nearly got divorced… but they eventually managed to work things out with counseling; as The Bard put it, “The course of True Love never did run smooth”. So I would be the first to admit that Doris and Sal are a classic success story.
The problem is that in my experience Doris and Sal’s marriage appears to very much be the exception… and honestly, according to an article I read recently my observations aren’t merely due to my own jaundiced perceptions. Seriously: a detailed psychological study found that on average single people tended to be significantly happier than couples in a committed relationship… and folks who claimed to have married their One True Love tended to be the unhappiest of all the people surveyed. I know that sounds counter-intuitive, but the study found that there’s an enormous amount of truth in the old adage “It takes a lot of effort to keep a marriage happy.” Indeed, what the study found was that in the cases where folks married their supposed True Love, both parties ended up putting so much effort into keeping the marriage happy that they started neglecting their own interests and desires. In other words: each person was so busy keeping their partner happy that they made themselves miserable in the process.
It must be said that the study didn't claim that True Love was all gloom-and-doom; rather, each member of such a relationship indicated that there were times when their love for their partner (and vice versa) more than made up for any hardships they endured along the way. On the other hand, it is an undeniable truth that the more you have, the more you have to lose. Thus, a lot of the reported unhappiness in such relationships occurred whenever the partnership hit a particularly nasty rough patch. Sometimes these issues were due to an accident or illness putting one of the partners at risk… or even killing them. I’ve met a few people whose One True Love died far too young… and the survivor was left a shattered emotional wreck, completely incapable of moving forward with their lives. I’ve heard such survivors speak of how much they still love their lost partner, and how happy they had been together… but in these cases all I see is the pain and sadness the survivor continues to endure alone, having truly loved and lost.
By comparison, the aforementioned study found that perpetually single people such as myself tend to report that they are far more content with their lives than married couples are. After all, when you’re not putting any effort into making someone else happy you can then concentrate on your own needs and desires. Some folks consider that to be selfish, but it’s still true. And honestly, speaking about my own particular case I’m having enough difficulty these days finding the time and energy just to take care of my own personal needs; in good conscience I don't have the physical or emotional resources to take care of anyone else’s. So I’m not even going to try to find a partner; I'd just be setting myself up for failure as well as disappointing the hypothetical lady in question.
Perhaps one or two of you out there want to dissuade me from my position by pointing out the one overwhelming advantage of being in a committed relationship: Another recent study indicated that married couples tend to have more sex than their unmarried counterparts… and it also showed that “horizontal dancing” is significantly more fulfilling for such couples than it is for single people. Apparently it really is so much better when you truly care about your partner… and vice versa.
I read that other report, too... and it really doesn’t mean a thing to me. At this point in my life I wouldn’t be physically capable of enjoying the company of a pretty lady even if she sat in my lap and wrapped her arms around me.
I’m not joking. Or exaggerating. Because last year I did have a pretty lady sit in my lap and wrap her arms around me… and I didn’t enjoy it. At all.
I went to see an improvisational comedy troupe that based their routines on the plots of famous theatrical plays, and one of the running gags in the performance I saw was that the sole female character was a frustrated nymphomaniac who hit on every male in sight (with the exception of her husband). Early in the performance the actress playing the role (an attractive blonde of 30) literally sat in my lap and propositioned me, saying how we had just enough time to “tear off a quick one” before her husband came back.
Instead of being flattered at having been chosen to become part of the show and/or taking pride in the knowledge that the lady considered me to be the most handsome guy in the room, I distinctly remember being unpleasantly shocked at the unwanted physical contact; my reaction could be summed up as “Why is this individual invading my personal space? Leave. Me. Alone.” And I’m sure it showed on my face; when the performance was over and I passed the actors in the theater lobby, the lady came over and half-jokingly apologized for molesting me. But only *HALF*-joking, you understand.
I’m sure some of you are thinking: “OK, he doesn’t react well to surprises and unfamiliar situations… but that experience is evidence that women can still find him attractive! Not to mention it could be the foundation of some great fantasy material for him to while away the time until he can find a real partner!”
And to that I say: Ummm, No. Or to be precise: No and No. Upon reflection, the woman didn’t pick me so much as the chair I was in; it was conveniently located for her to get into and out of quickly as part of the performance; it was just dumb luck I was sitting there instead of someone else. And I don’t bother with such fantasies anymore because they have become an exercise in futility. When I told you earlier that I can’t “dance” anymore, I meant in the sense of being physically unable to. I literally can't do it anymore. I’ve mentioned in previous posts that I'm a diabetic… and one of the more common symptoms for male diabetics is impotence.
I can already hear my readers chorusing: “Oh, don’t worry, they have these marvelous blue pills, now!” To that I say again: No and No. The first “No” is because I am also on beta-blockers to treat my high blood pressure and I will need to take them for the rest of my life… and those little blue pills don’t mix well with beta-blockers. No exaggeration: If I ever took both of those medications on the same day I’d end up in the hospital at the very least… or perhaps the morgue instead. The second “No” is because those little blue pills are designed to help correct an issue with a man’s hydraulic system, and in the case of diabetic impotence the problem is with the electrical system. Diabetes causes nerves to die, so sensitivity is lost… and there comes a point when the nerve damage becomes so severe that the signal ordering the equipment to stand up and salute simply doesn’t get through. Hell, there’s even some evidence that diabetic nerve damage can burn out neurons in the pleasure center of brain… until literally nothing is fun ever again.
So. I can’t "dance". Not anymore. Not that I really miss it all that much; I’ll admit that the memories have faded with time, but from what I recall of my few "dance" sessions I never really enjoyed them anywhere near as much as everyone said that I would… and I sincerely doubt my former partners look back on their memories of me with any great joy. Hell, considering the overall frustration I’ve experienced from being generally unable to fulfill this so-called primal need, I’m rather glad to formally put the whole sordid business behind me. To quote Sophocles, it’s like being freed from bondage after having been shackled to a raving lunatic for nearly 40 years. The way I see it, my complete loss of interest in "dancing" isn't tragic; rather, it's cause for celebration! I can finally forget about an issue which always frustrated and embarrassed me; I hated talking to my doctor and my therapist about how poor I was at "dancing", so my losing the urge to even want to "dance" means I'll eventually stop worrying about the matter. Very soon I will reach the stage where I will never feel frustrated or embarrassed about my inability to "dance" ever again, as it will quite literally never cross my mind. This truly is a wonderful development for me.
So why did my vision keep going blurry while I was typing all this?
and a rock feels no pain.
and an island never cries.
Ellakite refuses to comment on how much of this piece is non-fiction, much less which specific parts are or are not true.
This post is an entry in the "Friends and Rivals" mini-season of THE REAL LIVEJOURNAL IDOL (therealljidol). It is based on the prompt "Biological Coward"