Male Take: Why Romance Matters

With Valentines Day just around the corner, we all have love and relationships on our minds. I found this article on Tango and I thought it was nicely put. So, I am sharing.
(Source: YourTango.com)

Romance is showing your love in a language the other person understands.
I once heard a story of a young math professor who came home from work and greeted his fiancée with a little blue box from Tiffany. "This is a present for you, honey. But to get it, you have to tell me why I'm giving it to you today instead of any other day." She wracked her brain; it was still over three months till their anniversary and over five months till their marriage. It wasn't her birthday or a holiday or anything else she could come up with, but she knew her betrothed, and she started thinking about how he did things. And then she got it.
"We met each other exactly 1000 days ago."
"Of course we did, darling. And I've loved every last one of them." And he gave her the diamond bracelet.
I love this story; to me, it represents exactly the kind of romance that I believe in: the combination of feeling and showing. If I had to define romance
as anything, I'd call it extra—it's the impulse, spurred on by sentiment, to add a little something, to try a little harder, to do one more thing as a sign of the love you have for the other person. From the kiss he gives you before he leaves the room, to taking his hand on the subway, to learning her shoe size on the sly so you can surprise her with Prada mules, romance is about paying enough attention and knowing the other person well enough that you can send proof of your love in a way that he or she will really understand. Which Love Language Do You Speak?
So much about relationships centers on paying attention and on seeing things from the other's perspective. How many fights would be prevented if, when we felt hurt or slighted by our partner, we reminded ourselves of how much they love us? We'd most likely realize that they probably didn't try to do us damage, and that there must have been a misunderstanding or some moment of weakness. There's an old French expression—"to understand all is to forgive all"—and if we could only see things through our partner's eyes, we'd see how infrequently they'd ever do anything to hurt us, and our anger would be replaced by compassion.
That's what empathy can do. As you begin to see things from the other's vantage point, you can also see what would make them happy, what moves them, how you can show them how much you care in ways that will really register. This is why a lot of people (especially women) correctly think that romance is so important: because it's an outward sign of caring; it’s evidence of real emotional investment.
The problem, though, is often in the expression. Many men think they do a fine job of showing their feelings, but unfortunately they're only expressing them their way, not yours (a new dishwasher for Christmas anyone?). And women have their versions as well; how successful were the rose petals leading to the tub?
It's clear, then, that romance is often about translation—about converting your feelings into signals that will be visible to the other person's eye, not merely to your own. Romantic impulses often fail because they're not adequately translated. If not rewritten to the other's language, both your and his attempts at romance will miss the mark. You think you're telling him and he's not hearing, or you worry he doesn't really love you, but in both cases, it can just be a problem of not understanding the other's language. Most men don't lack for feeling; they just don't realize that it's hard for you to realize how much they care given the often feeble ways they show it (he thought the new dishwasher would save you work!).
In some ways, then, the 1000-day bracelet story is romantic from both sides: he had the feelings and took the time to come up with a gift that definitely translated into her world (the power of those little blue boxes!), but the reason behind the gift was still from his world. She had to understand him well enough to be able to figure it out. Both parties had to see through the other one's eyes.
When my girlfriend gave me a 19th-century, hand-wound clock for our first anniversary, she made it clear that she knew me inside and out. I'm impossible to shop for (so I've been told), but I love fine old objects (she happens to be fine and young, but for her I make an exception), and she knew that it would blend perfectly with all the other objects in the room—it was the perfect gift.
But you know what the most romantic thing she does for me is? She beams me a certain smile that electrifies her eyes with feeling. They sparkle at me, telling me that I'm the most loved and luckiest man in the world. What else could I need when I get a smile like that?
That's all romance is: signs of love in a language we understand. Different things will work for different people, and when you care about someone, you have to pay enough attention to learn to see things their way. Once you can do that, romance is easy.

To Facebook or Not to Facebook?

And so, it’s been nearly three months since I’ve written anything. Not a drop of a sentence, a prose, not even a haiku. This is a new world record, perhaps. I was working on a book since before I left for New York and it has been at a standstill for three months as well. With a new houseguest, quitting Prospect and the development of a brand new line, I got lost somewhere in all of the commotion. Or maybe I have lacked inspiration. Today as I sit staring blankly at the nearby construction of god only knows what, I realize I miss writing. It’s time I blew the dust off my writing shoes and exercise a little creativity.
My latest thoughts have been towards relationships, the web, social networking and how all of these tie in together. To Facebook or not to Facebook? That has been my question for a few weeks now. Social networking has officially become an extension of our everyday lives. We add people we know, we add people we’d like to get to know better. Hell, sometimes, we add complete strangers (I don’t, personally, but I know a lot of people who do). So where does the social networking of LinkedIn, Facebook and Twitter fit into the overall grand scheme of our personal lives? How much do we share and what does the content of what we share say about us? Just like our circle of friends in our daily offline lives, we communicate easily and openly. We don’t have to communicate our thoughts or moods with status updates or mention that we “are in a relationship with…” Secondly, how do our offline friendships compare to our online social “friendships”. Aren’t they (mostly) the same? Is it possible to share a bed with someone and not share a social networking site with them ? Does “John Doe would like to be added to your Friends” mean the same as “John Doe would like to be your friend” in real life?
Where does real life end and “social networking” begin?
For example, I know men who are in relationships, who even live with their significant other but feel uncomfortable adding them as a friend on their Facebook accounts. With social networking having evolved into the new social communication bridge of our lives, what part of your life would be of particular interest to protect by NOT adding someone that already exists in your personal life?
At one time we could all look at MySpace as “just a silly MySpace page”. But now, our lives have become integrated. Our feelings are hurt if we aren’t added, or if we are deleted. Our actions online are just as much paid attention to as our actions in our day-to-day lives offline. Our social circles at Sushi night are the same as our social circles on Facebook. We are connected and the web is an extension of ourselves, our interests, our families, our friends, our careers, our agendas, our relationships. To separate the two at this point in the game would almost be unnatural.
The way I see it, we have all evolved socially as a result of the internet. We have become an open book and it is up to us to determine how much of ourselves we care to broadcast to the world. Unfortunately, you can’t always set the limitations on this (i.e. bloggers, photo and notes tagging, unknown changes in privacy settings, stealing of photos, etc.)
There are no more hiding places on the web, unless we just choose not to participate. Privacy? What privacy? Privacy is a thing of the past. Privacy is pulling the curtains shut on your window, that’s it. Nowadays, it isn’t so much a matter of privacy as it is accountability. In other words, don’t do it if you don’t want everyone to find out about it. Personally, I find a lot of this refreshing. I feel as though it’s a more honest approach to internet communication. Socially, we are no longer hiding behind an avatar in a chat room, being anyone we desire. Now, we have linked email addresses that make it easy for us to be found and for others to vouch for us. I guess if you have hang-ups about sharing your personal life, stay away from social networking sites altogether.

This is what I needed

"Whatever your fate is, whatever the hell happens, you say, “This is what I need.” It may look like a wreck, but go at it as though it were an opportunity, a challenge. If you bring love to that moment—not discouragement—you will find the strength there. Any disaster you can survive is an improvement in your character, your stature, and your life. What a privilege!! This is when the spontaneity of your own nature will have a chance to flow. Then, when looking back at your life, you will see that the moments which seemed to be great failures, followed by wreckage, were the incidents that shaped the life you have now. You’ll see this is really true. Nothing can happen to you that is not positive. Even though it looks and feels at the moment like a negative crisis, it is not. The crisis throws you back, and when you are required to exhibit strength, it comes." -Joseph Campbell


It is the middle of October, 2009. I arrived in Dallas on July 22, 2008. Now sitting here on the brink of what could be my second autumn in Texas, I reflect deeply on the last year and three months of my life. I realize this has been perhaps the strangest year of my life. It was filled with every possible emotion that could be felt. The cycle that first began with anger and intense sadness waned and, over time, gave way to incredible growth, personal reflection, happiness, leaps of faith, contentment, adventure, love, joy and awareness. Through that storm I weathered, I have come back stronger with an even better sense of self than I ever thought I could have. I did not run and hide away from the pain; I faced it and chose to search through all of it as if it were rubble lying before me. A year and three months later after the clean-up, I see things clearer and my inner voice is louder than it’s ever been. I have learned better who I am; I have learned to be still, wait for the moment and when it’s right, I will know. I’ve learned that I am on my right path when everything falls into place in perfect harmony. I have learned that the people closest to me and valuable relationships are the most important assets of my life.
It’s true, even amidst the deaths of a best friend, my aunt and then my grandfather in such a short time, my last year feels more like 3 years. The growth and evolution of my soul feels like it has been subjected to intense hydroponics and here I am, forced to take in all of life’s nutrients and grow towards the light.

This year has been truly incredible.

I have loved stronger than I ever have before. I have let go more than I ever thought I could. I have traveled more and farther than I thought I would. I have stood inside enormous cathedrals and meditated on life, rituals and humanity. I visited places in honor of my loved ones who were not present in this life to see it with their own eyes. I challenged myself more. And I have smiled more than I thought I ever could. I learned contentment, acceptance and found the beauty in my surroundings rather than focus on the negative. I realized my only agenda in life is to love, share, follow my bliss, create passionately and continue seeking whatever gives me peace and happiness.

“It is by going down into the abyss that we recover the treasures of life. Where you stumble, there lies your treasure.”

When in Paris...

My first day in Paris felt more like three days.  The day began at 8 AM on a Tuesday morning in New York City and didn’t end until 1 AM, Thursday, France time.  When I arrived, the sky in Paris just beginning to wake up.  My plane was an hour early landing at Charles De Gaulle and the sun was an hour and a half away from showing its face fully.  It felt like I and the other passengers of flight 44 were the only people awake in the world.    

When I stepped off the plane, I began to feel more and more out of place with every step I took.  Even the French/English signs offered no comfort for me.  I realized the loneliness and helplessness that is felt when you are in a foreign country and I can’t speak the language.  For the first time in my life, I really felt disconnected from humanity.  Even after being in New York, where the world converges and becomes a melting pot of various religions, races and cultures, I felt like the oddball.  This moment was even more paramount than the first day I had arrived in New York.   I stood at the baggage claim, trying to figure out who was American and who was French. I must have looked like a confused, deaf mute as I searched the faces of others for perhaps a clue to this whole system.  But from the responses, I gathered that they were just as confused as I was.  My thoughts ran arbitrarily with wondering where my luggage was, where to go next, what needed to be checked or stamped and hoping no one would ask me any questions in French.  As it turned out, I received my luggage without any incident and followed the crowd as if I were herded cattle taken to the next corral of my arrival.  

As I approached the lines to have my passport stamped, I realized quickly what this “anti-queue” philosophy is that the French have. It was easy to distinguish between who the Americans/Other were and who the French were.  The Americans were patiently waiting in line while a large drove of French men and women walked completely around the silly, roped-off barricades and went straight to the passport booths.  Of course, the guards said nothing.  And why would they?  I realized how ridiculous it all was, too.  Why does everything always have to be so rigid, so formal, so structured?  I soon began to admire the rebellious way they all took the ‘all for one and one for all’ stance. Obviously, there was power in numbers. Hence, the many strikes that occur. The passport agent gave me a half-hearted “Bonjour” and nonchalantly flipped through my passport.  My first stamp was created and there my journey began.

Deep breath. Phase two of my airport journey was through. I had my luggage and I was free to continue on into France.  I stood for an hour at the arrivals gate, observing the Americans, the Europeans, and the Parisians.  I played a guessing game of who they were and where they could be from.  I watched families push through the crowds with loads of luggage and strollers, loved ones saying ‘hello’ and ‘good-bye’ with kisses and business men beginning their week.  One hour I stood, alone with my thoughts. They jumped back and forth between thoughts of what was to come and people watching;  thoughts of “I can’t believe I’m finally in France!” back to questions, anxiousness and more pondering of my life and the events that led me up to this moment.   I realized I had potentially put myself into what L would often refer to as “Lucy Moments”, coined from The ‘I Love Lucy’ Show.  Lucy was always putting herself in compromising or ridiculous situations. In the beginning they were these quickly-devised plans that seemed to almost work out but during implementation, they were usually a disaster.  In the end, they were always a great laugh and adventure, though. My “Lucy Moments” were few but always memorable.  I smiled to myself as I realized I hadn’t come this far for nothing.  There had to be something special that was worth exploring.  I held onto that feeling as I thumbed through a thick fashion magazine filled with runway shots of European fashion shows.

In the taxi, scooters whizzed by and the sun was now fresh on the horizon.  I felt like a newborn baby just seeing the world for the first time. There were new sounds, new things to see, new words to learn and new foods to taste.  I couldn’t believe I was here. I was taking in every second of every moment with appreciation. I was fascinated by every detail of my thoughts, emotions, the city moving around me.  This was a moment of many to come where I felt so alive and so grateful to be living.

When I arrived at the hotel, the check-in time wasn’t until 1 PM, so I decided to go for a petite déjeune at a nearby café. The waiter extended to me a very warm Parisian welcome and a delicious cup of café au lait. 

After breakfast, I decided to wander around Paris and take one of those free guided tours that last about 3 hours.  I think my mind was still in shock or perhaps I was still recovering from the early morning hours. Paris was beautiful and spectacular.  Eventually, I lost interest in the tour group and lagged behind.  I retreated to my own adventure of Notre Dame, a walk along the Seine,  La Madeleine Church as well as an hour break in the park to sit next to the fountains, soak up the sun and live, Parisian style. The moment felt perfect, as if time stood still and the world around me disappeared. Up until this point, the whole day had been a bit of a whirlwind. It wasn’t until this moment in the park that I really felt like I was in my skin, here in Paris. 

The hotel arrival was an adventure in itself.  When I did finally check into the hotel at 6 PM, I was pleasantly surprised by its overall appearance and the view of the city.  The room was modern, cozy and featured one of those frosted glass doors to the bathroom.  A hot shower was the first thing on my mind and I tore through the room like Moses parting the Red Sea to get into my hot, trickling therapy. After starting the shower to get the water nice and warm, I went about finding my toiletries. When I went into the bathroom 5 minutes later, the floor was soaked with about a half inch of water.  Apparently, this shower was not meant to actually be used like a shower.  It was poorly designed and leaked like a sieve. I ended up getting an upgrade to an Executive Suite, free of charge. The view was nice, the room was huge and as luck would have it, that shower leaked as well.

I finished the night off at one of those family style meal restaurants. Parisians sat at the table and we all shared bowls of food but very few words were spoken. The atmosphere felt like home and the food was quite good.  I finished the dinner in typical French manner with it ending around 11 PM, stuffed silly with good food and wine. I walked back to the hotel through the quiet, tiny cobblestone streets.  

I had never been exposed to so many different, wonderful, beautifully presented dishes as I had in France.   Even a café that would be considered the worst place to eat ranks high on my list. Compared to the tasteless, unimaginative, fake, artery-clogging crap I grew up eating in America, anything French was grand gourmet to me.  If there was one thing the French could do better than anyone, it was food.  France was the most romantic, in love with love places I had ever seen.  It didn't matter how old you were, you still found couples sitting on park benches, kissing, holding hands.  Couples, and even friends, sat for hours at tiny, intimate tables in front of quaint cafes, leaning over, gazing into each other’s eyes or deep in conversation.  

Men and women celebrated their new found love and relationships as if it were unexpected promotions at work.  Love was a luxury and a precious gift.  I discovered that the things in life that really mattered were the least things taken for granted in France. I realized that life and love were indeed special gifts and awakenings of spirit and self.  Being in Paris reminded me of how good it felt to be human and a natural woman.  I felt so free to be the feminine being that I was created to be. I had no sense of emotional boundaries, suppression, hang-ups or fears.  It was like a veil that had been covering my soul was lifted and the girl within could finally be revealed.

By my third day in Paris, I had seen many of the monumental sites. The Louvre, Montmartre and La Basilique du Sacre Coeur (Sacred Heart) were among one of my favorite places to visit. I paused in the large cathedral for a while to sit, enjoy the silence and take in the calm. It was my form of escape and therapy from the people out on the streets. I loved the beauty and comfort underneath the sprawling arches of the cathedrals. 

Paris made such a huge footprint on my heart.  I will go back again someday.

Let the Gentrification...BEGIN!

"Today the neighborhood is filled with the sounds of jackhammers and dump trucks. That could only mean one thing: Gentrification in Progress. There are two buildings on just my street that are in complete renovation mode, pulling out all the stops and tearing out concrete to make room for grass and flowers. It's really quite an amazing sight to see a "ghetto" being transformed into a place that will someday be another overpriced neighborhood full of The Village population overflow.

Perhaps Bushwick will someday be appealing to the fickle snoots that at one time wouldn't even consider taking a train further than one stop out of Manhattan. The way I see it, the recession has been good for the aesthetics of Brooklyn's low-income neighborhoods. But when Manhattan residents are forced to move into areas of Brooklyn because the rental rates in The City are too expensive for matchbox-sized apartments, the rents will go up here in Brooklyn, forcing the low-income, hard working residents who have been here for generations to go...where??? Of course I'm concerned, these are people I've grown close to, gotten to know and in many ways consider true friends.

There are price-conscious, economically smart people out here in Brooklyn. We get large apartments for half of what The City pays, we have discount stores and don't get bent over for a sandwich at the corner deli. We pay $4 for a turkey on rye in Brooklyn that people in Manhattan pay $8 for. But how long will we be able to outsmart and outrun the city and the climbing rental rates?

Seeing all of the renovations take place are nice. I love to see old buildings transformed to their original glory. But there is a sour part of me that wants to keep it all a secret. I don't want to see authenticity tainted by the fickle who never saw it's beauty in the beginning; those who weren't here when it wasn't so pretty on the outside".