Here’s what I’ve learned in my life: to truly experience anything, to experience things in their entirety, all the senses must be engaged. A woman is like a fine wine of the rarest vintage. It is not enough to merely glance at the wine in the glass, then toss it back without a care or thought. Instead, one needs to take the time to let the wine relax and breathe, to observe its clarity and complexion, to admire its superb body, to draw in its exquisite bouquet with every breath, savoring it deeply, and then—and only then—should one take that first anticipatory sip, drinking it in slowly, mindfully, attuning the senses to all of its quixotic subtleties, its texture, its nuance… experiencing it... breathing it... living it... fading into it.
This is the secret to living and loving: everything must be experienced on all levels, everything must be explored, every invitation accepted, every experience fully immersed. When we travel to another city, why do we stay on the tourist track? How dreary to see the world this way! Far better to discover the rhythm of the place, to touch the city’s fabric with our hands, to absorb its culture through the pores of our skin. Who, after all, can say they’ve been to Paris when the only thing they remember is the Eiffel Tower?
It is the same with women and it is the same with wine.There are some women you encounter in your life that shake your foundations.Because of women,there are poets and artists in the world.Is not the curve of a woman the greatest creation of a benevolent God? Is not the smile of a woman the greatest source of inspiration on earth? How can one possibly resist the disarray of desire that beauty invokes? How can one devote his life to anything but a study of the poetics of women? It makes no sense to me to strive for anything else.
We always think it is only us. We think that everyone else is confident and funny and dynamic, and we are not. We might be at a party and over there in a corner we spy a clique of guys and girls talking and laughing, pearly teeth a-flashing, all fashionable and chic. The girls—look at them!—are so amazingly pretty and poised, and the guys… the guys are all so confident and cool and relaxed. Oh, how we wish in our heart of hearts that we could be just like them, so free-flowing and easy and beautiful and cool.
What we universally fail to realize is that they are all just as nervous and insecure as we are! Every one of them is in their heads, trying hard not to screw it up. The guys are mentally face-palming themselves, thinking, “Ah... why did I just say that? What a stupid thing to say. What an idiot I am!” And the girls are thinking, “Does he like me? No, he probably likes her. Or... maybe her? Ah, I knew it! I should have worn my other skirt, this one makes me look fat, or my red dress, why didn’t I wear my red dress? And why, oh why, did I eat those stupid onions in the salad? I hope he doesn’t come too close!” And yet... the only thing we can see from our vantage point over here are easy smiles and graceful confidence.
Men can’t imagine that a beautiful woman could ever be insecure or shy or lonely. “That can’t be right,” they say. “Look how perfect she is! She is gorgeous! Look at her compared to me. How in the world could she possibly be nervous or insecure? It makes no sense whatsoever.” They can’t grasp the notion that sometimes a pretty girl is quiet and only giving one-word answers to their questions because she doesn’t think she has anything interesting to say. Men can’t understand this at all. If I mention this to men, some look at me like I am crazy for even suggesting it, shaking their heads and chuckling, while others will nod in feigned agreement, then go quiet, pondering, looking up and to the right. I keep on saying it. They keep on nodding. But none of them understand it. The concept is too foreign for men, like trying to explain heaven to bears.
Saturday, October 10, 2015
PERSONAL: THE PERFECT GIRL IS A MYTH
Every man has a vague notion of the perfect girl, a subconscious image that he carries in his heart from his earliest years to his dying day. She is a symbol of all that he holds dear and cherishes in his soul, a compilation of all the traits that he desires in a woman. She is truth to him, and justice and beauty and love and life. His perfect girl might be sharply drawn in his imagination, well considered, or she might be vague and undefined, nothing more than a diaphanous collection of approximate curves or a preferred color of hair. His perfect girl might resemble a film star or someone he saw in a magazine or a dream conjured up from books he read in his youth. On the other hand, he may have no idea what the image of the perfect girl for him might be, but there is an image resident in his heart all the same. The media, of course, with its smoke and mirrors, does not help. All those carefully constructed women, artfully airbrushed and perfectly posed, leading us astray like the Sirens of old. “There, see? I told you there are perfect women in the world. It says so right here in this magazine.”
The perfect girl is one a man can show off to his friends, the one he can drape over his arm as he enters a room. A man daydreams this scenario all the time, in living color and detail; he can feel the surge of natural confidence and grace that only a woman like this can impart to him, this beauty who is with him and no one else. She is the one that he imagines would make him forget every other woman forever. Over and over again, time after time, we believe we have found “the one.” This is because every woman a man encounters throughout his life—the one he saw in the bookstore, the one dancing so seductively on the stage, the one he saw walking across the street, the one who is going on a date with him tonight—he subconsciously compares to his image of the perfect girl. He squints and scrutinizes, and in his eagerness to convince himself that this new woman is indeed his ideal woman, he blinds himself to everything about her that doesn’t quite match. Then over time, it dawns on him that this latest obsession of his is just a girl, nothing more. A girl with as many faults, fears, and insecurities as his own. She is no longer shiny and new.
When the realization hits that she is just a girl, that she is not what he has made her out to be, that she is not perfect at all, men deal with it in all kinds of different ways. Some men settle, accept their lot, and, rolling their eyes, dejectedly soldier on. They give her nothing of themselves from that day forward. They commute to their tired cubicles with their tired briefcases on their tired feet and return to their tired homes. Every single day. Except weekends, of course, when they mow the lawn and watch the game and fill their time with other things, other things, anything really. Unremarkable in every way. Some men get angry or mean-spirited and take it out on women—through neglect or verbal violence or physical abuse. It’s not her fault, yet he blames her and relentlessly sets out to punish her. Other men just abandon her.
The perfect girl is a myth. We will never find her. It is a search without end. Men have conquered the business world, they are captains of industry, they have interesting friends and fascinating hobbies, they build, they create, they do great and wonderful things. But they feel in their hearts, that they haven’t yet found her. The perfect girl whom we desire so intensely, who would make the world feel whole again, who would make us believe in love again, who would complete us, is forever out of our reach. This is a vision so perfectly formed and so lovely and so complete that no real woman could ever come close to actually being her.
The perfect girl is one a man can show off to his friends, the one he can drape over his arm as he enters a room. A man daydreams this scenario all the time, in living color and detail; he can feel the surge of natural confidence and grace that only a woman like this can impart to him, this beauty who is with him and no one else. She is the one that he imagines would make him forget every other woman forever. Over and over again, time after time, we believe we have found “the one.” This is because every woman a man encounters throughout his life—the one he saw in the bookstore, the one dancing so seductively on the stage, the one he saw walking across the street, the one who is going on a date with him tonight—he subconsciously compares to his image of the perfect girl. He squints and scrutinizes, and in his eagerness to convince himself that this new woman is indeed his ideal woman, he blinds himself to everything about her that doesn’t quite match. Then over time, it dawns on him that this latest obsession of his is just a girl, nothing more. A girl with as many faults, fears, and insecurities as his own. She is no longer shiny and new.
When the realization hits that she is just a girl, that she is not what he has made her out to be, that she is not perfect at all, men deal with it in all kinds of different ways. Some men settle, accept their lot, and, rolling their eyes, dejectedly soldier on. They give her nothing of themselves from that day forward. They commute to their tired cubicles with their tired briefcases on their tired feet and return to their tired homes. Every single day. Except weekends, of course, when they mow the lawn and watch the game and fill their time with other things, other things, anything really. Unremarkable in every way. Some men get angry or mean-spirited and take it out on women—through neglect or verbal violence or physical abuse. It’s not her fault, yet he blames her and relentlessly sets out to punish her. Other men just abandon her.
The perfect girl is a myth. We will never find her. It is a search without end. Men have conquered the business world, they are captains of industry, they have interesting friends and fascinating hobbies, they build, they create, they do great and wonderful things. But they feel in their hearts, that they haven’t yet found her. The perfect girl whom we desire so intensely, who would make the world feel whole again, who would make us believe in love again, who would complete us, is forever out of our reach. This is a vision so perfectly formed and so lovely and so complete that no real woman could ever come close to actually being her.
STORY: YOU LIE BACK ON THE BED
Here’s a fantasy I have of you: You lie back on the bed, your skin against the white sheets, your legs spread wide, the heels of your shoes digging in deep. I kneel down and kiss your entire body, unfolded before me, natural and sublime. Your body and I are lovers, ancient lovers with ancient songs. This fantasy is one of many... oh yes, I have many ways to dream about going down on you, with my voice a vibration on your neck and in your mind, my hair brushing upon your belly, my lips on the inside of your knees, so soft and secret, my breath feathered onto every surface of your skin.
You ask for nothing, but you take everything. My silent offering. You relax into trust, opening, opening some more. Yes, you take all I can give, a selfish in gathering, a perfumed, rushing devouring. I adore the way your body looks to me; I tend to it like an unhurried gardener. I love your scent, your taste, the little noises you make, the feel of your skin against my lips…Oh love! I can’t resist. To aspire to celestial visions, though mortal and blind. You run your fingers through my hair, without intent, until an ancient, original, and primal urge overwhelms you, causing you to push my face down hard. I cannot breathe and yet I breathe. I follow the impulses: your unspoken directions, your implicit requests, your infinite signals of voice and rhythm. I stay right there, right there with you, never hurried but never slow, until your breath wells up within you and escapes in ragged sounds, and I kiss you hard, and you want it even harder, and you wrap your legs tightly around me, with your fingers in my hair, and you embrace me strongly, holding me there upon the wave, and with my eyes softly closed, an indescribable emotion releases from within... and a single tear flows from me and mixes with you...
I take your body now in all of the ways you give it to me. I melt into you, my delectable one, and in the final triumphal throes of this dark night, you draw me down upon your body, down dreamy soft, and sink we two into the earth, for we have seen the light, seen the light. The opus completes..Oh, to sleep, to rest in each other’s arms, till the dawn-chorus of meadowlarks stirs a daydream again
You ask for nothing, but you take everything. My silent offering. You relax into trust, opening, opening some more. Yes, you take all I can give, a selfish in gathering, a perfumed, rushing devouring. I adore the way your body looks to me; I tend to it like an unhurried gardener. I love your scent, your taste, the little noises you make, the feel of your skin against my lips…Oh love! I can’t resist. To aspire to celestial visions, though mortal and blind. You run your fingers through my hair, without intent, until an ancient, original, and primal urge overwhelms you, causing you to push my face down hard. I cannot breathe and yet I breathe. I follow the impulses: your unspoken directions, your implicit requests, your infinite signals of voice and rhythm. I stay right there, right there with you, never hurried but never slow, until your breath wells up within you and escapes in ragged sounds, and I kiss you hard, and you want it even harder, and you wrap your legs tightly around me, with your fingers in my hair, and you embrace me strongly, holding me there upon the wave, and with my eyes softly closed, an indescribable emotion releases from within... and a single tear flows from me and mixes with you...
I take your body now in all of the ways you give it to me. I melt into you, my delectable one, and in the final triumphal throes of this dark night, you draw me down upon your body, down dreamy soft, and sink we two into the earth, for we have seen the light, seen the light. The opus completes..Oh, to sleep, to rest in each other’s arms, till the dawn-chorus of meadowlarks stirs a daydream again
STORY: ONCE UPON A TIME IN A LAND FAR FAR AWAY
Our problems are with the stories we tell ourselves. We think we are not good enough. A lie! For we are more than good enough.We are all broken in some way. We all have faults and insecurities. We think we have to be cool. But we do not have to be cool. We have to be authentic. Authenticity means to embrace equally all of our strength, power, courage, passion, mistakes, failures, and insecurities. To present that whole self to the world instead of our practiced varnish of cool. Nobody connects because they are cool. They connect because they are real. Real is rare. Our authenticity is the part of us that is led by our heart, our intuition, the part of us that aspires to excellence and to making this world better.
Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there lived a young man who was in love with a beautiful girl, and he was kind to her. His kindness was genuine; he really did care about her and he really did love her. He was good to her: he held doors for her, he complimented her wardrobe, and he noticed and commented on little things, like whenever she changed the style or color of her hair. He offered her rides when she needed them. And of course, he was the one who always paid for things, because he was the guy, after all, and she was the girl, so that just seemed right. And besides, he was nice like that. He discovered early on that she needed a lot of emotional support, that sometimes she just needed to hear that yes,she was pretty and yes, she was smart and yes, she was funny, and he was always there to reassure her that yes,she was all of those things.
His reward for his attention and kindness was a great deal of flirting from her, a lot of hugs, sometimes a kiss, sometimes even on the lips. Not too much, though, you understand, because we don’t want to ruin the friendship, right? Yes, of course I understand, he would say, even though he didn’t, but he was willing to be patient. She would invite him to parties and he would rejoice, even though in his heart he suspected that she just needed a ride and had no one else to ask. He would immediately dismiss this terrible thought, however, for she was always eternally grateful when he would say yes. I knew I could count on you, she would say. Later, when the night was over and she was inebriated and bewildered, staying out far past any reasonable hour, he was always there to drive her home, to get her safely into her house and into her bed. He would tuck her in and stroke her hair and sit beside her for a while, waiting around... for what? An invitation? A thank-you? No... just in case... because, you know, he was nice like that. And when he realized that she was passed out and the moment had passed out and nothing else was going to happen, he would retire to her couch, making do with a too mall blanket, lying awake and wondering what he could have done differently, thoroughly frustrated. But he was the one—surely tomorrow she would realize?—who cared enough to take care of her. Yes, he was nice like that. At other times, he would listen to her for hours as she complained to him about other men, how there were so few nice guys like him, and how he was the only one she could trust, the only one who really understood her. She was always upset at some guy, sometimes to the point of feeling physically ill about it, and he would rub her shoulders or buy her dinner, and even though that’s all she talked about to hear her voice anyway.
He secretly couldn’t stand the thought that she had other guys in her life, guys that she slept with, but he tolerated it because he knew she spent far more quality time with him than with them. After all, who did she call to go to movies with when she was bored? Who did she call to take her shopping? Who was the one who waited patiently holding her shopping bags outside countless changing rooms for her? And who did she allow to steal secret glimpses of her body by purposely leaving the changing room curtain slightly open as she changed? That’s right—him, not them!
Yes, it was only a matter of time, only a matter of time. He had seen her at her worst, he had dabbed her tears, he had been there when the world was crushing in on her, when she was depressed or sad or angry, and he had watched her go home with guys who he was sure didn’t care about her at all. And in spite of everything, he still loved and cared for her. For he was nice like that.And years went by... One day, as he reflected upon his long, lonely, and unfruitful relationship with her, he had a sudden idea. He decided he would do something completely different, something so outlandish and adventurous that it would prove to her, once and for all, his undying love for her, and surely launch their magical future together. He had heard about the sea, a long, long distance away, and he decided he would travel to the end of the earth, find the fabled sea, and seek out for her a treasure. He would bring it back home and present it to her as the symbol of his undying devotion. Of course, he realized he could just buy her something online and have it delivered, but part of what he wanted her to notice was his willingness to endure the long and dangerous journey, just for her. Besides, he wanted the treasure to be special.
He thought about it for a long time until, suddenly, he knew! He would seek out and obtain for her an… Exquisite Pearl! Not just any old pearl, you see, but a grand one, one that merited emphasis, capitalization, and italics. Yes! Surely this would impress her so much she would forget all the other men and only want to be with him. After all, who would do such a noble thing? Ah, the more he thought about it, the more he knew he had to go! So one day, without telling anyone, he took up a small bundle of provisions and left in the middle of the night on a journey across the land to the far and distant sea.
The journey was incredibly difficult, far more difficult than he ever could have imagined. There is no way he would have attempted it if he had known how extremely difficult it was going to be. He persisted, however, because of his great love for the beautiful girl back home and how much he wanted to impress her. After many weeks he came upon a treacherous mountain, and he climbed that mountain, clinging perilously to the high rocks for many days, and oh how he missed her. After more weeks he came upon a scorching desert, and he traversed that desert, nearly dying of thirst for many days, and oh how he desired her. After even more weeks he came upon a deep, dangerous, and brooding forest, and he entered that forest, becoming hopelessly lost for many days, and oh how he loved her.
Finally, finally, after all these long days, after all these arduous tribulations, he found himself to be... at the sea! Oh, how immense and expansive, how shimmering and shining, how beautiful and blue! He was broken and battered but somehow the sea restored him, filling him with great energy and strength. He wasted no time seeking out the treasure he had come for. “I have come from far, far away,” he said to some local fishermen, “and I am here now at the sea to seek out a treasure, an... Exquisite Pearl! For the woman I love, you see.” The fishermen looked at him funny, then suggested a few local souvenir shops nearby, which wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but the fishermen assured him there were no real pearls anywhere around here and hadn’t been for years. So he tried all the shops and after a measure of time, he found a large, porcelain, souvenir pearl.
It wasn’t that great, actually, but it was the best he could find, so declaring it to be the symbol of his undying affection, he bought it and added it to his little bundle. He turned around immediately to leave the sea, to return home to the girl he dearly loved. But something made him pause... to look over his shoulder... to turn around... for some reason, he could not take his eyes off the sea and all its blue immenseness. He lingered there for many days, contemplating the sea.
Finally, after lingering and contemplating much longer than he felt he should, with a curious mixture of sadness and excitement, he turned around and set back out across the land, retracing his path. He battled again through the dark, brooding forest, through the scorching desert, and over the unforgiving mountain fighting the elements every torturous step of the way. And always he thought of his dear, beautiful girl, the love of his life, and how surprised she would be at his sacrifice and his amazing gift. Finally, interminably, he arrived back at his village, battered and bruised. He caught his breath, dusted off his clothes, straightened his tie, and after a deep breath, rushed to her home.
She was, of course, thoroughly surprised to see him, for he had been gone for such a very long time, and even more thoroughly surprised when, sitting at her feet, he recounted all the details of his remarkable adventure. He told her of all the hardships he had endured just for her. He told her about the mountain and he told her about the desert and he told her about the forest and he told her about the sea. Mostly, he told her about the sea.
And then, with the greatest flourish he could muster, he stood up tall before her, opened his little bundle, and presented to her with both hands the... Exquisite Pearl! The beautiful girl was astonished and she began to weep and fell into his arms. She proclaimed right then and there that from now on, she would love no other man but him. No one has ever sacrificed so much for me! she cried. Besides, the other men are just a bunch of jerks anyway, especially the guy she met a few weeks ago. Oh and by the way, I have to go see him again tonight. I think he is just using me for sex, you see, and I want to go clear that up, to tell him that he can’t just use me like that. You understand, right? But not to worry because I finally know what I want and I will call you tomorrow for sure. Or maybe the next day. But sometime this week for sure, and thank you so much for the gift, it’s the thought that counts, right? You’re so cute. And she showered him again with kisses and hugs and fondness. But something was different... something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. For as she was showering him with all those kisses and all those hugs and all those promises and proclamations, he found himself looking over her shoulder and out the window toward the distant horizon. She smiled at him and he thought of the mountain. She held his hand and he thought of the desert. She hugged him close and he thought of the forest. She kissed his cheek and he thought of the sea. Most of all... he thought of the sea... he thought of the sea. And he placed the “pearl” in her hand and walked away.
Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there lived a young man who was in love with a beautiful girl, and he was kind to her. His kindness was genuine; he really did care about her and he really did love her. He was good to her: he held doors for her, he complimented her wardrobe, and he noticed and commented on little things, like whenever she changed the style or color of her hair. He offered her rides when she needed them. And of course, he was the one who always paid for things, because he was the guy, after all, and she was the girl, so that just seemed right. And besides, he was nice like that. He discovered early on that she needed a lot of emotional support, that sometimes she just needed to hear that yes,she was pretty and yes, she was smart and yes, she was funny, and he was always there to reassure her that yes,she was all of those things.
His reward for his attention and kindness was a great deal of flirting from her, a lot of hugs, sometimes a kiss, sometimes even on the lips. Not too much, though, you understand, because we don’t want to ruin the friendship, right? Yes, of course I understand, he would say, even though he didn’t, but he was willing to be patient. She would invite him to parties and he would rejoice, even though in his heart he suspected that she just needed a ride and had no one else to ask. He would immediately dismiss this terrible thought, however, for she was always eternally grateful when he would say yes. I knew I could count on you, she would say. Later, when the night was over and she was inebriated and bewildered, staying out far past any reasonable hour, he was always there to drive her home, to get her safely into her house and into her bed. He would tuck her in and stroke her hair and sit beside her for a while, waiting around... for what? An invitation? A thank-you? No... just in case... because, you know, he was nice like that. And when he realized that she was passed out and the moment had passed out and nothing else was going to happen, he would retire to her couch, making do with a too mall blanket, lying awake and wondering what he could have done differently, thoroughly frustrated. But he was the one—surely tomorrow she would realize?—who cared enough to take care of her. Yes, he was nice like that. At other times, he would listen to her for hours as she complained to him about other men, how there were so few nice guys like him, and how he was the only one she could trust, the only one who really understood her. She was always upset at some guy, sometimes to the point of feeling physically ill about it, and he would rub her shoulders or buy her dinner, and even though that’s all she talked about to hear her voice anyway.
He secretly couldn’t stand the thought that she had other guys in her life, guys that she slept with, but he tolerated it because he knew she spent far more quality time with him than with them. After all, who did she call to go to movies with when she was bored? Who did she call to take her shopping? Who was the one who waited patiently holding her shopping bags outside countless changing rooms for her? And who did she allow to steal secret glimpses of her body by purposely leaving the changing room curtain slightly open as she changed? That’s right—him, not them!
Yes, it was only a matter of time, only a matter of time. He had seen her at her worst, he had dabbed her tears, he had been there when the world was crushing in on her, when she was depressed or sad or angry, and he had watched her go home with guys who he was sure didn’t care about her at all. And in spite of everything, he still loved and cared for her. For he was nice like that.And years went by... One day, as he reflected upon his long, lonely, and unfruitful relationship with her, he had a sudden idea. He decided he would do something completely different, something so outlandish and adventurous that it would prove to her, once and for all, his undying love for her, and surely launch their magical future together. He had heard about the sea, a long, long distance away, and he decided he would travel to the end of the earth, find the fabled sea, and seek out for her a treasure. He would bring it back home and present it to her as the symbol of his undying devotion. Of course, he realized he could just buy her something online and have it delivered, but part of what he wanted her to notice was his willingness to endure the long and dangerous journey, just for her. Besides, he wanted the treasure to be special.
He thought about it for a long time until, suddenly, he knew! He would seek out and obtain for her an… Exquisite Pearl! Not just any old pearl, you see, but a grand one, one that merited emphasis, capitalization, and italics. Yes! Surely this would impress her so much she would forget all the other men and only want to be with him. After all, who would do such a noble thing? Ah, the more he thought about it, the more he knew he had to go! So one day, without telling anyone, he took up a small bundle of provisions and left in the middle of the night on a journey across the land to the far and distant sea.
The journey was incredibly difficult, far more difficult than he ever could have imagined. There is no way he would have attempted it if he had known how extremely difficult it was going to be. He persisted, however, because of his great love for the beautiful girl back home and how much he wanted to impress her. After many weeks he came upon a treacherous mountain, and he climbed that mountain, clinging perilously to the high rocks for many days, and oh how he missed her. After more weeks he came upon a scorching desert, and he traversed that desert, nearly dying of thirst for many days, and oh how he desired her. After even more weeks he came upon a deep, dangerous, and brooding forest, and he entered that forest, becoming hopelessly lost for many days, and oh how he loved her.
Finally, finally, after all these long days, after all these arduous tribulations, he found himself to be... at the sea! Oh, how immense and expansive, how shimmering and shining, how beautiful and blue! He was broken and battered but somehow the sea restored him, filling him with great energy and strength. He wasted no time seeking out the treasure he had come for. “I have come from far, far away,” he said to some local fishermen, “and I am here now at the sea to seek out a treasure, an... Exquisite Pearl! For the woman I love, you see.” The fishermen looked at him funny, then suggested a few local souvenir shops nearby, which wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but the fishermen assured him there were no real pearls anywhere around here and hadn’t been for years. So he tried all the shops and after a measure of time, he found a large, porcelain, souvenir pearl.
It wasn’t that great, actually, but it was the best he could find, so declaring it to be the symbol of his undying affection, he bought it and added it to his little bundle. He turned around immediately to leave the sea, to return home to the girl he dearly loved. But something made him pause... to look over his shoulder... to turn around... for some reason, he could not take his eyes off the sea and all its blue immenseness. He lingered there for many days, contemplating the sea.
Finally, after lingering and contemplating much longer than he felt he should, with a curious mixture of sadness and excitement, he turned around and set back out across the land, retracing his path. He battled again through the dark, brooding forest, through the scorching desert, and over the unforgiving mountain fighting the elements every torturous step of the way. And always he thought of his dear, beautiful girl, the love of his life, and how surprised she would be at his sacrifice and his amazing gift. Finally, interminably, he arrived back at his village, battered and bruised. He caught his breath, dusted off his clothes, straightened his tie, and after a deep breath, rushed to her home.
She was, of course, thoroughly surprised to see him, for he had been gone for such a very long time, and even more thoroughly surprised when, sitting at her feet, he recounted all the details of his remarkable adventure. He told her of all the hardships he had endured just for her. He told her about the mountain and he told her about the desert and he told her about the forest and he told her about the sea. Mostly, he told her about the sea.
And then, with the greatest flourish he could muster, he stood up tall before her, opened his little bundle, and presented to her with both hands the... Exquisite Pearl! The beautiful girl was astonished and she began to weep and fell into his arms. She proclaimed right then and there that from now on, she would love no other man but him. No one has ever sacrificed so much for me! she cried. Besides, the other men are just a bunch of jerks anyway, especially the guy she met a few weeks ago. Oh and by the way, I have to go see him again tonight. I think he is just using me for sex, you see, and I want to go clear that up, to tell him that he can’t just use me like that. You understand, right? But not to worry because I finally know what I want and I will call you tomorrow for sure. Or maybe the next day. But sometime this week for sure, and thank you so much for the gift, it’s the thought that counts, right? You’re so cute. And she showered him again with kisses and hugs and fondness. But something was different... something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. For as she was showering him with all those kisses and all those hugs and all those promises and proclamations, he found himself looking over her shoulder and out the window toward the distant horizon. She smiled at him and he thought of the mountain. She held his hand and he thought of the desert. She hugged him close and he thought of the forest. She kissed his cheek and he thought of the sea. Most of all... he thought of the sea... he thought of the sea. And he placed the “pearl” in her hand and walked away.
Friday, October 9, 2015
PERSONAL: WATER LILIES BY MONET
We have been sitting here for a long time, contemplating. A single room with a single bench, centered, equidistant from every wall. This entire room is devoted to only one thing, and that one thing is right there on the wall in front of us. Right there. There is nothing else here but this bench and that one thing. ‘Water Lilies’ by Monet, before us in this room, before us in this stillness, before us in our contemplation. A triptych as large as, and larger than, this room that contains it.
Who were you, Claude Monet? What were you trying to capture in life? What were you trying to steal? What were you trying to possess? You never really managed to capture it, did you? And oh, you tried. You spent the last half of your life painting the same bridge over and over again, at different times of the day, different angles, different seasons. Over and over again. The same bridge. And as you aged and your eyesight worsened, your paintings became more blurry, more diffuse, more, well... impressionistic, one might say. Same bridge, a little bit harder to make it out, but there it was... the same old bridge that you always painted.
We say nothing, sitting here, holding hands. Me and my lovely girl. What are you thinking in this space, my lovely girl? What is Claude Monet saying to you? What do you think he desired the most? And for that matter, what do you desire the most? A relationship? With me? A life-long love affair? Ah, my lovely girl.. We enter into the same relationships over and over again. We think this one will be different, but it’s just the same old bridge we’ve always painted. We repeat our patterns, the same scene over and over again, losing clarity and insight as time goes on, each new relationship less carefully painted. Because we are slowly losing our ability to see. Earlier today we encountered Vermeer, the 16th century Dutch master who painted clear scenes of ordinary people in ordinary clothes doing ordinary things. Sublime images, haunting and beautiful. Vermeer tried to capture light. In fact, maybe the only thing he really painted was light, and not the subjects you see in his paintings. He painted the light. Only the light. He didn’t see a table, he saw a table that reflected light. To him, the light was supreme, the only really interesting element, the most important theme of the picture. If there was no light, nothing else in the picture would make any sense or even exist. Without the light, the wonderful light, nothing else mattered. Oh, my lovely girl... to paint our relationship like Vermeer... to capture the light... and only the light.
Who were you, Claude Monet? What were you trying to capture in life? What were you trying to steal? What were you trying to possess? You never really managed to capture it, did you? And oh, you tried. You spent the last half of your life painting the same bridge over and over again, at different times of the day, different angles, different seasons. Over and over again. The same bridge. And as you aged and your eyesight worsened, your paintings became more blurry, more diffuse, more, well... impressionistic, one might say. Same bridge, a little bit harder to make it out, but there it was... the same old bridge that you always painted.
We say nothing, sitting here, holding hands. Me and my lovely girl. What are you thinking in this space, my lovely girl? What is Claude Monet saying to you? What do you think he desired the most? And for that matter, what do you desire the most? A relationship? With me? A life-long love affair? Ah, my lovely girl.. We enter into the same relationships over and over again. We think this one will be different, but it’s just the same old bridge we’ve always painted. We repeat our patterns, the same scene over and over again, losing clarity and insight as time goes on, each new relationship less carefully painted. Because we are slowly losing our ability to see. Earlier today we encountered Vermeer, the 16th century Dutch master who painted clear scenes of ordinary people in ordinary clothes doing ordinary things. Sublime images, haunting and beautiful. Vermeer tried to capture light. In fact, maybe the only thing he really painted was light, and not the subjects you see in his paintings. He painted the light. Only the light. He didn’t see a table, he saw a table that reflected light. To him, the light was supreme, the only really interesting element, the most important theme of the picture. If there was no light, nothing else in the picture would make any sense or even exist. Without the light, the wonderful light, nothing else mattered. Oh, my lovely girl... to paint our relationship like Vermeer... to capture the light... and only the light.
Sunday, October 4, 2015
PERSONAL: WHAT IS THE PLAN OF THE UNIVERSE?
What is the plan of the universe? There are moments in time, infinite moments, when God looks down upon you and says, here you go, this is for you, today it is all for you, yes you, six billion on the planet but today is your day, this moment is your moment, when all of life’s mysteries are revealed to you and only to you... and look! Somewhere ahead is our destination. Straight ahead like a bullet shot,can’t miss it, that inevitable destination of ours... but for some reason, it feels so elusive, slips the mind.
Traditionally, a man and a woman will go through a series of distinct stages in their courtship. There is a meeting stage, a getting-to-know-you stage, a story-telling stage, a comfort-building stage, a familiarity stage, a romance stage, an intimacy stage, a last minute- resistance stage, and whatever else. There is something good and familiar in this. It is the normal progression of a man and a woman, a kind of escalation, higher and higher together.
Except... not with me. There are no stages with me. If I like a woman, if I feel an attraction to her, then all of these traditional stages are conflated into the first few minutes. There is no need to convince her of anything. She is still talking to me because she knows exactly where this is heading and wants it too. Everything has already been presented, dealt with, and transcended. She knows it, I know it, and she knows I know it.
We might elect to travel along the traditional courtship trajectory because it’s fun. But everything is as clear to us as freshly cleaned glass. Pretenses and posturing simply fall away. Hesitation and games are swept aside like yesterday’s dust. I have already said everything I need to say to you with my eyes, my voice, and my words. You will look at me and smile and say, “You’re bad... you’re trouble.” And I will laugh and say, “Ah yes... and I see that you are still right here talking to me.”
I never go on a date with a girl I just met. Dinners, coffees,movies? Nope. I only go on those kind of dates with women I am already sleeping with. Sounds a little abrupt, perhaps, but it’s the truth. Let me explain. Most of us go on dates to test the waters, to see if we like each other, to see if we are compatible, to see how it goes. I already know all this. Her signals, her responsiveness, her unspoken invitations have already told me everything about her and the way it will be. Everything has already been shared and accepted between us.
I am not like other men. I am honest. I don’t play games. If I like you, I will tell you. If I want you in my bed,you will know it. If you give me your phone number, I won’t artificially wait three days. I will call you tomorrow. You know what I am all about. I am no mystery to you at all. Most guys will hide their natural impulses because they really like you and want to give you a good impression. The difference between me and them is that I don’t hide my desires. I can only promise you two things. One, I will never lie to you or play with your emotions. Two, I will take you higher up the slopes of passion than you have ever been.
Other men might be better at telling stories or getting phone numbers or entertaining you, but sit down across from me, my love, for an hour or so and I am without equal. In an hour I can explain your very soul to you. I can take you places in your mind you have never imagined. I can change the night into day and the day into night with my words. I can bring the stars to your feet. I can weave a net that catches us up together, breathless, a luscious wondrous net of words, cascading, tumbling, folding in upon us, a whisper of words to you and to the air all around us, a beautiful anticipation that is impossible for either of us to resist.
There are three things you need to know about me. Number one: I will never lie to you, never misrepresent. Look in my eyes… this is my clear promise to you. Yes, my invitation to you is a strong one, but it is also an honest one. Number two: I promise you will always be comfortable. And I promise you will get home safe. The choice, my dear, is yours. I only desire what you desire. I can only be excited if you’re excited. As for number three, I am absolutely discreet. What happens between you and me is only between you and me. Forever. No one will ever know about it. Unless, of course... you want them to know. In that case, tell the whole world. I am charming and nice, respectful and accommodating, but I am something more. I am a man and I desire you and I will do all kinds of bad things to you if given the time and place.
My intention is to meet someone and settle down and start a family.If that is what you want, we already have something in common to start our journey. I live in Long island and work in Long island.I will share more picture if I feel that we will meet.
In every single one of the long-term, loving relationships I have experienced (oh joyous remembrance!), we were intimate on the very first night. Every single one. And these were women who all said it is something they “would never do.” It is a postulate that men will not respect a woman who sleeps with them on the first night. For me, the opposite is true. In fact, when I have connected with a woman on such a profound level, with such an alignment of our hearts, minds, and bodies, I am mildly shocked (and amused) if it doesn’t occur on the first night. I chalk it up to logistics or circumstances and not to any supposed societal consideration on her part. That barrier between us was transcended long ago.I respect a woman more if she honors the closeness, the intimacy, the alignment we share, with the full knowledge that she can trust me and she shows it with her actions. It makes me respect her completely. It makes me like her immensely. It makes me realize that she, like me, believes in the beauty of life and the everlasting gifts it brings.
I love it when I am in the presence of a woman who can see into my soul and who understands my nature completely. Women are a delight to me; every encounter is a brush with beauty and wonder.
There have been countless times when I am talking to a pretty girl and I know I can have her in my bed. I can see it in her eyes, in the way she touches her neck, in the way she plays with her hair. I can feel it in the air. All I have to say is one or two little words and she is mine, and yet... I just shake her hand and smile and tell her it was nice to meet her and I get the hell away.
Why do I turn away from her? I don’t know. Sometimes, I just can’t be bothered, I guess. I look into her eyes, and there is no mystery there. It’s like I’ve been there before, if you know what I mean... like I already know everything about her, the way she is, the way it will be with her. I know, just by looking into her eyes and observing the way she carries herself, exactly how she will feel in my hands, exactly how she will smell, exactly how she will taste... for I have been there before, I have smelled her before, I have tasted her before. I have heard her stories a thousand times on other lips. I have already touched her body in every conceivable way. I already know what positions she prefers. I already know if she will be animated in bed or if she will just lie there on her back and starfish. I look at her and... well, she is so sweet and she is so kind and I have nothing for her, nothing to give to her, no words to say to her. I can’t even take one step toward her. It’s like the restaurant is open and I am hungry and I have money but I just can’t be bothered to go inside.
Women have a sense of abundance when it comes to sex. A woman can walk into a bar or a lounge and be reasonably assured that someone there would agree to go home with her. Most men do not have this sense of sexual availability, this sense of abundance. They hope it might happen. This is why they call it “getting lucky,” because they are surprised most of the time when it happens. Because women can have sex whenever they want, because they can have that guy and that guy and that guy, they tend to look for something different, something beyond the crowd. They look for, and rarely find, a man of excellence, and an experience that is transcendent, connected, meaningful. What’s interesting is that the more sexual abundance a man has, the more he becomes like a woman. I have begins to view the world with the same weary, yearning eyes of a woman. A simple sexual experience is always an option, and because it is always an option, it is no longer an option.I sees women all around, and yet, like a woman, I am looks for something more.
If I am interested enough in a woman to want her in my bed, then I will want to see her again. I have no desire to become physical with a woman if I can’t experience her fully. I want to delight in her aspect, in her mind—not just her body. I don’t want or need “just sex.” I’ve been there many times before and the landscape can be, at times, bland and boring. Instead, I need to commit to her and the experience freely, entirely, without suppressing myself in any way—even if it is only for one night. Sex with a random woman I don’t really care about, well, isn’t that just glorified masturbation?
I have known the perfumed pillow of many a pretty girl, the kind of girl that men desire. Now I look for something more, something behind the eyes. The way she looks to me, the smell of her hair, and the curve of her body, are all part of the attraction, of course, but her spirit, her mind, her mystique... oh, that is another level completely. I need to desire her mind as much as her body... no, even more than her body. I need to desire her very essence.
There is a light that shines from within certain women, a nurturing light that washes over the hearts of men, cleansing them, baptizing them in a way. In her presence, all is forgiven. What calm radiance! What a gift of grace!
This is the only thing I desire from a woman, the only thing that makes me pause, the only thing that makes me look at her and wonder what is possible with her. It has nothing to do with her outward appearance and everything to do with her transcendent, iridescent, natural beauty. When I encounter a woman like this, I love her so much; I would do anything for her. Well... almost anything.
There are times when I am attracted to people who are not attracted to me. And the ones who want me are not the ones I want at all.Those who you are truly attracted to—on a heart level—are the ones who are attracted to you. The problem is that most of us cannot make a distinction between what we really want for our lives and our surface impulses.Our relationships do not last because our vision is obscured. Women see everything through an obscuring cloud of wishes and expectations and repeated patterns and men see everything through a cloud of sexual frustration. So we find ourselves attracted to anyone who bears a passing resemblance to what we think we want, trying everyone on for size..,,but not me.
We are all starved for romance, for seduction, for passion. We want it so badly that it makes us cry. Oh, how we yearn for a romantic path through our days, for relevance in our lives, for our lives to have an impact. Our hearts ache to be caught up in something greater than ourselves, to be seduced, to seduce ourselves and others, to desire something—anything!—so much that we would die for it.
We have forgotten how to have fun. We unlearn fun. Every interaction with you should be infused with fun. This includes the way we meet, the way we date, the way we are together in bed, and the way we are together in relationship. I love life. I am fascinated and curious all day, every day, and if I ever find myself in the presence of a woman who persists in trying to sideswipe The women I am drawn to possess the same ridiculous love of life and bountiful enthusiasm as me. Oh sure, problems assault them from every angle, just like anyone, but they are resilient enough to bounce back, find their smile, count their blessings, and give thanks again for little things.
Men want sex. And a girl who is too quick to give that up to every man nearby is said to be too easy, too available—in short, what society labels a “slut.” So now let’s look at it from the other side. Women want a strong emotional connection. And a man who is too quick to give that up to every woman nearby is said to be too easy, too available—in short, an emotional slut. So there you go… a Nice Guy is a slut.
Women say they are tired of all the jerks. For once, they would love to meet a normal guy with a normal sense of humor who is nice to them..I read that all the time. Ah, I say to them, are you sure? Within a five-mile radius of where you are right now, there are volumes of nice and normal guys who would be extremely happy to be that man for you. They will shower you with flowers, gifts, and sweet nothings. They will pay attention to your every whim and desire. They will be so nice to you, your head will spin. But you don’t really want that, do you, my love? See? You laugh because you know it’s true.It's like the woman who do porn. They could have any guy they want to support them, yet they have sex with guys on film
What do women want? Let me attempt to answer the question. My answer is this: Every woman wants to be in a love story. Women want the same thing they have always wanted since they were little girls. To be noticed. To be adored. To be seen as lovely. To be celebrated. To be in a love story.
I have known women —investment bankers, real-estate moguls, company presidents,
visionaries, women of success, women of authority, women who command respect, women who are efficient, knowledgeable, and independent. And yet, in quiet times, they cry. Why? Because they are sad and because they are lonely and because they are in love with love, that’s why. And in those quiet, crying times, do you know what those sophisticated, worldly women say to me? That they would give it all up for romance.Every woman wants to be in a love story. To be noticed, adored,desired… this is a vital element to the heart of a woman, as necessary as air and water. She can’t live without it. Nothing will ever supplant or replace that.
We’ve lost focus. Women and men simply don’t get invested as deeply today as they once did.Instead of mindful commitments, a switch is flipped on and we are in a relationship, and after a few weeks or months or years, the switch is inexplicably flipped off again and, just like that, it is done. We don’t give fully. No matter how sincere and happy and excited we are at the beginning. What usually happens when we enter into a relationship is that we tend to hold back just a little, because some part of us is still unsure. Are we really willing to give up all others forever? For her? For him? Yes, of course we are... but really? Forever? In all of our wanderings, in all of our longings, what we want is simple: to be loved, to be respected, to be adored. And we can’t understand why we are not loved, when we are so sincere, so kind, so accommodating. Oh, how many glad promises have we made to ourselves and to others?
Traditionally, a man and a woman will go through a series of distinct stages in their courtship. There is a meeting stage, a getting-to-know-you stage, a story-telling stage, a comfort-building stage, a familiarity stage, a romance stage, an intimacy stage, a last minute- resistance stage, and whatever else. There is something good and familiar in this. It is the normal progression of a man and a woman, a kind of escalation, higher and higher together.
Except... not with me. There are no stages with me. If I like a woman, if I feel an attraction to her, then all of these traditional stages are conflated into the first few minutes. There is no need to convince her of anything. She is still talking to me because she knows exactly where this is heading and wants it too. Everything has already been presented, dealt with, and transcended. She knows it, I know it, and she knows I know it.
We might elect to travel along the traditional courtship trajectory because it’s fun. But everything is as clear to us as freshly cleaned glass. Pretenses and posturing simply fall away. Hesitation and games are swept aside like yesterday’s dust. I have already said everything I need to say to you with my eyes, my voice, and my words. You will look at me and smile and say, “You’re bad... you’re trouble.” And I will laugh and say, “Ah yes... and I see that you are still right here talking to me.”
I never go on a date with a girl I just met. Dinners, coffees,movies? Nope. I only go on those kind of dates with women I am already sleeping with. Sounds a little abrupt, perhaps, but it’s the truth. Let me explain. Most of us go on dates to test the waters, to see if we like each other, to see if we are compatible, to see how it goes. I already know all this. Her signals, her responsiveness, her unspoken invitations have already told me everything about her and the way it will be. Everything has already been shared and accepted between us.
I am not like other men. I am honest. I don’t play games. If I like you, I will tell you. If I want you in my bed,you will know it. If you give me your phone number, I won’t artificially wait three days. I will call you tomorrow. You know what I am all about. I am no mystery to you at all. Most guys will hide their natural impulses because they really like you and want to give you a good impression. The difference between me and them is that I don’t hide my desires. I can only promise you two things. One, I will never lie to you or play with your emotions. Two, I will take you higher up the slopes of passion than you have ever been.
Other men might be better at telling stories or getting phone numbers or entertaining you, but sit down across from me, my love, for an hour or so and I am without equal. In an hour I can explain your very soul to you. I can take you places in your mind you have never imagined. I can change the night into day and the day into night with my words. I can bring the stars to your feet. I can weave a net that catches us up together, breathless, a luscious wondrous net of words, cascading, tumbling, folding in upon us, a whisper of words to you and to the air all around us, a beautiful anticipation that is impossible for either of us to resist.
There are three things you need to know about me. Number one: I will never lie to you, never misrepresent. Look in my eyes… this is my clear promise to you. Yes, my invitation to you is a strong one, but it is also an honest one. Number two: I promise you will always be comfortable. And I promise you will get home safe. The choice, my dear, is yours. I only desire what you desire. I can only be excited if you’re excited. As for number three, I am absolutely discreet. What happens between you and me is only between you and me. Forever. No one will ever know about it. Unless, of course... you want them to know. In that case, tell the whole world. I am charming and nice, respectful and accommodating, but I am something more. I am a man and I desire you and I will do all kinds of bad things to you if given the time and place.
My intention is to meet someone and settle down and start a family.If that is what you want, we already have something in common to start our journey. I live in Long island and work in Long island.I will share more picture if I feel that we will meet.
In every single one of the long-term, loving relationships I have experienced (oh joyous remembrance!), we were intimate on the very first night. Every single one. And these were women who all said it is something they “would never do.” It is a postulate that men will not respect a woman who sleeps with them on the first night. For me, the opposite is true. In fact, when I have connected with a woman on such a profound level, with such an alignment of our hearts, minds, and bodies, I am mildly shocked (and amused) if it doesn’t occur on the first night. I chalk it up to logistics or circumstances and not to any supposed societal consideration on her part. That barrier between us was transcended long ago.I respect a woman more if she honors the closeness, the intimacy, the alignment we share, with the full knowledge that she can trust me and she shows it with her actions. It makes me respect her completely. It makes me like her immensely. It makes me realize that she, like me, believes in the beauty of life and the everlasting gifts it brings.
I love it when I am in the presence of a woman who can see into my soul and who understands my nature completely. Women are a delight to me; every encounter is a brush with beauty and wonder.
There have been countless times when I am talking to a pretty girl and I know I can have her in my bed. I can see it in her eyes, in the way she touches her neck, in the way she plays with her hair. I can feel it in the air. All I have to say is one or two little words and she is mine, and yet... I just shake her hand and smile and tell her it was nice to meet her and I get the hell away.
Why do I turn away from her? I don’t know. Sometimes, I just can’t be bothered, I guess. I look into her eyes, and there is no mystery there. It’s like I’ve been there before, if you know what I mean... like I already know everything about her, the way she is, the way it will be with her. I know, just by looking into her eyes and observing the way she carries herself, exactly how she will feel in my hands, exactly how she will smell, exactly how she will taste... for I have been there before, I have smelled her before, I have tasted her before. I have heard her stories a thousand times on other lips. I have already touched her body in every conceivable way. I already know what positions she prefers. I already know if she will be animated in bed or if she will just lie there on her back and starfish. I look at her and... well, she is so sweet and she is so kind and I have nothing for her, nothing to give to her, no words to say to her. I can’t even take one step toward her. It’s like the restaurant is open and I am hungry and I have money but I just can’t be bothered to go inside.
Women have a sense of abundance when it comes to sex. A woman can walk into a bar or a lounge and be reasonably assured that someone there would agree to go home with her. Most men do not have this sense of sexual availability, this sense of abundance. They hope it might happen. This is why they call it “getting lucky,” because they are surprised most of the time when it happens. Because women can have sex whenever they want, because they can have that guy and that guy and that guy, they tend to look for something different, something beyond the crowd. They look for, and rarely find, a man of excellence, and an experience that is transcendent, connected, meaningful. What’s interesting is that the more sexual abundance a man has, the more he becomes like a woman. I have begins to view the world with the same weary, yearning eyes of a woman. A simple sexual experience is always an option, and because it is always an option, it is no longer an option.I sees women all around, and yet, like a woman, I am looks for something more.
If I am interested enough in a woman to want her in my bed, then I will want to see her again. I have no desire to become physical with a woman if I can’t experience her fully. I want to delight in her aspect, in her mind—not just her body. I don’t want or need “just sex.” I’ve been there many times before and the landscape can be, at times, bland and boring. Instead, I need to commit to her and the experience freely, entirely, without suppressing myself in any way—even if it is only for one night. Sex with a random woman I don’t really care about, well, isn’t that just glorified masturbation?
I have known the perfumed pillow of many a pretty girl, the kind of girl that men desire. Now I look for something more, something behind the eyes. The way she looks to me, the smell of her hair, and the curve of her body, are all part of the attraction, of course, but her spirit, her mind, her mystique... oh, that is another level completely. I need to desire her mind as much as her body... no, even more than her body. I need to desire her very essence.
There is a light that shines from within certain women, a nurturing light that washes over the hearts of men, cleansing them, baptizing them in a way. In her presence, all is forgiven. What calm radiance! What a gift of grace!
This is the only thing I desire from a woman, the only thing that makes me pause, the only thing that makes me look at her and wonder what is possible with her. It has nothing to do with her outward appearance and everything to do with her transcendent, iridescent, natural beauty. When I encounter a woman like this, I love her so much; I would do anything for her. Well... almost anything.
There are times when I am attracted to people who are not attracted to me. And the ones who want me are not the ones I want at all.Those who you are truly attracted to—on a heart level—are the ones who are attracted to you. The problem is that most of us cannot make a distinction between what we really want for our lives and our surface impulses.Our relationships do not last because our vision is obscured. Women see everything through an obscuring cloud of wishes and expectations and repeated patterns and men see everything through a cloud of sexual frustration. So we find ourselves attracted to anyone who bears a passing resemblance to what we think we want, trying everyone on for size..,,but not me.
We are all starved for romance, for seduction, for passion. We want it so badly that it makes us cry. Oh, how we yearn for a romantic path through our days, for relevance in our lives, for our lives to have an impact. Our hearts ache to be caught up in something greater than ourselves, to be seduced, to seduce ourselves and others, to desire something—anything!—so much that we would die for it.
We have forgotten how to have fun. We unlearn fun. Every interaction with you should be infused with fun. This includes the way we meet, the way we date, the way we are together in bed, and the way we are together in relationship. I love life. I am fascinated and curious all day, every day, and if I ever find myself in the presence of a woman who persists in trying to sideswipe The women I am drawn to possess the same ridiculous love of life and bountiful enthusiasm as me. Oh sure, problems assault them from every angle, just like anyone, but they are resilient enough to bounce back, find their smile, count their blessings, and give thanks again for little things.
Men want sex. And a girl who is too quick to give that up to every man nearby is said to be too easy, too available—in short, what society labels a “slut.” So now let’s look at it from the other side. Women want a strong emotional connection. And a man who is too quick to give that up to every woman nearby is said to be too easy, too available—in short, an emotional slut. So there you go… a Nice Guy is a slut.
Women say they are tired of all the jerks. For once, they would love to meet a normal guy with a normal sense of humor who is nice to them..I read that all the time. Ah, I say to them, are you sure? Within a five-mile radius of where you are right now, there are volumes of nice and normal guys who would be extremely happy to be that man for you. They will shower you with flowers, gifts, and sweet nothings. They will pay attention to your every whim and desire. They will be so nice to you, your head will spin. But you don’t really want that, do you, my love? See? You laugh because you know it’s true.It's like the woman who do porn. They could have any guy they want to support them, yet they have sex with guys on film
What do women want? Let me attempt to answer the question. My answer is this: Every woman wants to be in a love story. Women want the same thing they have always wanted since they were little girls. To be noticed. To be adored. To be seen as lovely. To be celebrated. To be in a love story.
I have known women —investment bankers, real-estate moguls, company presidents,
visionaries, women of success, women of authority, women who command respect, women who are efficient, knowledgeable, and independent. And yet, in quiet times, they cry. Why? Because they are sad and because they are lonely and because they are in love with love, that’s why. And in those quiet, crying times, do you know what those sophisticated, worldly women say to me? That they would give it all up for romance.Every woman wants to be in a love story. To be noticed, adored,desired… this is a vital element to the heart of a woman, as necessary as air and water. She can’t live without it. Nothing will ever supplant or replace that.
We’ve lost focus. Women and men simply don’t get invested as deeply today as they once did.Instead of mindful commitments, a switch is flipped on and we are in a relationship, and after a few weeks or months or years, the switch is inexplicably flipped off again and, just like that, it is done. We don’t give fully. No matter how sincere and happy and excited we are at the beginning. What usually happens when we enter into a relationship is that we tend to hold back just a little, because some part of us is still unsure. Are we really willing to give up all others forever? For her? For him? Yes, of course we are... but really? Forever? In all of our wanderings, in all of our longings, what we want is simple: to be loved, to be respected, to be adored. And we can’t understand why we are not loved, when we are so sincere, so kind, so accommodating. Oh, how many glad promises have we made to ourselves and to others?
PERSONAL:MY GAZE
I see you there across the room, through the crowd. My friend is saying something to me and other women flow by, but oh, let him talk, and oh, let them flow, for all is ignored. I only see you. These are the moments I live for. Snapshots of beauty, swatches of grace... A stare without staring. A smile and a nod to my friend. Slowly it dawns on him that I am not listening to him in the slightest, nor shall I. He stops talking and follows my gaze, to see what I see. And what I see is you, my lustrous-eyed lover... oh yes I do. Lover? But we haven’t even met! Yes well....And at this exact same moment in time, as if summoned,you glance in my direction, a dreamy wandering softness, a sweeping pass across the room and me, and then… a pause, and back to me. One one thousand, two one thousand, and now down and away. Yes, you see me too, my scintillating Titian goddess… and now you know.
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