The Upside of Anger

Okay, maybe you could say I'm taking the easy way out (you'd be half right), but I'm going to use my 'Upside of Anger' film journal as my last blog. Why you ask (besides the fact I'm taking the easy way out)? Well, I think you can see from the progression of my blogs (save for the 'death' topic) the effects of misplaced anger and the way it can make a person think and feel. So for that reason, I think this is pretty relevant stuff. Anyway...

I watched ‘The Upside of Anger’ by myself, in secret, as to maintain some semblance of masculinity. And, like most every other ‘chick flick’ I have ever watched, I thoroughly enjoyed it. I admittedly harbor an affinity for these things and I have done so since I was a teenager. However, if I admitted the reasons why I would be completely contradicting the ‘cold-hardened cynic’ facade I have worked so hard to perpetuate. With that being said, I responded to this film in a deeper sense than just the warm, fuzzy feeling I felt inside. I was actually able to identify with it…specifically, I identified with Terri’s character. Even more specifically, I identified with her anger, bitterness, and resentment and the toll these things can have on a person. As Terri’s daughter points out, these things can turn one into something they are not…I know that feeling all too well. I suppose that is the source of these ‘fronts’ I feel the need to put up. But it is undoubtedly why- despite the obvious differences between her and me- I related to Terri’s character as opposed to her daughters, who are actually much more similar to me in terms of ‘stage of life.’

The ‘Upside of Anger’ is virtually a film without a discernable plot; it is structured more as a three year glimpse into the life of a suburban, upper-middle class family. It is narrated, perhaps with unrealistic poignancy (not unlike a recent, popular little film called ‘Juno’) by a fifteen year old girl, Popeye, who is the youngest of four daughters of the Wolfmeyer family. The story focuses on this family which is comprised of the middle-aged mother, Terri, and her daughters: Hadley, Andy, Emily, and the aforementioned Popeye. The family lives in suburban Detroit, and it struck me that this is one of the few portrayals I have seen of Detroit on film that did not depict this city as essentially being ‘Murdertown, USA’. The current family structure is left as such by the disappearance of the father, who has presumably left the country with his Swedish secretary. The primary character outside the family is Denny Davies, a burnt-out former baseball player depicted by Kevin Costner, who has basically become Hollywood’s go-to guy for the middle-aged, baseball-playing types. Denny, the Wolfmeyer's neighbor, has his own radio talk show in Detroit and becomes Terri’s drinking buddy and eventual romantic partner. Despite his obvious flaws (alcoholism and, seemingly, a sense of complacency and lack of direction in life), he serves as a protective factor in that he is practically her lone cohort and he fills the emotional void left by her husband’s disappearance.

The primary life event and risk factor which has led to Terri’s emotional turmoil and alcoholism (and the change in life trajectory from a happy suburban housewife) is, obviously, the perceived abandonment by her husband. However, her daughters also present as risk factors for Terri, though it is important to point out that they also serve as protective factors as- if for nothing else- they give Terri a much-needed sense of responsibility and purpose. However, Terri’s oldest daughter, Hadley, seems to be somewhat detached from the mother; a reality which visibly pains Terri a couple of times throughout the film. Furthermore, another daughter, Andy, aspires for a career in broadcasting and, much to the Terri’s dismay, has a relationship with a much-older radio producer in what presumably is an attempt to further that career. Finally, Emily is an aspiring ballet dancer whose drive and focus, though admirable, is much to her detriment as it creates severe health issues. All of these stressors collectively and undeniably complicate the already-strained environment created by the absence of Terri’s husband.

As mentioned previously, I related to Terri more than the other characters. However, that is not to say that I identified with her in every capacity, as I certainly could not. She is obviously, a female in middle adulthood, whereas I am (happily) in early adulthood. Additionally, it appears that she and her daughters are from an upper-middle income family- something with which I cannot identify in the least. However, though I have never experienced something as traumatic as abandonment by a spouse, I have experienced a change in life perceptions due to anger and resentment. Those feelings have been created by various life events, whether it was family hardships or failed relationships. But they are very powerful emotions which will genuinely turn you into something you are not, and this is something I have been trying to overcome for much of my life, from adolescence through early adulthood. So I guess you could say that certain emotions affect one is certain ways, regardless of one’s stage of life. However, as the film showed when it was discovered that Terri’s husband had actually committed suicide rather than run off with his secretary, the source of these emotions is often unfounded. And then what are we left with, and for what reason?

Cold, hardened cynicism...where did you go???

We talked again. We went to the fair. I pissed her off. But I redeemed myself (maybe it was because I told her she looked beautiful…in three days it was the first time I had seen her smile). Then the weekend came…and it wouldn’t end. But then it did, mercifully, and we picked up where we left off. It was amazing- we’re kind of the same, the ‘pretty face’ and I. Not with the ‘petty’ stuff (we don’t have the same favorite bands), but in the whole ‘principles, philosophies, perspectives’ sort of way (see a couple of blogs ago). The weeks rolled by…we got so close, so fast. In fact, we spent every available second together (while still doing our jobs, of course). But the thing is: I never wanted her to leave…I never got sick of her. But then it came…it was the last thing I wanted to hear! She has a boyfriend. But I don’t get deterred by things like that. If this is as right as I think it is- if this really is that Supergirl I’ve been searching for (but not admit I’m searching for), then I’ll know what to do. I’ll just magically know that, out of the millions of poems in the world, E.E. Cummings’ ‘I carry your heart with me’ is her favorite. And then I’ll read it to her. And I did. And it was. But damn’t, the boyfriend is still there. Like a fly buzzing around my face on a hot summer day, I can’t swat him. I mean, she made a commitment to him, and she’s not going waver from it. But, just as quickly as I was (metaphorically) punched in the gut with the news that she had a boyfriend, she didn’t have a boyfriend anymore. I don’t know the details, and I really don’t want to know. I just know that now I’m pretty happy and that is all that matters.

Not just a pretty face...

She was more than a pretty face. I went home gushing that first day she showed up, saying, “Damn, that new girl is hot.” But that’s about where it had to end…after all, the pretty ones never have ‘substance.’ So we progressed to day two. I stood outside her office (in a totally non-creepy way) devising a plan to approach her, as I’m admittedly not the smoothest cat in the world (most of my best lines are regurgitated ‘Cary Grant’…yeah, so effective with today’s women). I just didn’t want to fall all over myself, like the fumbling idiot I can sometimes be around a pretty face. But then I hit a stroke of luck- she needed some help moving around some things in her new office (as fate would have it, right down the hall from mine), so I jumped at my chance. And then, perhaps to try to impress her or perhaps out of sheer panic, I jumped into the most arrogant, self-righteous diatribe on absolutely nothing that’s ever been pontificated. But, as she started to call me out on my b******t, something struck me immediately about this ‘pretty face’- she was smart…really smart. But then we were interrupted and the conversation ended right there. However, she actually wanted to continue our matching of wits, so my focus immediately turned to what I would say the next time I had a chance to ‘impress’ her again. Before I left the office, she gave me a black scorpion plush doll thingy but assured me it wasn't an indication of her feelings towards me. I took my new treasure back to my office, where I was unable to sit still for the rest of the day. Damn, there was something about this girl!

'A Pretty Face'

Well, I’ve decided that three blogs is quite enough to dedicate to my near-death experience, so now I am happily returning to relationships. My previous blogs have been slightly (okay, perhaps more than slightly) cynical given the topic that I chose to write about. Maybe I wanted to use it as an outlet to vent. Or maybe (and this is difficult to admit), I hoped to prove myself wrong when it came to my outlook on relationships in early adulthood. I’ve draped myself in armor for so long in an effort to not get ripped to shreds by girls, but with each word I type here today I can’t fathom how blind I was to the burden, the absolute exhaustion it caused me.

So, she’s the new girl at work. I mean, it’s always the ‘new girl’ somewhere. And now I can’t even write a blog. I lie on my couch and type letters that luckily make words which sometimes make sentences. Maybe she’ll do something wrong and my writers block will go away. The greatest writers in history were all ‘tortured souls’ anyway, right? Surely she’s only a pretty face. Forget the weight and the exhaustion, the armor needs to stay. I’m not that lucky. She can’t be more than a pretty face.

Life Style Changes in Young Adulthood

So I have heart surgery and I think all is well. But I continued to have palpitations. I went back to the cardiologist and I got to wear a heart monitor for 24 hours. Well, now the cardiologist tells me that the problem which caused the 250-beat-a-minute arrhythmia was fixed, but I still have a problem…tachycardia, which I assume to be a fast heart beat ‘in a general sort of way.’ So now she’s telling me I can’t take Adderall anymore because it could kill me (the doc in Birmingham told me I could resume it). Oh, and coffee has to go too. But here is the kicker: she tells me that there is no surgery to fix this problem and I will have to take medications the rest of my life. SCREW THAT.

Naturally, I don’t like what she has to say, so I call my family doctor so he can refer me to another cardiologist for a second opinion. Well, I go see him and he sings a different tune than the cardiologist. He thinks that the problem was never fixed in the first place. He gives me some new meds which aren’t supposed to mess me up like the beta blockers (though its listed side effects are apathy and breast development in males…just what I always wanted). But that brings us to the present day, and I am currently awaiting my ‘second opinion’ with a cardiologist at UAB.

Anyway, the bottom line is that every doctor seems to agree on one thing: my lifestyle had to change. So now I get to be a live, breathing example of how a life event changes one’s life course (yay…Life Course Perspective exemplified). Or, I get to be a stubborn asshole that didn’t pay attention to his wake-up call and dies at an early age because of a lifestyle which would, at times, make most rock stars proud. So here goes nothing…no bad substances (never illegal…just wanted to clarify) and an Adderall-less graduate school experience. Wish me the best.

Gettin’ Fixed (supposedly)…

So, after I was stabilized in the ER I was admitted to the Critical Care Unit at Cullman Regional Hospital. There I was seen by a cardiologist who diagnosed me with a heart condition (Wolf-Parkinson’s something or another) which- so they say- I have probably had my whole life. Apparently, it had just decided to rear its ugly head as of late (though as I said in the previous blog, I have had problems with the ol’ ticker in some capacity for well over a year). Subsequently, I was scheduled to have surgery in Birmingham to correct the problem on October 13th, which is appropriately the day before my birthday. So after spending a couple of days in the hospital in Cullman, I was sent home with instructions calling for a drastic lifestyle change (no more cigs, coffee, or ADHD medicine) and a prescription for beta blockers to keep things in rhythm. The following week, I suffered through the fog induced by the stupid ‘heart pills’ and accomplished absolutely nothing. It was then time for the surgery…time to get fixed. So I have it…I wake up…that meant that I was alive and would get to see that ‘beautiful face’ again (yeah, I’ll get to that). Sometime later, after I was able (relatively) to process a coherent thought, I spoke with the doctor about the surgery. I was left utterly confused by his explanation of the problem and how he went about fixing it. However, I was informed that I had been misdiagnosed and the problem I had was actually a ventricular arrhythmia which, according to Wikipedia (hey, it’s as reliable as a freakin’ doctor) is much more serious than Wolf-Parkinson’s whateverthehell. Whatever, I don’t care anymore. It’s fixed, I go home, and life returns to normal. Right???

A Near Death Experience in Young Adulthood

Well, I’ll begin by saying that blogging about ‘relationships in young adulthood’ (as much as I enjoy it) is going to have to take a brief hiatus, as I have experienced something truly life changing and I feel compelled to talk about it. On the night of October 3rd, I awoke from a nap to find my heart racing…really racing. Now, my heart has been doing some funky stuff for a year or so. However, it’s been in the form of ‘flutters’ which, as strange as they may feel, have not been alarming to the point to make this stubborn guy go the doctor. But this was something different…more serious- and I knew that immediately. So, with little hesitation (or the use of logical thought, for that matter) I drove myself to the ER. After walking into the ER from my car (and almost passing out in the process), I was met with the predictable “sir, you’ll have to wait your turn” line, to which I responded with “put your hand on my chest!” Well…an “oh my God” and a couple of minutes later, I was surrounded by half the ER staff who- after informing me my heart was beating 250 times per minute- proceeded to stop and restart it on two occasions (the first did nothing). This in itself is probably the weirdest sensation I’ve ever experienced in my life: it essentially felt like all the energy in my body was sucked into my heart and then released in the form of a tidal wave which traveled throughout my entire body (except that doesn’t even begin to describe it). And then I was shot so full of Ativan I didn’t particularly care about anything from that point forward.

It would be more than safe to say that, at that time and in my mind, my death was seemingly inevitable…so much so that I had begun to make preparations in the short time which I presumably had left. As it turned out, I wasn’t far off with that line of thought…I was told in the ER that a young, healthy person could survive an arrhythmia like mine for about two hours. Well, my whole ordeal lasted approximately an hour, so you do the math. Throughout the whole experience, I never saw my life flash in front of my eyes…I never really experienced any of the cliché b******t you hear about. I also didn’t think about the things I would have thought. Of course I thought about my religious faith and I tried to come to terms with that as much as possible given my erratic thought processes at the time. I also thought about my parents. But, mostly what I thought about was this beautiful face which had, from out of nowhere, come into my life and turned it into upheaval…but the good kind of upheaval. When it was apparent that I was going to make it, my thoughts quickly turned to that fact that I was happy to be alive because I would now get to see that face again after all. And when I return to ‘relationships,’ I’ll start there.

You complete me...and you stole my identity when you did it...

Let me begin by saying this blog will be short and sweet…well, at least when compared to the previous two. And, once again, I have decided to defy the logical order and skip the ‘why’ question of relationships (I guess you never know which the direction the creative winds are going to turn). With this blog I want to address one of the biggest obstacles encountered by young adults venturing the rocky roads of romantic relationships. That is the issue of ‘losing yourself’ in a person, or- to be a little less dramatic- the ‘loss of identity.’ I’m going to throw out a simple movie quote which has become ingrained in popular culture over the last ten years or so…“You complete me.” This seemingly-innocent little saying uttered near the end of ‘Jerry McGuire’ has become a catchphrase for wannabe hopeless romantics everywhere; it has also encouraged a rather dangerous mode of thought on relationships. Ask yourself: what does this phrase imply? Well, to me it serves the notion that one is only ‘half a being’ without that person who completes them. So what if you never find them? Do you then go through life as half a person, living half a life? Well, if you subscribe to that thought it would seem you do. But let’s assume you do find this person who ‘completes’ you and now you spend your days performing your best Renee Zellwegger impersonation. At that point, can you honestly say you possess some semblance of an identity? You can, but you’d be lying to yourself. So let me propose what I think may be a healthier approach to relationships: think of a significant other as someone who complements you rather than completes you. You could then face the world together but as two separate entities; all while maintaining your sense of identity. Now does this mentality drain some of the perceived ‘closeness’ or ‘intimacy’ from a relationship? It doesn’t for me but, then again, I can only speak for myself. And besides- that is a different topic for a different time.

Now I want to ask: is ‘having stuff in common’ necessarily a good thing? Well…sure it is. However, it is what you have in common that is important…and by ‘what’ I am not talking about having the same favorite band. When I hear someone (while referring to a significant other) say something like, “But we have so much in common,” I think- more often than not- this alludes to having the same interests or likes and dislikes. Now don’t misunderstand me- I don’t think those things should be totally disregarded. However, I’ve always believed- and always will believe- that a more suitable partner is one with whom you share common perspectives, philosophies, and principles. It is someone with whom you share similar life experiences and can relate to on many levels and, from that, form a deep emotional connection. I do not believe it is someone with whom you share similar petty and shallow interests and tastes. So what if you like the same stuff? So what if you listen to the same music and like the same movies? Are these the things that deep-rooted connections are made of? Maybe if you swim in the shallow end of the pool they are, but otherwise I’ll go with ‘no.’ Also, when such things are a couple’s common bond they often times end up spending all their leisure time together because, well, they like to do the same things for fun. But without any personal time, couples easily become enmeshed and, consequently, lose their sense of identity. Additionally, if you have no substantial connection and are unable to relate to that person, how valuable is that time spent together anyway? Interests only go so far, and the perceived lack of identity will eventually lead to resentment and the demise of the relationship. I think it is healthier for couples to have personal time to explore their own separate interests and thus, maintain their sense of individuality. This way, one is able to have the intimacy that we need from a relationship without the fear of 'losing oneself.' Besides, if you have a connection that runs deeper than ‘we have the same favorite book,’ you will grow to enjoy sharing your different interests and tastes with the other person. And after all, how exciting is it to have everything in common anyway?

The Fear of Commitment

*Before I get started, I want to add a disclaimer to my blog. I realized that roughly two-thirds of the section on ‘Romantic Relationships in Early Adulthood’ in the text is dedicated to homosexual relationships. I generally try to stick to what I know when providing commentary, and I know this about romantic relationships between lesbians or gay males: absolutely nothing. So basically, I just wanted to establish that- from this point forward- it is implied that I am discussing ‘heterosexual’ romantic relationships in early adulthood. Also, logic says this blog should address the ‘need’ for relationships, and the subject of ‘commitment’ should come later. But, for whatever reason, this topic just seemed to be where the creative juices were flowing, so I went with it. Now with that being said...*

Commitment…very few words in the English language strike more fear into the hearts of young adults than this one (or at least it seems that way). Virtually every young person I know (myself included) claims to suffer from ‘commitment phobia.’ Now are we being honest with ourselves when we make this claim? Or is it conceivable that we’re not half as afraid of commitment as we would like to think and saying otherwise serves as nothing more than a (convenient) defense mechanism to mask some underlying fear (whatever that may be)? But let’s give ourselves the benefit of the doubt and assume we really do fear commitment like the Bubonic Plague. Why is that? Well, I’ll attempt to answer that question with what insight I have (and as we established previously, that isn’t a lot) and I’ll also throw myself under the microscope because, in the end, I can really only speak for myself. And remember- most of what I'm going on is based on perception and opinion, not fact.

Before I proceed to what I'll call 'the Usual Suspects' of excuses, *ahem* reasons, for why we're so damn afraid of commitment, I'll begin by identifying some contextual factors which might be relevant to the topic. Let's start with societal factors or, specifically, the Sexual Revolution. Generally speaking, women now have much the same educational and professional goals as men; so for many young adults of both sexes school and a career take priority over the prospects of a romantic relationship. Consequently, committed relationships are put on hold until some stability can be maintained, something which may not occur until well into one's thirties (see: the continual rise in the average age of marriage). Additionally, the Sexual Revolution brought about feelings of sexual empowerment for women and many have adopted what is a perceived 'male perspective' on relationships (though I would say they're still the minority)...they view relationships strictly as a means to meet physical needs, but they choose to avoid any emotional commitment. Exposure to certain environmental factors during childhood, such as divorce or the absence of a parent, could naturally lead to a pessimistic view of relationships as an adult. I also think it should be acknowledged (though it might not be a contextual factor, per se) that everyone has different needs regarding intimacy. Some peoples' entire existence seems predicated on it (I'm sure you all know someone who just can’t handle being alone and, even when they aren’t in a committed relationship, always have someone in the picture). Conversely, some people don't particularly need it at all and seem content with being alone. There are undoubtedly other important factors I neglected to mention, but for now I want to address a few specific reasons young adults fear commitment. Now obviously, everyone has their own reason...or two...or three; but from my experience these seem to be the most common.

The Usual Suspects

1. “I can’t be with just one person.”

I’m not going to say whether this attitude is most prevalent among guys or girls because, well, I don’t know the answer. Conventional wisdom says guys have a bigger problem with this, and I would tend to agree…at least from a ‘physical’ standpoint. For many guys (even the ones with seemingly perfect girlfriends), the temptation of something new and exciting often proves too much to resist. Now I’m sure some of this is relative to the guy...some are going to be happy with whatever they can get and they would never be foolish enough to screw it up. But if a guy CAN hop from one girl to the next with ease, I suppose he is going to be more inclined to do so. What if you’re a male celebrity? I can honestly say that if I were John Mayer, for instance, I would be commitment-phobic too. Think about it: if the likes of Jennifer Anniston and Jessica Simpson are at your disposal, would you ever stay with one girl for too long? Nope, didn’t think so. But since, obviously, I’m not John Mayer this isn’t as much of an issue for me, is it? I’m just an average guy and I can say that my fear of commitment isn't necessarily related to monogamy (though I would be lying if I were to say this was never the case...but I’ve grown up) or the thought, “Is this the only person I’m going to be with for the rest of my life?” I can live with that (I think…). My fears lie elsewhere, but we’ll get there. Now just as it is difficult for many guys to be committed to just one girl in a ‘physical’ sense, I think it is difficult for many girls to be committed in an ‘emotional’ sense. Let’s face it: girls need to be loved and adored more than guys do…much more (a guy is generally more concerned with his physical needs). And I think that sometimes, probably a lot of the time; girls seek the affection of multiple guys because being ‘loved’ by one just isn’t enough. To complicate matters, girls with boyfriends often rationalize this behavior as being acceptable because they don't see it as infidelity. But it is what it is, regardless of whether or not it is of the emotional or physical variety (and emotional eventually leads to physical anyway, so the end result is the same). But ultimately, and for whatever reason, many young adults can't seem to find contentment in just one person. Does the concept of monogamy just defy human nature? Or is this just the nature of relationships in a modern-day society? Your guess is as good as mine.

2. “But what if my soul mate is out there and I never find them because I’m in a relationship with this person.”

Excuse me while I go to the bathroom and throw up…okay, I’m back now. Since I find this philosophy utterly preposterous, I’m not even going to try to analyze it…I’m just going to bash it. And I’m going to solely target girls with this little diatribe, but not every girl- if you’re a female and you don’t subscribe to this way of thinking this isn’t directed at you. But for the ones who do, I want to ask: are you ever going to graduate from adolescence to adulthood? Because in addition to being entirely unrealistic and bordering on delusional, it is indeed a very ‘adolescent’ perspective on relationships. Here’s the deal and I’m sorry to break it to you: there is no such thing as a ‘soul mate.’ There is no one you are cosmically destined to be with. Furthermore, there is no perfect guy out there who can read your mind and do all the things you think he is supposed to be able to do. There is no such thing as a fairy tale- that’s why they make movies. Let me be even more frank: if you are reading this I assume you believe in some sort of deity, as 96% of the population does (if you don’t and that assumption offends you…sorry). And in that assumption, it could also be assumed you believe everything happens by God’s will. In other words, if there are soul mates it is by God’s creation. Well, I doubt God is really too interested in whether or not you find your own personal “Sleepless in Seattle”…I’m sure he would rather you serve and worship him. And if soul mates do exist and ‘Lucky You’ finds yours, who are you really going to be worshiping? Reality is this: relationships are hard work. And if you make a habit of running away from them every time they get difficult because you think there is something better out there (i.e. your soul mate), you’re going to spend your entire life running. But with that, I’ll get off my soap box.

*I’m not at all a religious zealot- in fact; I haven’t been to church since Easter. I just used that to try to prove a point*

3. “I don’t want to have to answer to anyone.”

Finally, we arrive at ‘my’ issue with commitment, so I’ll just use myself as the example while sorting this out. Alright, we’re going to imagine that I’ve settled into a relationship with one person (who isn’t my soul mate), and I’m content in that respect. But I start to have this uneasy feeling: have I totally given up my freedom? After all, I now have another person to consider when I make my decisions. And I certainly don’t want to be selfish and act in any manner which would be inconsiderate of my girlfriend’s feelings. But with that being said, here’s the type of conversation I would inevitably stumble into: “Hey baby! I saw you called…I guess you were worried. Anyway, I’m actually in Topeka, Kansas right now. I have no idea why, really. My buddy and I were just bored and felt like driving; and you know me and my poor impulse control! We may just keep going…I don’t know. I’m really sorry I can’t make it to your mother’s funeral today. Could you just sign my name to a card or something? Oh yeah, I hope that awards ceremony goes well. I know how important it is to you. Anyway, I’ll talk to you later.” Okay, I’m really not a terrible person and I would never actually do or say anything that extreme. But here is my point: I like to do whatever I want, whenever I want, and I don’t really want to have to consider someone else when I do whatever that is. I’ve been like that since childhood and I suppose one could use the Life Course Perspective to make sense of it. From adolescence onward, you could say my parents were less than authoritative. They had relatively few rules, and I had no qualms about breaking those. This behavior spilled over into school, where I spent more time in the principal’s office than the classroom. And though early adulthood has forced me to modify this behavior to an extent, it’s obviously still present in some capacity. But here’s the bottom-line: I’ve never really answered to anyone or conformed to anyone else’s standards of socially acceptable behavior; however, a committed relationship asks me to do that. So naturally I shy away from them. But, admittedly, this attitude has created problems in every aspect of life- not just in romantic relationships- so I understand a change is warranted. And I’ve worked hard to make improvements, and I think I’m coming along quite nicely (but then again, I would…).

4. “I’m afraid of getting hurt.”

Yeah, so is everybody. Get over it. If we weren’t willing to take risks we’d never go anywhere in life. That isn’t a lazy response…it’s just really all that comes to mind.

Introduction

As I sit on my couch sipping on my umpteenth cup of coffee for the day, I find myself watching ‘Annie Hall’ for the 1,403^rd time (or something like that) in an attempt to find some inspiration to write this blog. I do much the same thing with regards to my artwork; I reflect on personal experiences and seek out things from which to draw inspiration and, subsequently, fuel creativity. I suppose that is the- dare I say- romantic in me. And there is that word rearing its ugly head: ‘romance.’ Honestly, choosing ‘Romantic Relationships in Early Adulthood’ as my topic was a relatively easy decision. After all, it would be a pretty safe assumption that I do not discuss any other topic half as much as ‘relationships,’ specifically those of the romantic variety (and I am interested in everything…literally). I suppose that fact alone proves just how relevant relationships truly are to someone my age. Why is that? Why do we need those ‘eggs,’ as Woody so eloquently puts it? Over the next few weeks, I will attempt to answer that question along with many others.

Let us begin this little foray by going back to early July, when one of my closest friends returned home after spending a couple of years overseas. We had a lot of catching up to do and- until a couple of weeks ago when he moved again- we hung out virtually every night. Now understand this: we are a couple of openly pretentious blokes who generally kick off a night by reaffirming the fact that we know everything there is to know about everything- politics, film (‘European Neo-Realism’ just rolls off my tongue with such ease these days), the human condition…well, just pick your topic. We would then drive aimlessly around this small, boring town until the wee hours of the morning, depriving ourselves of sleep while we acquiesced in feelings of mid-twenties discontentment. However, regardless of the subject at hand our conversations would somehow, and unfailingly, lead to girls and relationships. We usually began these discussions by rehashing our experiences of heartbreak and missed opportunities (well, perceived ones anyway) and talking about the cute girl at the coffee shop and whether Scarlett Johansson might just be the most beautiful woman on the planet (which she is not). We would then conclude that we are not quite as chivalrous as we were in our younger days, and that has to be the fault of the girls who have come into and out of our lives (we could not possibly be to blame for anything). From there, we moved on to discuss the complexities and meanings of relationships and we asked ourselves: do we even need these damned things to be fulfilled? With all the misery and suffering they bring, surely we do not. Nope. Not us. We would then proceed to fancy ourselves as a couple of cold, hardened cynics who are devoid of all emotion- both of us are Bogart in ‘Casablanca’ (well, the first three-quarters of it, at least) and we ‘throw away women,’ as Louie tells us. But one random night a funny thing happened: I reached for my treasured Jeff Buckley CD, popped it in the CD player, and passionately sang (and/or screamed) along to ‘Lover, You Should’ve Come Over’ at such a high decibel rate it is miraculous my car windows are still intact. Then something dawned on me: I am absolutely full of it. I am nothing but a phony who tries with every ounce of my being to transform myself into something I am not. Despite how efficient I might have become at hiding it, I am still that seventeen year old starry-eyed, idealistic boy. Man, I hate that boy! I was at a crossroads: I could continue to fight myself or I could embrace who I am. I decided to continue the fight (I also suspected my friend was fighting the same battle as I). But by this point in the conversation our minds were tired and confused. We were now left with the realization that we know absolutely nothing about relationships. If we could find someone who did, we needed their advice because we were obviously not as smart as we thought we were, now were we?

Because I apparently know absolutely nothing about my favorite thing to talk about, I really welcome this assignment with open arms. Throughout its duration I plan to reflect upon personal experiences to discuss various aspects of romantic relationships in early adulthood. That is the point of utilizing the ‘Life Course Perspective’, right? To examine life events and the actions of evil, evil girls and see how they helped form my perspective on relationships (I kid). And you, the reader, will be treated to brutally honest commentary from a male's perspective on relationships. In addition to my personal views, I will implement research to examine contextual factors which impact relationships. Overall, it is just my hope that I can provide some valuable insight into relationships in early adulthood (okay, maybe I know a little bit about the topic). After all, I now have a clear mind and might not be so inclined to succumb to behaviors such as objectifying women. Anger and bitterness do funny things to a person, but the emotions have long simmered down from- you guessed it- a failed relationship. Until next time…