Waiting to Connect

Betrayal is the name of a Harold Pinter play I saw with an ex boyfriend. It was directed by Mike Nichols and starred Rachel Weisz, Daniel Craig, and Rafe Spall (yup, Rafe Spall).My parents got us tickets for Christmas about ten years ago. It was an intense play to watch together partly because I was distracted by Jon Lithgow who sat four rows ahead of us and also, our relationship lacked trust. There were always threats between us and around us though I never intended on sleeping with Lithgow. We sat, watching the play with a thin dread between us that smelled like the elderly breath of the theater patrons amongst us. I wonder what Jon Lithgow’s breath smells like consistently? Or maybe he doesn’t have a signature scent. Some people from his era do. Often smelling like an onion and Listerine combo. Sometimes, it’s great.

The acting felt beautifully real with no element of theater whatsoever, as though we were just in Rachel Weisz and Daniel Craig’s real home. Rachel had a cough and was sneezing the whole performance. She had a cold and now so did her character. It added to the grimness and sweetness of the intimate play which in my memory was centered around infidelity and why it sucks so bad, but also can be good too.   My then boyfriend and I left the theater feeling a bit heavy. Heavy about what adult relationships were, and what we were capable of. Sometimes you can sense  the limit of what something can be, other times it’s mighty elusive, and in the name of “trying” you both keep contorting yourselves to make it fit until you can’t recognize yourself or the other.   You both suddenly have wacky hair cuts and are throwing clay and talking about how terrible everything is.

Until the pandemic era, I had never been cheated on, nor felt like in the age of polyamory and openness, I ever would be. “Cheated on” are harsh, antiquated words to me and yet they distill the emotionality of it: betrayal, loss, deception. “Betrayal” also sounds so dramatic as though in the world of flippant dating, it’s no longer a necessarily real act. And yet I felt it deeply: a buzzing, aching, hot storm in my nervous system, a flooding of cortisol and adrenaline. I am sure in the past I may have been fooled around on, this may have just been the first time I found out. I am unsure whats better. There’s certainly always an awareness going into something that people have cracks they can’t see for themselves and so do I  and sometimes the attention we crave is from this person over there we know we don’t want, but we need them to love us because they remind us of mommy or Judge Reinhold. We are all imperfect and made to love. This particular betrayal has me a little frozen. Is my judgement impaired? Yes, my judgement is, but my intuition isn’t. She knew.

While attempting to keep myself open, I’m sensing a lot of deflated hearts. Maybe we’re all trying to pass as healthy round red balloons on a string hoping someone will hold onto us  before we asphyxiate on our way up to the heavens. Maybe we’re all just under the delusion that we need someone there to keep us grounded. But why still do I fantasize of piggy back riding a partner on e at Six Flags who has frosted tips and a studded belt?

The pandemic deepened my friendships, but it added some sort of superficiality to dating. The air of yolo-ness has led me down mazes of communication with a lot of dead ends. People think they’re more available than they actually are. Accountability is at a low since there are plenty of external excuses to use to keep yourself fragmented and half assed. Case in point: a man broke up with me because his grandfathers cabin burned down. People feel empowered by the zero consequences badge that seems to tag itself onto whatever dating venture persists. Instead of a maturity, there is a pendulum swing of regression. “I cant handle this responsibility.” “Only my god can judge me.” “ I will never love you as much as my dog, dont even try!!” (These are not real quotes.) Again, I am sure we’re all dating mirrors and I am in some sort of alchemical process of healing avoidance.   

It all takes participation, stoking connection takes effort, and tenderness and openness. Sometimes, sacrifice and concentration. Sometimes it’s not easy or fast. I am learning these lessons, not trying to preach them. My friend Alexi has changed my mind about monogamy. I now believe it’s the kinkiest lifestyle we’ve got, the sexiest and edgiest way to give your love to another person. “Hey, they’re mine! Don’t mow someone else’s lawn!”

Perhaps, we all feel like there is no time left. There’s some entitlement behind the shitty communication. It’s been a hard three years! We deserve something easy! As the horrible, yet clear communicator Mel Gibson once said: “You should just smile and blow me!”

We need someone to fuck at the end of the world, and will betray, deceive, ghost whoever stands in the way of that. So much pleasurable nuance of getting to know someone slowly is fading. Before meeting for a coffee I am informed of EXACTLY what that person is looking for. The puzzles are solved for you. Eroticism is built into experiencing each other in different atmospheres- a cozy dinner, a rave, a Zumba class. Whatever bull crap you like! They can all feed the desire, or make it crystal that it is not correct for you. Either way, I miss feeling the subtle green lights and red flags that speak directly to your intuition. Because she’s always right.