I sometimes wonder if I am not romantic enough. Being called a misanthrope and a pessimist has been one of the most uncomfortable experiences I’ve had writing here. I love people. I wouldn’t spend this much of my time sharing my experiences with them if I had no faith in the inherent goodness of all people.  But there remains a gap between inward feeling, outward expression, and the interpretation of those who see it all happen.

Feelings are overwhelming most of the time. I know it might seem uncharacteristic for someone as prone to emo-gazing introspection as I am, but I find myself unable to articulate my feelings almost every day. “If you only knew how much….” “I don’t have words to tell you…” For all the handy rules of thumb and universal truths of being in a relationship, it’s hard to not wind up at these abstract dead ends.

This is the space in which romance exists. When I run out of words, taking action can fill the space. Failing to take action can say just as much.

A few years ago I biked 25 miles through the Malagasy highlands to see a woman that I liked. We had hooked up a few times in during training but were about to be sent to opposite ends of the island for the next two years. I didn’t know what I felt for her, but it was strong. I remember the first time I felt her vagina, I had a reaction that I didn’t understand. It felt like a pillow to me. It was soft and rounded, warm and slick, tongue-like.

I had never had a reaction that strong to anyone else’s body. I didn’t know what was happening. It felt like I had stumbled on an intimate glyph that was speaking to me in a primal language that I didn’t realize I understood. I didn’t understand how an experience so powerful could have been spurred by a woman I’d been making diarrhea jokes with a few weeks earlier.

I figured whatever it was would find its own natural explanation if I could just see her again. So I biked through the muddy hills on my day off to visit her. It took 3 hours to get there. I was sweaty and covered in dirt when I arrived. I asked around the main intersection in town and found her place. She laughed when she saw me. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

I had no idea how to answer that question. “I just wanted to say hi,” I said.

We made awkward small talk on the front porch for half an hour and then walked back into town. She was meeting some other trainees in a neighboring town for the afternoon. We got a taxi, a puttering Citroen from the 60’s, and went one town over to meet with the others. I felt awkward and vulnerable. My trip was driven by some irresistible urge for closeness but instead I was sitting in a roadside restaurant with a big group of people telling innocuous stories about our host families.

After lunch we went back to her town. The sun was starting to go down. I only had a few hours of daylight to get back. We looked at each other for a few seconds as I was trying to figure out how to say goodbye. I had come all that way and had no idea what to say. I had just wanted to see her, but I suddenly felt embarrassed at how much absurd effort I had put into “just seeing her.”

“Can I have a hug?” I asked her. (I’m wincing as I write this – I hadn’t asked anyone that question since Jr. High).

“Sure,” she said and beamed her toothy smile.

We hugged. I got back on my bike and pushed off towards home. Rain clouds started to gather and the wind picked up an icy metallic edge. Halfway home it started pouring and the road turned into muddy sludge. It took more than four hours to slog through the swampy morass. I was dripping wet when I finally made it. The sun had just gone down over the horizon.

Feelings are terrible because they’re out of our control and there’s no way to share them with anyone else. You can suggest and describe them to elicit empathy. You can act on your feelings, use them as the motivating seeds to make something for somebody else; to give them their own feeling as a result of something you’ve done. Love is not a foreign experience, especially when you know someone well. It’s easy to see through the cracks, if you apply a little effort, and understand what and why a person does what they do.

I still wonder if I’m not romantic enough. Do I give enough to the people in my life, or am I always withdrawn and overly calculating about how I behave? Time for more emo-gazing.

 

Previous Posts:

Sex Machine: Picking Up Women in Gay Bars

Sex Machine: Diary of a Sperm Donor

Date Machine: Long Distance Lovers

Sex Machine: A Revised History of Whores

Date Machine: Moving to New York in Pictures

Date Machine: Old Love Letters, or Things That Got Thrown Away in the Move

Sex Machine: Talking About Sex With Your Parents

Love Machine: Willing to Relocate

Sex Machine: Checking my Oil, or the HIV Test

Date Machine: How To Pick Up a Bartender

Date Machine: Are You My Girlfriend Now?

PDA Machine: Making Out in a Bar

Sex Machine: The Cake is a Lie, or Does My Butt Show When I Walk?

Obituary Machine: Natasha Richardson, or Smoking Cigarettes on the Roof

Love Machine: Throwing Punches, or Get Your Hands Off of My Woman

Date Night: The Most Expensive Date I've Ever Been On

Sex Machine: Monogamy is for Losers

Sex Machine: I'm Not That Kind of Girl

Date Machine: Civil War and Sex on a Toliet