Fucking Sandcastles

     

     This week, I was all ready to write this long-winded piece about futility and frustration and other "F" words when I came across this article. It's too good to pass up and expresses my feelings about some of my struggles with aesthetics much more succinctly than I would ever have been able to.

Borrowed from a Maxim article.

Joe Rogan On Why Working Out Is Like Building A Sand Castle

The UFC commentator, comedian and podcast host opines about Arnold Schwarzenegger, Channing Tatum and why getting jacked is ultimately a waste of your time.

MAXIM MAN     |     September 11, 2015     |     By Joe Rogan 

 I was looking at past and present pictures of Arnold Schwarzenegger the other day when two things struck me: one, time is a real motherfucker. The man who possessed one of the most beautiful physiques the world has ever known is now reduced to moving through life in an advanced-stage version of "dad bod". The other thing is that building a perfect body is ultimately a lot like making a beautiful sand castle.

Part of what's cool about sand castles—especially the more elaborate ones—is that we know they're not going to be around for long. With our bodies, though, that's something that we like to ignore. Pump that iron and drip that sweat, but the reality is you've only got about 20 summers to enjoy your hard work before the wheels start to fall off.

The difference between building beautiful bodies and sand castles of course, is that no one is going to want to fuck you just because you made an awesome sand castle.  It might happen, but it's much more likely that you'll be struck by lightning and then immediately eaten by bears.

Building a nice body, on the other hand, is pretty much all you need to ensure that someone, somewhere, will want to have sex with you.

Now, there are people that will tell you that it's shallow to want to have sex with someone just because they have a nice body, but those people almost always look like shit naked.  They might even actually believe what they're saying. But the reality is that if a pharmaceutical company created a pill that could instantly transform your body into that perfect specimen people lust over in magazines and Magic Mike movies, every one of those motherfuckers would take it.

Some people say they don't care what others think, and that they work out just because they want to look good for themselves.  This, of course, is utter bullshit.  If you were the only person on earth, the last place you would go to is the gym.  There would be no shaving your arms or flexing in front of a mirror, and no one would be posting videos of themselves on Facebook in yoga pants doing squats.

No. You would be alone at the beach, talking to a coconut, and trying to decide when to kill yourself.

One thing that's strange about the temporary nature of the human body is that this transient state of vibrancy is one of the very reasons why it's so exciting to look good.

If we never grew old and never died, I think life would probably devolve into something that resembles the boring experience of playing a video game in "God" mode. A huge part of the fun of gaming is the awareness that you could get fucked up at any moment.  As soon as you remove that threat of vulnerability, running around shooting things becomes meaningless.

I'm betting that's what it would be like to be perfect and immortal.

Our reality is that the physical bodies we all move through this world with are ultimately slaves to the savage demands of the past.

The human race didn't survive plagues, wolves and barbarian hordes by being non-judgmental about love handles and crotch fat.  We made it to 2015 because women are attracted to men that look like Channing Tatum, and they want him to shoot his vibrant DNA inside their vaginas so that they can make babies that will survive an invasion.

One day though, he too will go the way of Arnold, and of the sand castle—reclaimed by an infinite process that doesn't give a fuck about your six pack or your sculpted pecs, or your stupid moat and turrets.

Joe Rogan is a UFC commentator, stand-up comedian and host of the Joe Rogan Experience podcast.

Catching Up

     This blog is about regaining individual sovereignty over my emotions - and consequently my life. I'm a recovering codependent and probably always will be. I'm going to do my best to write this for no specific audience, though I may frequently fail at that. Total transparency's obviously not my strong suit. If that doesn't strike you as obvious I encourage you to read up on codependency.

     My Ex-girlfriend has a blog (link omitted deliberately) and has had one since before we started dating. In it is an avalanche of evidence in support of my above claim about codependency. I was a fucking mess. I still read it regularly so, perhaps I am still an emotional mess. Maybe I'm just addicted to sorrow. Honestly I think I'm just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

     Last night, after reading her most recent post about her visit to a psychic and a "tightness in her chest" about "that one thing", I decided to reach out and re-establish contact after more than a year since we last spoke. After about a twelve hour wait, she replied and we met at a coffee shop to "catch-up". Some tears were involved and I think some closure was had by both of us. It went fairly well, all things considered.

     More about that in a moment; first some back-story. We dated on-and-off for nearly three years, and at several points I moved into and back out of her house. Essentially, we developed a pattern of break-up and make-up that was wreaking havoc on both our lives and on the emotional state of her two children. Our final breakup was unnervingly amicable - more on that later too, however there were very deep roots of attachment that made continuing contact a really bad and clearly painful idea.

     It's been a long road since then, full of self-improvement efforts and various upheavals of my living and working situations. After the final break-up I moved out of my ex-girlfriend's house into a motor-home I purchased from a family member and sort of hunkered down through the holiday season. My memory is a bit foggy at this point but suffice it to say that I have been working on methods of addressing my emotions and trying my best to find/create "my authentic self" beneath the mess of coping mechanisms I'd built up over 30 years of willfully contorting my personality to fit whatever situation I'd find myself in at any given moment. There are a lot of different "diagnoses" for that particular behavior set but I identify it as primarily co-dependent behavior.

     My ex-girlfriend helped me to understand and identify the unhealthy behaviors I was using to cope with the stresses of everyday life, working (or looking for work), living full-time with her and at least part-time with the children. Mostly passive-aggression and other forms of emotional manipulation. She helped me see the oppressive environment my behavior was creating. We worked together on the issue for a while but there came a time when our relationship started taking huge steps backwards. I verbalized a fear I'd had growing since I first realized what was required to address my issues; what if I this is as good as it gets? I can still remember standing in her kitchen and asking her that question. I recall vividly that I was thinking to myself, "Is she really going to tolerate my sporadic withdrawal and instability as long as it takes for me to fix this? What if this is something I can only "deal with" and it never really goes away"? Her answer was a very clear acknowledgment of the sum of my fears. She wouldn't live like this. Couldn't live like this. Suddenly, we both knew the goals we each had were working at crossed purposes.

     ... and just like that, it was over.

     No fight, no yelling, no screaming, no blaming or finger-pointing, just done. Finished. It was like snapping a taut fishing line. No question, no struggling, just a lifeless rod with a tattered line hanging off the end and the promise of what-could-be lost into the abyss. It was shockingly anti-climactic.

     I left the next day, feeling alone and broken inside - defective. I silently resolved to make something good from the mess in my heart and my head. I wanted to be right, to be better, to be fixed and be able to carry on a normal relationship. That was always the goal. At first, I wanted it for her. To show up one day and be okay inside - a normal guy. The one. Slowly - very slowly - I realized I could only make myself emotionally whole without her; without anyone. That hurt worse than I can ever remember anything hurting ever. It was like breaking up with every woman I'd ever felt anything for all at the same time. I literally wondered if it was possible to die from a broken heart. That lasted for a while.

     Over the course of the next few months I read - a lot. It helped. I did my best to seek out support from my family and what few friends I had but not much came of that. Most of my family is severely codependent and in complete denial about it so naturally I felt radioactive any time I brought it up. I suppose I'm used to that though, being the only atheist in the clan willing to actually abstain from family prayer at holiday parties - and eventually abstaining from family events altogether. I'm definitely the black sheep among them. Anyway, I did my best to learn about my triggers for bending the truth and manipulating conversations to suit my emotional needs and stop myself from doing that. It was slow going at first; regularly catching myself asking leading questions and volunteering irrelevant personal information and plans for my future - in great detail - then being upset (internally) when met with anything other than glowing praise for my brilliance.

     One day - shortly after my birthday I think - I read my Ex's blog and there was a post about me. My grandmother had called looking to wish me well and, of course, I hadn't updated her about our breakup, so she called my Ex. I was eager to prove that I was fine on my own and ostensibly show my Ex that I was "over it", so I called her. All I can remember about the ensuing conversation was that the first thing she said was "This conversation cannot lead to us getting back together." I saw red. I took it as a personal affront and reacted poorly. She'd called my subconscious bluff and I came folding down like a house of cards. It was the last time we spoke for a long time.

     Months passed. I dated twice - both were unmitigated disasters. I seem to be attractive to the fix-it crowd and, being profoundly lonely, didn't stop it before it started and, being in the middle of fixing things myself, didn't react well to being manipulated. I have never been single so long in my adult life - naturally I kept tabs my Ex's blog. I love her, I care about her, I want to know what goes on in her life.

     Eventually, my Ex posted a poem about me; about trying to forget me. I was a little hurt with the finality of it - okay more than a little. I'm not sure how long I'd been in denial about our relationship being irreparably severed, but there I was - facing a truth I'd somehow forgotten. There could only be one reason she would be actively trying to get me off her mind - someone new. That stung like a bastard-sword through the solar plexus - at least what I imagine a sword thereabouts would feel like. I'd told her to go date - not that she needed my permission, but all the same I'd tried in my mind to leave things closed between us over and over and over again and still it stung. It still felt like a betrayal - but it wasn't. That was the worst part - and it was far from the first time I've felt that unjustified pain. I responded anonymously with a fairly neutral "likewise" type of response. I didn't like the feeling of being erased - of no longer being relevant, but I couldn't deny the impropriety of my objections. It seems like no matter what I do I can't help but want to be a meaningful part of her life. Codependency 101 strikes again. At least I can recognize the buds and nip them now.

     I've known for years now that emotional attachment runs deep in me. The only thing that seems to break a bond inside me is to violently rip the band-aid off and completely sever any potential reconciliation. I experienced this with another Ex a few years back when she got married. It's like my emotions refuse to let go until any chance of "making it work" is totally and irrevocably shot. It sucks and I hate it. It's like putting my heart through a blender. It beats the alternative though. I'll have a good private sob about it. Occasionally it'll pop back into my head but it's much easier to accept reality without the buoyancy of some hope that I can change things.

     Getting back to the present, I met with my Ex over coffee this afternoon. She is, in fact, dating someone and has been for a while now. He sounds like a good guy and I'll leave it at that. Once again my chest felt like it collapsed temporarily when I brought it up and finally got it out of her. She was trying to protect me from the pain of it, the spirit of which I appreciate, but I think I needed to feel it. I needed a little reminder that "us" is just plain gone. It seems like I had developed a "maybe it was just bad timing and a few more months or years will yield an alignment" idea that was festering in my heart - closing me off to the "now". It's difficult for me to even write that. I keep wanting to edit it; to leave some room for error, for chance, for luck.

     We ended the conversation by mutually multiply agreeing to check each others blogs and most probably leave it at that. She has something good right now and she needs to focus on that. I agree (despite how much it hurts) and will probably not reach out again for a long while.

Sovereignty eventually...