I wanted to sit down with this dear friend of mine and tell him what I felt. I wanted to look him in the eye and tell him that things were not okay and that for things to be okay there was work to be done. But I didn’t have a chance to say those things and because I didn’t have that chance, I left the friendship feeling particularly bitter and upset. I ventured to speculate why I was feeling so down. Well, any quasi-intellectual worth his or her salt has a tendency to take experiences and, let’s say, “spend a little too much time with them in the brain-blender. “ More precisely, things are over-analyzed and eventually acquire a higher degree of importance in one’s hierarchy of emotional importance than they probably should. Sometimes the occasional gem tumbles out before coagulation sets in. In this case, I concluded that I was feeling upset because I wasn’t able to force my friend to experience the recent turn of events as I would like him to experience it. In other words, I wanted him to feel lousy because I felt like he deserved to feel lousy. Continue reading
This is the first writing I’ve attempted outside of my personal journal in some time. It is the result of a request by someone I care for deeply, for a cause I find commendable. But there are other reasons to write this particular essay, other than to appease an already-appeased friend or to step out of the literary kiddie pool.
In recent months, I’ve dealt with confrontation entirely too often. As an attorney, this is not the confrontation I’ve been trained to do, where two relatively-dedicated professionals talk in hypotheticals and puff out their colored feathers in the process until one or the other backs down. I’m speaking of the confrontation between two people who care about each other, but not intimately enough to remove all filters and barriers between them before engaging. This is the awkward, silent moment, when one realizes, “Although I yearn to run and hide, something is going to happen that has never happened with this particular person before: I am going to tell this person my opinion, and they aren’t going to like it”. Continue reading
One of my stations in life appears to be that of confessor. I studied psychology in graduate school because life seemed to be sending the message that I should make counseling my profession, rather than my pastime. As long as I can remember, people have been unburdening themselves to me and I’m honored by the trust put in me. I admit I enjoy holding reams of privileged information inside, to privately analyze and synthesize. It increases my understanding of people, while adding complexity to that knowledge. Continue reading
I’ve been seeing ads for USA Network’s new summer drama ‘Satisfaction’ the past few weeks. I was skeptical, so rather than be presumptuous, I dove in and watched the first two episodes this weekend on Hulu.
I’m now anxiously awaiting this week’s third episode. And not because there was a dramatic cliffhanger. Because this show is (at least so far) approaching these timely, necessary, and – yes – candid topics in a new way, both on and off screen. Continue reading
Childhood sex-play is another of those phenomena that is common and rarely talked about. We’re born with our sexuality, and from the time we become curious about our genitalia and the concept of sex, we begin to explore: alone, in pairs, in groups. The age at which this occurs varies widely, and for many of us it begins in young childhood. I can remember using the spray from the handheld shower nozzle on myself at the age of six because I noticed it felt good. Before I discovered orgasm at age ten (and even sometimes after), I was interested in imaginary games about sex. Continue reading
Some time late last decade, I accompanied a group of (former) friends to a joint bachelor-bachelorette party weekend at a lake cabin. It was my first such event, and I looked forward to days of girl time, as the genders would be segregated. When I arrived a day later than the rest of the party, I made my way to a dock where eight or so women were sprawled, sipping drinks and sunning themselves. Eagerly, I joined the conversation where the question, “describe your first kiss” had been posed. Surprised at the PG rated topic, I blurted, “describe your loss of virginity”. Continue reading
Last night I was reading the New Yorker’s summer fiction edition, the theme of which is love stories. A passage from a David Gilbert story stopped me cold, “…in the end destiny seemed more like a gun pressed into his back leading him to who knows where.” The piece is about two unhappily married parents whose children attend the same school, and what happens when they run into each other at a public love-in (the year is 1967). It grips and explores exactly the themes on my mind as I’ve watched my contemporaries settle into “the middle”—marriage, kids, career, house. I’ve wondered if it’s possible that this many people want lives that follow the linear script, or if it’s that there seems to be no other choice. Continue reading