In Defense of Emotional Adolescence

I think I've developed some trust issues to go along with my intimacy issues.

While I think this is decently revelatory, considering my epic and on-going battle against the cynicism of the wider world, apparently it's not. The exact quote from a friend of mine who I made this revelation to yesterday:

"Of course you have? I mean, shit. You'd be a little dense not to have put up some walls."

I find this heartbreaking. Not for her; cynicism works for her. It doesn't work so well for me. Cynicism makes me bitter, nasty, small-minded and downright mean. I don't like being any of these things. I want to love the world, the whole world, every shining, beautiful, dark and dirty part of it. I want to be a good person. I want to make life better.

Life is hard for a dyed-in-the-wool romantic. You laugh, but I'm serious. It's hard. It's hard to care so much, to want to share so much, and end up with egg all over your face. Or, something that has a somewhat egg-white-esque consistency.

What? Was that dirty? Get out of the gutter.

It's difficult for me to acknowledge that I don't really trust anyone's motives and intentions anymore. I'm endlessly concerned with why someone is doing something: do they like me, does he just want in my pants, is she just trying to figure out if I'm a threat to her? I throw that last one in there for the sake of balance, but really, this is about dating. This is about men.

I don't trust you, penises. You're wily little buggers. Slippery snakes, if you'll pardon the alliterative allusion.

And despite the generalized life-angst I feel when I realize that I don't trust people anymore, there's a really very specific set of issues that come with not trusting those people that you're into dating, whatever that subset may be. Men. Women. Dwarves. Whatever.

Insecurity. Oh my god, is insecurity a killer. Insecurity will kill attraction faster than bad poetry. No joke. You might think that nothing kills attraction faster than a few bad sonnets, but you would be WRONG. Insecurity unleashes "the crazy" on the relationship. Insecurity makes you question motives and actions, not just the other person's, but your own AND the other person's interpretation of your own. This leaves you doing things like calling and/or texting all the goddamn time because you just have to explain yourself. And then explain your explanation. And then apologize for being so persistent. And then explain your continued persistence.

Ad nauseum, ad infinitum.

Attraction is based on mystery, you see. It's based on that thrill of the unknown. This is why people together for years have such a hard time maintaining their sex lives. Without any mystery, the attraction disappears. And without attraction, well, fucking just isn't any fun.

Luckily for me, I'm a chameleon. And a crazy person. So there will always be mystery.

I jest.

Ok, I sort of jest.

Attraction is based on mystery, and constant contact makes mystery impossible. Not only that, constant contact is annoying. It reeks of attention-whoring, it screams for validation. And when you're an emotional adolescent (like me!) two of the things you would desperately like to get from a partner are attention and validation. Preferably a steady stream, with a strong current of flirtatiousness.

Recap: I have trust issues. I don't like this in a generalized way, but I particularly don't like it when it comes to dating because mistrust in love leads to insecurity which leads to crazy.

In discussing this with another friend of mine, the necessity of wearing flame-retardant gloves after one's been burned a few times came up. (By the way, great tag line for a public ad campaign about using condoms.)

And this is where we really, really butt up against my emotional adolescence. I don't want to wear flame-retardant gloves. Being closed off to the world, barriering myself against it, is not something I ever want to do. It hurts to be vulnerable, but I really, REALLY don't like the alternatives. And this is the crux of why having developed trust issues is so bothersome to me, personally. It shows me that despite my best efforts, despite my active desire to remain open to the world and capable of showering love on everyone I meet, I'm becoming a cynic. I'm strapping on the armor and approaching every day as a battle to be lost or won. I'm protecting myself without meaning to.

And everyone's right, and I've got every reason to do so, to which my response is a (very mature) fuck that noise. This isn't what I want to be. Nah-nah-na-boo-boo, la-la-la, I can't hear you. And it's about as effective as slamming the door on your parents when you're 13.

Self-preservation is a bitch.

Can't we all just get along?

I've been a parental roll, lately. I suppose a solid four days off of work spent with my kid will do that to me.

But, it's been an enlightening (and awesome, for a variety of reasons) few days.

First, there I was, washing the dishes with my parents, and explaining to them the meaning of the new vernacular "helicopter parent." My dad got it immediately: he sees them every day on the playground when he takes G. He, himself, is a very hands-off parent. So hands-off that his theory of childrearing has been lovingly nicknamed "benign neglect" by my sisters and me. Or maybe he made that one up himself; I honestly don't remember.

So anyway, Dad gets it. My mom needs a little more explaining. She's the type that totally would have been one of these parents if a) the technology had been available and b) my dad hadn't been around to point out how silly she was being. But she does get it eventually, because when I get into the stories of parents calling their kids' college professors and employers (or again), the lightbulb goes on.

Then Dad and I backtrack and explain to her how the whole thing starts when a kid is two and you don't let them climb on the playground equipment without holding your hand. Literally. Two-year-olds that can't climb up to the slide.

There's a great article in Time (or at least, on their website) that touches very briefly on the benefits of allowing kids their space, their messes, their sneakiness. The author is referring to teenagers and adolescents, but I think that it applies to the little ones, too, in a way. Letting G throw the egg cartons around the dining room, and then explaining to her that she has to pick them up (and helping her do so, because she is, after all, TWO) is a valuable lesson. And if I didn't let her make the mess, she'd not learn it.

This is something my father understands instinctively, and I credit him with passing that knowledge on to me. Maybe it's part of the genes he gave me, or maybe it's that his upbringing did me so much good, but really, I think he's right on this one.

On the other hand, there's so much that we put into parenting these days, and how competitive it is, and how very rigid we get with our notions of what a good parent is and does. I cannot tell you how many shocked looks I get just walking down the street with mine. Do our unshod feet bother you that much? Or is that when she stops in the middle of the sidewalk and asks to do yoga, I lead her through a sun salutation or a triangle pose? Or perhaps it's listening to me explain to her that people often use the word "ironic" when they mean something more like "coincidental" or "serendipitous."

This offends people, apparently. I'm sorry. If you don't want me to lecture my two-year-old about the proper use of ironic, START USING IT CORRECTLY.

Oh, but that's not where I was going with this.

TOLERANCE. My point is tolerance. There's a lovely article on Salon about the dangers of rigidity and intolerance. Do we really need to make something as terrifying as being responsible for the growth and development of a human being into a contest? Are our tribal instincts so overpowering that we must throw to the wolves anyone that doesn't conform to our worldview? Or, childview. Whichever.

It's ridiculous. I'll do the best I can, and so will you, and I guarantee you that your best and my best do not look anything like each other. And that's cool, honestly. I may think helicopter parents are kind of sick, but maybe there is something to the whole "security" argument. Still, I couldn't pull it off. Not my style, and I'd be miserable, and if there's one thing I think almost anyone would agree with it's this:

Miserable parents raise miserable kids.

So be happy.

And let's all cut each other some slack, yeah? Sounds great.