3 Lessons of Love

With over three and a half decades of bachelorhood under my belt, you’d think I’d have it completely down by now. The hook-ups, the break-ups, and all the other ups (and downs) in between. But no matter how many times I’ve been down the road (which seems to be more of a circle), there are still lessons to be learned. Interestingly enough, however, while I take great pride in my ability to learn just about anything (outside of foreign language, chronological histories or any type of cooking that doesn’t involve a microwave), I seem to know only marginally more about relationships with the opposite sex than when I started. For every mistake I commit to avoiding, there are countless others lying in wait; and every can’t-miss strategy I come up with seems as doomed as anything dreamed up by Wile E. Coyote and the ACME Company. But despite my inexplicable amateurism and the wasteland that is my love life - hope springs eternal as winter slowly gives way to warmer weather. So, with Valentine’s Day safely behind us and the next big sucks-to-be-lonely holiday a solid nine months out, now seems an opportune time to pass on a few lessons I’ve learned the hard way, in the hopes and that you and I, both, can make much more interesting mistakes in the future. Here are 3 lessons of love:

1. The Six Month Rule. You know in six months. You might know in less than six months, but anyone who tells that you don’t know in six months, knows but just doesn’t want to tell you (or is hoping to change their mind). What do you know in six months? You know if it’s serious, if there might be jewelry or children involved, etc. Or more to the point, you know if it’s not any of those things. Because in six months time, you’ve seen a person on their good days, their bad days, and their really, really bad days - and they've seen you on yours. You’ve seen their morning face (and hair), their hangover, and discovered all of their gastrointestinal habits - and they’ve seen and discovered yours. You’ve seen them naked (well, if you haven’t after six months, you should have left a while ago anyways), and every kind of naked - sitting naked, standing naked, scrubbing naked, etc. - as they’ve seen you. You know about their family (including crazy parents, siblings, etc.), their job, and their luggage - and they know about yours. And all along, you’ve had a lot of laughs, cries and generally good times. But in this time, consciously or not, you’ve determined whether your future could involve that person as a permanent fixture. This is true for all ages - the only difference being, the older you get, the less likely you are to want to or be able to stick around once you know and the knowing isn’t good.

2. The Good Break-Up Fantasy. There is no such thing as a good break up. If things were good, you wouldn’t be breaking up. You’re more likely to ride a unicorn to work on a rainbow than “stay friends” with your ex. Spare me your anecdotes - I know that after time exes can be amicable, and even something that looks a whole lot like friends. But there’s always something a little bit different, a little bit weird, etc. Once you’ve slept with someone, there’s something chemically different about how you respond to them - no matter how advanced or mature you are emotionally. If you want to be friends with someone forever, you’ve got two choices: marry them, or don’t ever be intimate with them - and only the second one is foolproof. Outside of Tea Party rallies, mosh pits and Justin Bieber ticket lines, it’s hard to imagine anything more chaotic and utterly without direction as a breakup. No matter how smart you are - a break up will make you retarded. You’ll say things you’d never say; you’ll do things you’d never do. It’s the closest thing to an out-of-body experience you can have without chemical assistance or dying. Break ups are like band-aid removals - they’re going to suck, so just know that and get it over as quickly as possible.

3. Sexy Isn't As Sexy Doesn't. I consider myself, on a very basic level, an intellectual. I’ve always identified myself as more cerebral than physical and I’ve a lifetime of math grades vs. PE grades to prove it. But no matter how much my mind likes someone, if my body doesn’t want them, there’s no point in going any further. I don’t necessarily like this about myself - but I’ve tried it enough times to know: if you don’t want to see your partner naked on a regular basis, you are just friends. The problem is, my mind seems to have a lot easier of a time falling in love than my body. I know, I know, my body should be able to fall in love every 10 yards in places like Los Angeles and Las Vegas - but if you look closely it’s not so easy. You see in the “pretty” capitals of the world, there’s “pretty” everywhere - but it’s the same kind of pretty, and it feels about as genuine as “reality” television does real. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m all for dying your hair, shooting some Botox or getting a little work done - provided you’re doing it to be a better you. But, I can’t imagine the level of self-loathing required to go to a doctor and pay to actually look like someone else. I’m pretty sure, however, it’s the kind that doesn’t mix well with healthy interpersonal relationships. You can intellectualize it all you want - but if you get to a point with someone that you want to do everything with them except have sex - there’s nothing wrong with you, you’re just not really in love.

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Being a romantic is like being a Cubs fan; in that there will be heart-wrenching disappointment so regularly that you’ll begin to wonder if that’s all there is to it. But then there are those sweet, pure moments of jubilation so profound that they make every bit of the heartbreak suddenly and completely worth it. And even if you later lose a great love, you’ll still have that feeling to carry you through it all again, just to have another shot. For what it’s worth, I am actually a Cubs fan and feel fairly confident that I’ll be married with kids before they win the Series again. But in end, as with baseball, our failures in love serve only to make our successes that much sweeter. After all, anyone who plays the game for real knows that you can’t win ‘em all, and no one remembers the ones you lost once you win the big one. Here’s to opening day, on the season of love.