Relief

Honestly, it is a huge relief to have fb guy out of my head. He never called me that often. He never expressed anything regarding how things were going until he called to tell me it was over. I'm now pretty sure he was never that into me. The Rules worked well to weed him out as a guy not that into me, even though I do believe he was a genuinely nice and good guy. It is wonderful not to have to think about him anymore.

But why did I put so much brainpower into him needlessly while it was going on? It was distracting and exhausting.

Pre-Rules me had few boundaries, emotional or physical. I fell fast and hard, immersing myself with abandon in my fantasies of him, drinking in as much communication and physical intimacy as I possibly could (short of sex until exclusivity was largely established). Rules me set up physical boundaries, stepping on the brakes as to literal contact. But, as I failed to realize until fb guy ended, my admirable adherence to my physical restrictions did not translate into emotional boundaries.

I have always been a strange mix of thought and emotion. Believe it or not (in fact, many of my close friends do not), my head rules my heart. It is my head, not my heart, that unbalances me every single time. This does not mean I am not emotionally sensitive - clearly, I am. But my most extreme emotional reactions occur as a result of my head's hostile invasion and ultimate conquest of my heart. On the rare occasions when I can figure out how to let go of my head and allow my heart to come to the surface, I can experience the kind of slow, healthy sadness that yields to calm acceptance.

As a child, I was a bit of an insomniac. Every little noise or thought kept me from falling asleep. Once I did, I'd often wake up in the middle of the night and feel completely out of control. One of my clearest mental images from my elementary school years is of me lying on my bed, moonlight glaring at me through the window, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling and listening to late-night soft pop on the radio in futile attempt to distract myself from the crickets and house creaks and thoughts of house fires or my parents getting a divorce or my cat wandering off or infectious diseases, which stood between me and slumber. Eventually I would not be able to stand it anymore and would stride quietly down the hall to wake my mother up. Out of tiredness and frustration at her inability to provide me any relief, she would sometimes get angry and threaten to take me to a psychiatrist. I would cry in desperation. We would argue until the flying sparks exhausted me and I returned to my room to collapse on my bed, radio still playing.

(Footnote: I have a wonderful, amazing mother whose only flaw is taking the angst of her children personally.)

Even that young, my sleeping trick was to focus on a love interest. Imagining a boy taking care of me somehow took the edge off in a way that nothing else did. By middle school, I drifted off every night to thoughts of me and him - "him" being anyone from the boy I slow danced with to someone interesting from the playground.

My insomnia was gone by high school, coinciding in part with the beginning of my long string of monogamous relationships. Dreaming about a boy who demonstrated affection for me in real life felt even safer than the abstract fantasies of pre- and early adolescence. These conscious dreams, and these boys, began as sleeping pills and gradually bled into what seemed like every minute of every day. When I sensed one man's chapter ending, I sought out another as if on auto-pilot.

Even now, it is a rare night that I do not go to sleep thinking about some man or another. It is all I know how to do. Recognition of the havoc this wreaks on my mental state has been percolating slowly for some time. It has been particularly lucid post-fb guy; I have had three consecutive man-free nights since he cut me loose. Miraculously, I increasingly possess the ability to breathe deeply and be with myself through the night.

Maybe next time my boundaries can be emotional, too.

Soundtrack: Jem, Save Me; Regina Spektor, Fidelity; Destiny's Child, Emotions; KT Tunstall, Silent Sea

Disdain for post-mortem sound bytes

Welcome back, Practicing Rules Girl, I've missed you! I'm going to use a comment from my favorite Rules Girl as a platform to rail on "He's Just Not That Into You," a book I have heard much about from friends but have not read yet:

in fact, it sounds like what you are grieving (even in your dream) is not the loss of the relationship even, but the hurt from the fact that he really didn't want you the way you wanted him to want you. It's ego-crushing. But truly, it's not about you. It's about him.

OK, no - it's just not as simple as "he didn't really want me the way I wanted him to want me." He absolutely *did* want me in that way before we started not getting along. If I had acted like a Rules Girl from early on I have no doubt he would continue wanting me. Rather, he didn't want the relationship because I was difficult and we fought a lot. For my part, I didn't act like a Rules Girl because I was insecure and because I'm pretty sure I wanted him to be someone else. At the end, he did not have the requisite feelings for me, true - that was more or less mutual - but his feelings turned south because the relationship was messy. I have absolutely no doubt of this and I doubt he would dispute it either. He had issues and I had issues, our issues were incompatible and yes, we may have been as well.

Even though "he's just not that into you" is maybe not what PRG meant when she made this comment, her sentiment provides a good illustration for why I really can't stand that trendy phrase. (Ironically, I think my view on this comes through in the movie 'He's Just Not That Into You.')

Oversimplifying or circularly defining the reason why something didn't work out is no more useful than clinging to false excuses that avoid any kind of harsh truth. Both are equally cop-outs, and both absolve women of any introspection or responsibility for their own actions that may have contributed to problems in the relationship. It is simply not the case that the only reason that things don't work out is because the man is not "that into" the woman, and that there is no such thing as commitment-phobia, emotional unavailability, too much drama, or bad timing.

I'm not sure why the same women who treat politics and music and sports and business and house-buying at a nuanced level of discourse must use sound bytes to post-mortem about men. "He's just not that into you" accuses these often-bandied-about "excuses" of overcomplicating a simple reality to salvage our egos, but I think both extremes are in fact oversimplifying. I find frankly insulting the notion that any discussion of factors contributing to romance's demise is either (i) a result of the man's base lack of desire; or (ii) made-up bullshit. Slightly less offensive to my sensibilities but still an oversimplified sound byte is "you just weren't right for each other." Such simplistic views of the world are untenable in the context of a living relationship, so why do we as women suddenly find it empowering to embrace them to wave off a dead one?

In my particular case (maybe it's my ego that's making me say this) I do not think my sadness post-breakup or my wistful reaction to seeing the ex again had anything to do with ego. By the time I saw him again, my ego was just fine. And, as PRG pointed out, I'm even better now that I've seen him. I'm not nervous about running into him. I actually don't think about him much at all.

No, I personally get upset post-relationship, as always, because I have been a codependent relationship addict my entire life. I had a terrible pattern of wanting back and sometimes pursuing exes whenever I don't happen to be receiving male adulation from elsewhere.

If I were to ignore this truth, and simply chalk the relationship failures up to "he's just not that into me" (or in the case of relationships I ended, "I'm just not that into him,") I would never have had the wherewithal to fix a problem that has undermined my confidence, and likely diseased all of my relationships.

I maintain my position that Rules Girls don't need "he's just not that into you." That concept, as far as it goes, is present in an appropriately understated way in the Rules, e.g., "He'll either love you or he won't"; relationships are doomed if women initiate them, and so on. That's all well and good, and I am really on board with the whole, let's weed out guys who aren't that into me by making them put in effort up front However, attributing greater significance to it than that unnecessarily ties a specific reason to something that might simply lack a reason; additionally/alternatively, it causes us to ignore real reasons that might benefit us to explore.

To be clear, I have no problem with the notion that some guys aren't that into me - that is of course true, and the weeder function of the Rules is one of my absolute favorites.

Before my blog-experiment is over, I will have to actually read this book just so I can support my point of view with my own firsthand interpretation as opposed to my many friends' interpretations. And hey, girls, if this helps you, great. Just don't be surprised if I continue to roll my eyes when you trot it out.

As if reprise

A commenter on my previous entry noted that "as if" is a rather dishonest defense mechanism. She recommended that I avoid my former boyfriend at all costs because it is too painful right now, and causes unnecessary negative emotional reactions. She has a good point, and my friends definitely had that instinct when I talked about the issue with them.

The problem is that I don't think I *can* avoid him totally. I have come to believe the fear of him is a) worse than the reality of him, and b) allowing him too much control over my decisions. I end up feeling worse seeing his name on an RSVP to an event I'd like to go to than I think I would if he were just there and I didn't know about it beforehand. I realized this a couple of weeks ago and decided not to look at facebook RSVPs anymore, a strategy that has been largely effective in ridding myself of him-related unpleasantness. Unfortunately, there are always events I will strongly suspect he will attend because I know him; and for the Purim party in question, when I clicked to RSVP, he was one of the 8 or so people listed at the bottom of the page. I can accept these things, because I know I cannot control them.

Now that I have broken the ice on some level, I think I can ignore him at future events and leave it to him if he wants to talk to me. Which he will not, because in truth, he is a pansy, something I say not as a bitter woman, but someone who tried very hard to put up with his pansy-ness for a very long time.

The "as if" attitude is a defense mechanism, as became clear to me when I spilled my guts to my friend that afternoon. However, this particular defense mechanism or versions of it are recommended by such authoritative sources as Hasidic masters, Charlie Chaplin, and my mother (who thinks that wearing makeup and making your bed is the best way to feel better).

For the first month after the breakup, I was not at all ready to act "as if." I dumped on my sister and my friends all the damn time. I am ready now, and I think "as if" is probably the best approach for me. I shut him out of my mind and have stopped talking about him entirely; part of why Friend1 was surprised at my entry the other day after I did not mention it during our last outing.

I am suppressing and I know it. But I try to allow myself to indulge the feelings in safe spaces and on kickass playlists, when I need to. I just don't really need to anymore. I am ready to MOVE ON, although I wasn't for a while. Next!

As if

You trust in the abundance and goodness of the universe...You're an optimist. You brush away a tear so it doesn't smudge your makeup and you move on! Of course, that is not how you really feel. This is how you pretend you feel until it feels real. You act as if! --Rule #1: Be a Creature Unlike Any Other

On Purim you're supposed to get so drunk that you can't tell Mordechai from Haman. The obvious symbolism here is that Mordechai = good and Haman = evil. To a lawyer, this immediately conjures up first year criminal law. Unable to tell the difference between right and wrong means you can't be held responsible for the crime you committed. Of course, most states specifically don't allow you to use voluntary intoxication as the reason you were unable to tell the difference between good and evil. But you get the point.

At Friday night Shabbat dinner the rabbi explained that the concept behind this requirement is introspection, reflection, dialing down your brain until you get to a higher level of perspective. You drink to go beyond the rational part of your brain so that you begin to confuse the good with the evil forces in your life, in the hope that you will come closer to sorting it out. I am perhaps adding my own spin onto what the rabbi said because I really identified with this and I hadn't really heard it quite this way before.

The rabbi also explained that in terms of amount, you are meant to drink as much as it takes you to "fall asleep from drunkenness." I would assume this means something short of "black out in the parking lot," but you can never be sure.

Let us rewind for a moment. Almost exactly two months ago my 2.5 year relationship ended abruptly. I have not seen or communicated with him since. I know from the unfortunate technological advance of facebook RSVP lists that I've listed myself as a "maybe" on Jewish events that he's been to, and vice versa. But never did our paths actually cross before yesterday.

I received a facebook invitation for a Jewish organization's Purim party, one I have attended in past years. He was listed as going. I had pretty much decided not to go; there were multiple other parties/Megillah readings going on that night, so why pick this one where awkwardness was a certainty? Then at Shabbat dinner a few of my new friends asked me to go. They also told me the theme of the party -- one that would allow me to buy and wear this neon-colored wig I have wanted an excuse to own for a really long time.

The desire to put off this unpleasantness was gradually outweighed by the thought of wearing a blue wig when I saw him for the first time. Per the rabbi, we wear masks on Purim not to hide ourselves, but to reveal our inner selves, at least to ourselves. A bright funky wig is not quite a mask, but looking drastically different from myself on this night seemed fitting. I'd be effectively in disguise, my most noticeable feature hidden, unrecognizable from a distance.

So I went. In a minidress and an electric blue bob.

Party #1: +2 alcoholic beverages

My M.O. at this party: approach people I already knew and talk to them, acting like I was a social butterfly having a great time. For the most part, this was genuine, I was having fun even though I had a constant pit in my stomach as soon as I happened to see him walk in (no eye contact, and I looked immediately away). My blue wig made me feel on stage through my queasiness, and made it much easier to "act as if."

I realize that being so overtly outgoing is somewhat in conflict with The Rules, but I concentrated my efforts on women and did not approach or begin conversations with men I did not know (or knew only minimally). I did unabashedly initiate conversations with the guy friends I knew well, but to the extent this was bending the Rules I excused it because of the unique difficulties this night presented. I tried very hard to minimize the looking around, and During the Megillah reading I pretty much managed not to look around at all.

Immediately after the Megillah reading I had to leave the party to go to another party. He had not approached me, and I was pretty sure the Rules would disapprove of me approaching him. The Rules are not entirely clear on this point, because if I'm not interested in reconciliation technically I wouldn't have to Rules him anyway; if I am interested in reconciliation the Rules allow for one light and breezy phone call when you know he's not going to answer his phone.

Calling when he's not in is crucial; you don't want to make him uncomfortable if he doesn't want to hear from you or is involved with someone else or even married. Leaving a message also allows him to call you if and when he wants to, which is the best start for any conversation between you. Your message gives him time to think and the option of not calling, which you must give him.

How this is possible in the age of cell phones I'm not sure. Leave a message at his work number on a Sunday? That seems bizarre.

In any case, this is mostly dicta because I am not in a position where I want him back. I admit I have my moments of wistfulness, but if he suddenly wanted to start over I can't say right now that I would be up for that. I have never seriously considered attempting the "one call for closure."

However, in leaving the party I recalled this rule and had my reasons for wanting to apply it by analogy in order to permit myself to initiate a conversation with him. Mainly, it was the feeling that if I left a party where we were both unequivocally aware of each other's presence without having interacted with him, it would cement a status quo of awkwardness and avoidance. As horrible as it feels to be at single events with him or even to imagine that scenario, I do not want that result.

After getting my coat, I strode back into the party room and looked demurely around the room for him. I spotted him quickly, with his friend (whom I run into much more often). I walked over, smiled, and looked at each of them in turn. I said "hi," directed at them both. In my brain, the next sentence was "okay, let's cut this bullshit. We need to be able to interact with each other." But the Rules restrained me from breaking character.

"How are you?" he said, with some undecipherable but meaningful expression in his eyes. Seeing him look at me that way and speaking to him like an acquaintance pained me, but my smile remained steadfast. "Good!" I said breezily. Looking again at the friend and addressing them both, I said "Well, I have to go to another party, but I didn't know if you guys would still be here when I got back, so I wanted to say hi."

The friend asked me where the party was, I told him, he said that was far, I said yes. Then I said to both of them, "it was good to see you guys," and left acting "as if" I was perfectly content with myself and the world and his presence in it.

Party #2: +1 alcoholic beverage

Driving to my next stop that evening, I felt a major adrenaline rush. I was high on courage. I was drunk on my own strength contrasted with what I perceived as affirmation of his weakness. I went to party #2 and reveled in my friends' positive reaction to my outfit.

As the night wore on, the initial euphoria wore off and I began to miss him. I wished that seeing me would trigger in him a desire to contact me, to talk to me, to be with me. I ached thinking of the sudden and total loss that had befallen us two months before, feeling like it was yesterday.

Party #3: +2 alcoholic beverages

Even then I forged on acting "as if." Instead of going home and crumbling, I tried to go back to the first party. It had already ended, so I bugged a few friends to go to my favorite dance club with me. My heart wasn't exactly in it, but I kept on going. In my thoughts, painful memories and inclinations towards regret intertwined with a profound appreciation for the friends who came out with me, the friend I voicemail-spammed in between the two parties, my family.

At 107 pounds, I'm not quite sure how I put away 5 drinks on Purim and didn't get what I would call drunk. "Boy, you can hold your liquor," my friend said at 3:10 AM when I drove him home. Yet I did feel a heaviness in my head as I entered my apartment. I quickly drifted off upon laying down, perhaps achieving the "drink until you sleep" mitzvah.

I dreamed about the party: he and I were standing back to back, each talking to other people. We occasionally touched by accident, and he turned around and spoke my home address as if he wanted to go there. I asked him why. He responded in a way that confirmed that he did not want to get back together.

The day after: +0 alcoholic beverages

I woke up too early, mildly traumatized by the dream. I mentally rejected the great life I have been building for these past two months, and instead submerged myself in wrenching disbelief that the upshot of all my blue-wigged fearlessness the night before amounted to a mere two-minute cameo. I missed him. I missed our relationship with all its problems. I sent my inconveniently abroad best friend a novella of an e-mail. Then, I put on a sweater dress, makeup, and a smile, and went to brunch with my best girlfriends, once again laughing, recounting stories, and acting "as if."

In the afternoon I went to visit a friend and her baby. At the end of a very pleasant conversation, she asked me how I was doing with the breakup, a question I would have answered "great" to a few days before. I was surprised at the tears that spilled out, but let them come. In that safe space, I purged myself of the weight bearing down on the shaky foundation propping up my bold, confident armor. Then, I stood up, hugged my friend, and went to meet some others to speak the foreign language I studied in college. I acted flawlessly "as if."

Weary at the end of my Purim day, my stirred-up emotions turned into questions. Did I unmask my true inner strength when I advanced, determined, towards being the bigger person? Or did my rekindled backward glances reveal an inability to overcome?

Am I furious and bitter at a Haman who hurt me or longing for a Mordechai who does not exist?

Draining as it was, acting "as if" each time faded into feeling "as if." Resolution of these inner conflicts does not occur overnight, but I daresay I am a rung higher on the ladder of self, where "as if" is unnecessary at the top.