shadesofjoe

[shadesofjoe]

What was the point of being himself if he had to be alone?

Austin Chant

[shadesofjoe]

Down Under

It’s wild what a difference a year can make. I’ve not spoken publicly of things I’m about to share, though those closest to me are well aware of these events. It’s recently been suggested to me, however, that writing more openly about the situation would be a good final step in releasing the negative energy surrounding it, thus closing this path of catharsis I have traveled for the past few months. And if nothing else, it could serve as a cautionary tale for someone else who might be able to avoid some of the pitfalls I fell into.

I met her last January. Her name was Emily… at least that’s what she told me her name was. In retrospect, I’m guessing that was just another of many things that wound up not being true. But in my memory she will always be Emily, and for the purposes of this exercise, it’s probably best to leave it that way. She reached out to me through a post I made on a personals subreddit. She purported to be from Australia, which will no doubt ring a bell for those of you who were curious as to why I suddenly became very interested in Australian facts around this time last year. She claimed to be a veterinarian and, near as I can tell, there may have been a hint of truth to that. I don’t know. It’s all still kind of difficult to parse through, unfortunately.

Be that as it may, there seemed to be this instant chemistry between us. We spent a lot of time texting, talking on the phone, exchanging pictures and voice messages. I liked her. A lot. I thought there was this energy we had going on. It was the kind of authentic vibe I hadn’t felt in a very, very long time. I was attracted to everything about her, and better yet, she seemed to actually be attracted to everything about me. In retrospect, I should have perhaps been more skeptical of a seemingly beautiful woman from a foreign country being interested in someone of my portly stature, but even my well-developed self awareness still has its blind spots.

The trouble came, of course, a couple of days before our first scheduled video call. I don’t want to get into too many details, because honestly there’s just no way for me to know how much of what I was told was true, and how much wasn’t… which is its own problem. The important part is that the video call didn’t happen for reasons that were portrayed to me as very dramatic. There was about a two-week period of radio silence where the only interaction I had from her was the recognition that she was viewing my Instagram stories. I started posting stories every day just to see if she was still thinking of me during what she had laid out to me as a very difficult and emotionally challenging situation for her. I haven’t used Instagram since all this went sideways. I still can’t bear to open the app on my phone. I honestly have considered deleting it altogether. But I digress…

After the radio silence, Emily got back in touch with me and said that she wanted to come over for a visit to see if we would still have the same chemistry in person. Then she would know if this was something she could truly move forward with. Of course I was ecstatic. So plans were set for her to come in the early spring, which in retrospect would have been just about the time the coronavirus began to spiral out of control here in the United States. I sometimes wonder what life would have been like if things had turned out to be real. It wasn’t long before travel was restricted leaving the country, so she likely would have been stuck here for a while. It would have meant more time together discovering each other, showing her around Kentucky, introducing her to my friends, and maybe, just maybe, building something meaningful and lasting.

But of course none of that happened, because she never came. It was never real. And if I’m honest, I still feel like an idiot for ever believing it could have been.

Emily dropped out of contact again about a week before she was supposed to arrive. She resurfaced long enough to once again outline a very dramatic situation that involved her family. I will refrain from specifics because if it was a lie, then it’s an unspeakably awful one… but if for some strange reason even some of it was true, then it’s just as unspeakably awful. Either way, it was soul-crushing. In a single moment, I had gone from planning out a two-week whirlwind vacation to the reality that this woman was now disappearing from my life.

I am so unbelievably stupid sometimes.

Looking back with the benefit of not feeling that devastation again, it seems clear that the potential of a face-to-face encounter, just like a video call, had made her realize that she couldn’t keep up whatever this thing was. So cue the drama and then exit stage left.

I’m not so proud of this next part…

I asked the catfish subreddit for help determining just how badly I had been bamboozled. In doing so, I linked the Instagram account she was using for our correspondence. For all of my intellect, it genuinely never occurred to me that people might send nasty messages. I wasn’t thinking very clearly at all, truth be told. But lo and behold, the next day I get a pretty spicy message from Emily on Google Hangouts (she had blocked and unfollowed me on Instagram and Discord with nary a word about it) telling me that people had been sending her some really mean things.

That’s when a friend of mine who had managed to infiltrate her Instagram, unbeknownst to me, sent me a screencapped photo of a woman on a beach, legs intertwined with another man’s with champagne glasses in both their hands. It was a first-person perspective photo, so I couldn’t see faces. But obviously it made this already strange situation seem a million times worse. I called Emily out on this, and the only thing she could say in reply is that she had “made the right choice.”

I spent the next few months floundering, trying to make sense of the million little pieces my heart had been shattered into. I really opened up to this person. I trusted her. I believed her when she said that she had feelings for me. But none of it was true. As you can imagine, I’ve spent a good amount of time dealing with this in my therapy. It’s hard to not have answers. Even in a brief email exchange some months later, Emily said it was all a big misunderstanding and that she hadn’t whisked off on some romantic getaway. But honestly those pictures likely weren’t even of her, either. There’s literally no way to know what the actual truth behind his whole fucked up situation, and that has been the most difficult thing to navigate over this past year. The utter deceit of it all reaches depths I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams.

So am I foolish? Yes. Of course I am. I think that’s just part of my personality. I don’t necessarily view it as a character flaw, per se. But it certainly bit me in the ass here. This was definitely a lesson in how to temper that naiveté with a healthy amount of skepticism. I don’t do so well with balance though, so the pendulum swung hard in the other direction for quite a while. It’s closer to the middle now, but I still have more than my share of moments where I wonder if love is a real possibility for me.

I’ve done so much inner work. I’m very proud of the person I’ve become on the inside. I’m kind, thoughtful, generous, empathetic, funny, intelligent, and possess a host of other intangible qualities that make me a very compelling person. But I am also fat and there’s no getting around it. (Pun somewhat intended?) And a woman of Emily’s purported beauty and social status dating a fat guy, no matter how amazing, is just not indicative of the reality in which we live. It’s the kind of situation you would only ever see on a television show or in a movie. But that’s not real life. And perhaps if I had understood that better, I wouldn’t have had my heart broken into a million little pieces.

But this isn’t a sob story. I’m legitimately okay now. Therapy has been a godsend and I’ve done a lot of really important work to heal from it all. But of course there are… remnants. It’s not the kind of thing you can ever completely wipe from your memory. It happened. It’s over. And I’ve moved on. Part of that is accepting that being a bachelor for the rest of my life is a distinct possibility, and perhaps may be a likelihood. At some point you have to face facts, you know? When you can confront yourself with that kind of honesty, the likelihood of someone being able to pull the wool over your eyes again dramatically decreases. Besides, I’ve got children to raise. A life to lead. I don’t really have time for childish fantasies of serendipity anymore. If I’ve learned nothing else from this ordeal, it’s that such fairy tales just aren’t real.

If you have read this far, thank you for indulging me. I really hope there’s something of value for you here. I guess I feel that if being open my mistakes can somehow help someone else avoid the same pitfalls, then it gives an added layer of meaning to them for me. So perhaps it’s a bit of a selfish pursuit intertwined with an altruistic one. That’s probably a question best left for the philosophers and dime-store psychologists among us.

[shadesofjoe]

This little gem seeing heavy rotation in my playlist right now...

[shadesofjoe]

A man who procrastinates in his choosing will inevitably have his choice made for him by circumstance.

Hunter S. Thompson

[shadesofjoe]

An Ode to Dusty Rooms and Trails Long Unwalked

I swore I’d never do this again, but alas, here we are…

I first started blogging some twenty years ago. A lifetime has passed since then, bringing with it love, loss, children, mental illness, deconstruction, reconstruction, and this new phase of life for which I’ve yet to find the right word. It’s difficult to go back and look at some of those old blog entries. They’re remarkably, if not predictably childish. I thought the world revolved around me and my so-called pain—a fact that I regularly opined about with my unsurprisingly dramatic yet shockingly consistent daily posts. I suppose that’s why I’ve hesitated to start blogging again. I don’t want to revert back into that kind of person. That sort of toxic self-indulgence feels like anathema to me now.

All that said, I have never really stopped writing. It’s probably the thing I do best. I’ve always had a love affair with words and language. Though I’ve never been able to figure out just how I did it, I’ve somehow been able to cultivate this ability to communicate thoughts and feelings in ways that resonate with others.

I’ve hesitated to admit that for a long time. Much of my life has been encircled by the confines of religious culture, where the idea of taking overt pride in your abilities and accomplishments is somewhat of a taboo mindset. I learned to be enamored by the idea of humility, but the self-image I cultivated wasn’t that of a humble person at all. I think true humility is having a strong sense of self without any sense of superiority. It’s the implicit understanding that you are a good person, but not a better person. When you can engage in honest self-evaluation (both your positive and negative traits) without falling into the trap of comparison, I think that’s the gateway to developing not only true humility, but also an abiding sense of inner peace.

All that is to say that I think I’m a good writer and have things to say that people might find valuable, and I believe it’s okay to say that out loud. Those of you who were raised in conservative evangelicalism and managed to get out will understand the triumph of being able to type that and mean it.

I honestly don’t know what kind of space this is going to be. I don’t make any promises, other than what you read here will always be genuine and from the heart—though maybe not always pleasant or easy to digest. I’m not the kind of man who believes in pulling punches or dancing around issues. I say what I mean, for better or worse.

So there’s not much left to say, except to stay tuned and let’s see where this goes.

Mahalo.

(Photo credit: Debra and Dave Vanderlaan)