I think this semester has been the semester of THE GAME. The break-ups and make-ups and make-outs and almost-marriages of my friends and my family have got us all hashing out the details of relationships. Every week someone is going to someone else, analyzing the hickey on their neck or the disappearance of the condoms from their bathroom vanity or the date that they're freaking out about. And then when friends see friends it's hashed out all over again, going over different angles, hearing another opinion, letting the flutter in the their stomach get alittle stronger again.
And I realize more than ever now that we all play it. In New York City, THE GAME is almost mandatory, and it works on many levels. Let's say you're in a bar: there's the game of finding someone you like, the game of eye contact and subtle body language across the room before someone caves and approaches, the game of flirting, the game of giving out a number, the game of making out/deciding whether to go home together, the game of whether to have sex, (a biggie) the game of calling back later in the week, the game of dating, the game of admitting how you feel, the game of defining the relationship....and it goes on.
It's really all a game: a game of chance, words, body language, eye contact, intimate conversations, mixed messages...And it sucks, and people bitch about it. It's arguably one thing that I DON'T like about NYC.
But here's the thing (and I attribute this understanding to a very special unnamed friend)...THE GAME is all about pain. THE GAME exists because we're older, and no longer in a childhood playland where we have a crush and then start holding hands. THE GAME exists because the older you get, the more baggage you have to carry, the bigger the burden on your back, the tougher the skin that's been beaten around a bit. With our baggage comes our pain, our break-ups, our first loves, the unaviodable defense that grows from being hurt. We all have it...and if you don't, maybe that's why you haven't won a round yet.
THE GAME was created out of those defenses, from our unwillingness to make ourselves vulnerable again. It's the result of the ego that rises when you've survived being ripped open from the inside: it's a battle wound that's ready to kick ass before someone slices you open again. It's that realization that the dating world isn't such a nice place, and all our egos clash together and make it hard to get to the tender flesh beneath.
We all know we're better than the foe that hurt us. We survived. And everyone else better know it too.
Is there a moral of the story here? No. But it's something that's worth taking into account: that our fear of getting hurt is the thing that keeps us away from eachother. Rejection is a scary animal that's easy to beat if you never expose yourself from behind the shield.
posted by iliza @ 10:40 AM
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