Dating from a Male Perspective

 

I’ve mentioned my brother here before on the blog as well as had him do some modeling for a post about

online dating profiles.  But today I’m picking his brain for thoughts on dating, from the male perspective.  First though, let’s back up a bit.  My brother is 8 years younger than me (though you’d never know now).  He didn’t really date in high school and in general was somewhat shy around girls.  However, in the last few years I’ve seen him really step out and start dating more.  As I’ve witnessed his process I’m continually impressed with his straightforward and honorable behavior.  In fact, as I’ve gone on my own dates, I’ve often found myself wishing that my brother could teach seminars to men on dating.  Come on 30-year old dude, my brother is light years ahead of you.  So, I decided to pick his brain on his process in dating.

What was the turning point in your beginning to ask out women?

I realized that women are no different than men.  I mean, they’re different, but not a great mystery.  I started to treat them the same.  There’s a big myth that women are something crazy and you have to put up a big front and have big muscles.  But actually, they’ll respect you if you be yourself.

You just started asking women out.  Talk about that.

I figured screw it – what have I got to lose.  I stopped caring.  What’s the worst that can happen?

How did you learn how to ask out women?

I had two approaches.  With the first I would talk to a woman for a few minutes and then ask her out.  In the second approach I’d just walk up and ask for her number.  (Side note: my brother has absolutely done this before.  He ended up dating a girl he’d met that way at House of Blues.  She was shy so we nicknamed her “Shy Ronnie”).  I have the blunt and the tender approach.  I think they worked, because I didn’t learn how to do it.  I just did it. 

I’ve noticed that you’re really great at communicating in dating.  What do you see the role of communication as in dating?

I don’t like there to be any gray area and it to be unclear whether or not it is a date.  I always say specifically “would you like to go out on a date”.  I go to coffee with friends, that doesn’t mean I’m dating them.  I make it know from step one that I want to ask you out.

What has contributed to your valuing that level of communication?  (Side note: my questions weren’t great for this interview, but I’m really proud of this one.  It actually sounds like I know what I’m talk about.)

Communication is what’ important.  Alex (Andrew’s lovely girlfriend) and I communicate about everything.  When we have an issue we make it known.  I dated a lot of girls before Alex and there just wasn’t that level of communication.

What should women hold out for in dating relationships?

Go on dates with other guys, but if you see any issues, bring it up.  A red flag today is a red flag tomorrow.  Especially if it’s against your core values.  Break it off. 

Also, be treated with respect.  And he should pay for stuff!  I hate when guys don’t pay for stuff.  You should pay for at least 90% of stuff.  If he’s not paying for stuff upfront, then you should dump him. 

Thanks Andrew for letting me pick your brain.  You’re awesome!

Fabulous Fall

Today I bought my first pumpkin of the season. It was an exciting, impulsive moment. I was tempted to buy some gourds as well, but decided to wait until my next trip to Trader Joe's. 

I think fall may very well be my favorite season. Now, I'm not just saying that because it is, in fact fall now. No, no, no. I have anchored a long-time fondness for this season, despite living in a climate that barely changes temperature throughout the year. I like (the idea of) changing weather, beautifully colored leaves, and fall foods. Oh, and fall colors. As a red-head, I was built for warm reds, browns and oranges. But, let's go back a moment. I almost skipped over "fall foods." Inconceivable!

Just the thought of fall foods make me giddy. Comfort foods, soups, breads, and all sorts of sweets full of apples and pumpkin. I didn't grow up a huge fan of pumpkin (and actually to this day, don't like pumpkin pie), but I was drawn to the dark (orange?) side by pumpkin scones and pumpkin bread. Pumpkin bread? Is there a more perfect food out there? And despite trying to find a good recipe, I still think the best type is from a Trader Joe's box mix. I know, hard to believe, right? I keep thinking I must be wrong, but lo and behold, TJ's wins every time. 

Fall will even get to me thinking longingly about Starbucks. I know, Starbucks (see previous coffee snob post). But I have a fall shaped space in my heart especially reserved for pumpkin spice lattes. Of course, they are best enjoyed when the weather cools down, which in California means it's going to be a while. Ugh!

I also find a strange preference for fall Sunday afternoons. I love when it starts to get darker earlier. Something about it makes me want to go for a walk in the park. With a pumpkin spice latte. To roam around in colored leaves. While wearing an adorable mustard sweater and riding boots. 

And this folks is my fall fantasy. Add a guy in glasses and elbow patches and it's complete. 

What's your favorite season and what idealized version of the season play out in your head? 

Happy Fall to you All!

Don't Get Stuck in the Past

Last Friday I watched “Midnight in Paris” with a couple of friends.  I’ve seen this film a few times and had just purchased it on DVD.  The story largely revolves around a man who has idealized the past, to be precise, has idealized Paris in the 1920’s.  And to be sure, there is much to appreciate in that time period.  Some fabulous writers, artists and bon vivants were inhabiting the city in that time period.  The man is given a chance to go back to that era, rubbing elbows with Hemingway, Picasso, and Stein.  However, the longer he visits, the more he is surprised by how unimpressed others are with this time period.  Paris!  In the 1920’s!  In the rain!  One woman he meets scoffs at his ideals, saying how the Belle Époque was the place to be, not her present day.  Paris in the 20’s?  Meh!  No matter how fabulous a place can be, we just have this tendency of looking on our pasts (or futures) with rose colored glasses. 

As I was pondering the value of remembering this past week, I also considered the ways in which we can get stuck in the past.  There seems to be a temptation in the midst of remembering to find one’s home in what has been.  The first image that comes to mind when I consider this is in Dicken’s “Great Expectations” with the character of Miss Havisham, a woman who still wears a bridal gown for a wedding that never took place. 

As one who tends to look kindly on the past, it has taken time for me to see the dangers in this line of thought.  When I was a little girl, I used to dream about living in the days of “Little House on the Prairie” or “Anne of Green Gables.”  The beautiful dresses, the adventures, the simplicity of life.  However, my dreams are attached to such small slivers of reality from those time periods.  Along with the beautiful dresses came corsets.  With the adventures came high death rates.  And the simplicity of life meant no movies (and other forms of advanced technology that we enjoy today).  Being a person who grew up sickly, I have begun to see how modern medicine has been a gift to me.  If I had lived in the time of Anne, I might not have survived past infancy.  Or, due to my scoliosis, may have lived life as a hunchback.  I also appreciate the opportunities available to me as a woman today, which would have been nearly impossible back then.  All that to say, I have greatly benefited from living in 21^st century. 

This skewed view is not in touch with reality.  In an odd way, it becomes a fantasy, which we attach our hopes and beliefs to; a place where we escape from reality.  “If only I lived in Prince Edward Island, then…”   I wonder how much we miss when we live in the past?  While living in the past or future may seem more ideal, or even safer, neither of these are, in this moment, real.  While the present has its challenges it is the only thing that is actually before me.  To live in reality then means to live in the present.  It’s good to remember our history and appreciate values of a past time, but the truth is that we do not live in that time. 

Following the film I began to wonder if the 21^st century will be a time in history where people will lovingly look back and wish they could have experienced it in person?  It might not be, but I suspect there are many things that we take for granted purely because it is our norm.  It’s impossible to see the full scope of a story when you are viewing it from within the story itself.  There is so much we miss.  Today I ambled throughout the retreat center I work at, stopping for a moment as I was hit with the reality that I may not always work here.  I paused and felt gratitude and an appreciation that this is part of my life.  For right now.  

The Importance of Remembering

Yesterday I finally got around to seeing “The Butler.”  While I had mixed thoughts on the film overall (although it was absolutely worth seeing solely for Forest Whitaker’s performance), I really appreciated how it invited the audience to remember.  Part of the story follows Whitaker’s son, who is a key player in the Civil Rights movement, as he journeys through the fight for equality.  Even though I have by no means forgotten that the Civil Rights movement happened, it comes to life so much more when it appears in a film.  It is devastating to see the way humans treated other humans.  It is hard to believe that this was the norm in many places in this country 50 years ago.  I think that the easy place to land is this assumption that we’re so much more enlightened today.  However, I can’t help but think what a dose of perspective would lend us as we explore our own present.  Were people just evil till the 60’s till they suddenly evolved and became more tolerant?  Of course not.  I think being reminded of these atrocities in our past also brings a warning.  Humans are capable of utter evil.  Not just humans in a removed way, but you and I.  I often find myself asking the question: what makes me different from those who sought to segregate African American people, or those who interned and killed the Jewish people in World War II?  I hope that I would stand against injustice, and I hope that I do today.  But when we remember, we realize the chilling reality that it could easily be us.  What a humbling thought. 

There’s the often quoted adage, “Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it" (Side note: upon looking this up, I was able to find who first wrote that (Click here if you’re interested for more on George Santayana).  I hate to be cliché, but there is such sturdy wisdom in that idea.  Remembering our past acknowledges that we do not have all the answers.  That progress is not the answer to every problem. 

During my travels to Syria we visited a town called Hama.  Before arriving, our group leader explained how the previous president had attacked a neighborhood in this town in order to quell rebellion back in 1981.  Many people, including many innocents, died in the massacre.  The neighborhood, which quickly had become a massive grave, was demolished and the government built a fancy hotel on top. That night we walked through the hotel.  It was without a doubt one of the fanciest buildings we’d seen, but knowing the history of this place made us sick with despair.  We prayed as we walked this burial ground, a literal symbol of a place forgetting its past.  Our group leader told us how the older generations were so ashamed of the Hama Massacre and as a result, never spoke of it.  Often, the younger generations had no idea it had happened.  Yet, as we see the fighting and tumult in Syria right now, it seems clear that the truth will remain buried only for so long.  

Yet, I find as a human that remembering is so flipping difficult!  I forget all the time.  It’s no wonder that God continues to call the nation of Israel to remember.  He has them build memorials and much of the Psalms call Israel to remember who God is and what he has done.  One of my favorite passages continues to be Joshua 4, when Israel crosses the Jordan and the Lord tells Joshua to have the people build a memorial (Josh. 4:5-7, ESV):

And Joshua said to them, “Pass on before the ark of the Lord your God into the midst of the Jordan, and take up each of you a stone upon his shoulder, according to the number of the tribes of the people of Israel,  that this may be a sign among you. When your children ask in time to come, ‘What do those stones mean to you?’  then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it passed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial forever.”

These stones are a memorial to what God has done.  So, memory is not just used as a cautionary tale of what could happen, but also a calling back to truth.  

I think when we take the time to remember, we have the invitation to step into humility, to acknowledge that we do not have all the answers.  We are invited to see truth, which is often haunting.  We can try to avoid our past, but humans weren’t built to do that long term without serious side effects. 

What do you need to remember today?

*********

Next post I’ll explore the opposite side of the spectrum, when we get stuck in the past.

Still Frustrated

Why can't dating be this simple?

Last month I posted on how much I hate online dating. Guess what?  I still do.  I don’t know if it’s me, but I feel frustrated with the whole process.  I get sick of reading profile after profile, each one sounding exhaustingly the same as the others.  And the site I’m on has these stupid questions:

How many times were you suspended in school?

Have you ever broken up a marriage?

Tap Dance or soft shoe?

(Note: one of these questions is made up)

But the two that annoy me the most are:

How would you respond to having a female pilot for a flight to Europe?

Are women funny?

I mean, really?  That’s just offensive.  And while most men on the site have no issues with female pilots, a bunch have answered that women are on the rare occasion as funny as men.  That fires me up!  Sure, females and males may differ as to what makes them laugh, but differing senses of humor does not mean that one gender is funnier than another.  So, whenever I see that question answered saying women are not as funny, it puts me on edge.  It’s hard for me to get past that one.  And I realize that I’m making huge judgments based on one question, but it sure doesn’t give me a hopeful glimpse of this person.  I blame the dating site on this one.  Come on eHarmony.  Leave something to the imagination. 

I also get frustrated (but nowhere near the same level of frustration) when a man refers to women as “girls”.  Now, I know that there might not be a lot of meaning behind that term, but I find it demeaning.  As a woman in her 30’s, I’m pretty sure I’ve left girlhood behind.  Or perhaps Brittany was right. “I’m not a girl…not yet a woman.”   Joking aside, a girl implies someone who still needs to grow up, while a woman implies adulthood.  Now, I’ll always have a childlike part to me and I may look young, but please don’t patronize me. If the situation was reversed I suspect it would be insulting to refer to a man as a boy, right? 

Finally, I’m reluctant to pay for membership.  Every time I’ve shelled out the cash in the past I’ve regretted it.  Paired with odd men.  Or barely matched at all.  Contacted by creepy guys my dad’s age. I’m not flush with cash, so I feel hesitant about forking over a decent sum of money. 

All this to say, rawr to you online dating!*  

*Yes, this is a negative post.  I sometimes write those.  It’s not a cry for help.  Sometimes I get frustrated.  Sometimes we all do.  For those who are engaged in the world of online dating, you get me, right? 

Turning a Corner

I turned a corner this summer.  To be honest, I didn’t think it was possible.  The year preceding it felt sad and lonely and confined.  It seemed to stretch on forever without end.  I actually don’t think I realized how hard this year was until now, as I look back upon it.  It’s funny how time can widen and deepen our view.  Over summer my friend sent me a quote from Frederick Buechner:

The only thing worse than being fed up with the world is being fed up with yourself.  I envied the pigs their slops because at least they knew what they were hungry for whereas I was starving to death and had no idea why. 

As I read through this quote again this morning, I recognize so much of my own feelings from the past year.  I was tired of being miserable, but had no idea how to get out of it.  And I was sick of myself being this way. 

I met with this same friend yesterday.  She’d been away for the summer and as we shared and caught up, we realized how this summer was a season of shifting for each of us.  Our circumstances have basically remained the same, but our outlook is so very different.  Where the future seemed bleak and limited, hope has crept in, refracting our outlooks into multiple possibilities.  I’m not quite sure how I ended up here.  I’m thrilled to feel this way, but cannot identify what has allowed this change. 

I am a pessimist.  It’s true.  Ask anyone who know me.  At times, my pessimism limits my purview.  Another friend of mine is good at pointing this out in a loving way.  When I talk about circumstances and their assured grim outcomes, she will listen, but then name other possibilities.  “Yes, Jen, you may be stuck in this place forever.  But you also might not be.  No one is forcing you to stay in this place.”  I love when she speaks these truths over me. She doesn’t do it in a sunshiney, Pollyanna, bubbly way (I don’t know if we would be such good friends if that were the case).  Her words and tone of voice convey that she hears me, but also speaks truth in a way that doesn’t limit what I’m feeling.  I need to hear this.  I need to be reminded my story doesn’t end here. 

In the midst of this furnace-y year, I feel sturdy in a new way.  I have a deeper sense of knowing who I am.  But it’s not just knowing who I am.  It’s knowing who I am and feeling peace with that.  For years I have wrestled through being a strong woman.  I’ve tried to hide or dampen that part of myself.  I don’t want to do that anymore.  I don’t feel shame over this aspect of myself.  Similarly, I have been confused about my creativity.  It has warred with the more practical areas of my personality.  And practicality has so often won.  However, I’ve recently been reminded of my creative voice.  I love my creative voice.  It is an integral part of who I am. 

I don’t know what this all means, but I do know whom it is who will be stepping into the next months of possibilities.

Me.

Shifting Gears

Hello All,

I'm stepping into a busier season of life these next couple of months, so I'm going to move down to two
blogs a week, instead of 3.  Instead of posting Monday, Wednesday, Friday, I'll be postings on Tuesdays and Thursdays.

Thanks for reading!

Jen

Remembering Syria

Last Sunday, Pope Francis called the Catholic church together to pray and fast on behalf on Syria this Saturday, September 7.  I may not be a baptized Catholic, but I plan to join in on praying with my Catholic brothers and sisters.  I've been praying for this dear country the last few months and it has been awful to see how the fighting there has only increased.  The news of the chemical warfare is disheartening and horrifying.  To be honest, I don't know what needs to happen there.  I'm back and forth on whether or not I support air strikes.  But I do know that something needs to shift.  

In May I posted about my experience visiting Syria in 2006.  I'm re-posting this today, if only for a story to be out there that paints a different picture of the country.  Let's continue to pray for the Syrian people.

On Syria

“I hope you know that we are not all terrorists,” she said, staring me straight in the face.  I cannot remember my response back, but her statement changed me. 

………………….

Today I had plans to write about Summer movies.  I even had a great quote prepared for “The Great Gatsby” (I left feeling projectile vomited on with glitter – and yet somehow enjoyed the movie more than I expected).  But on my way to work this morning I was listening to the news and was reminded of the fighting in Syria.  I couldn’t help but think back to my time in that country, almost seven years ago.

………………….

Back in 2006 I visited Syria and Lebanon.  I suppose it was a “mission’s trip”, but it was unlike any trip I had been on.  We came with very simple goals: to pray for the land, the people, and to love them.  It was the culmination of a year spent working with a church in England.  I still remember telling my mom that our end of the year trip would involve going to the Middle East.  This is not what any parent wants to hear when your home country is fighting in multiple wars in the Middle East.  I give my mom a lot of credit.  She remained calm on the phone.  I can only imagine the conversation with my dad following that call.  Here they sent their daughter off for a year in England.  Safe, tea drinking England.  She even said to me before I left, “At least you’re not going to the Middle East.”  Oops. 

I want to let you in on a secret.  Syria is amazing.  It is one of the few places I’ve traveled to that doesn’t feel touched by the West.  I’m sure there are other places in the world that have held onto their culture, but with the growing accessibility of technology and communication, the world seems to become increasingly homogenous.  It was refreshing to be in a country that had zero McDonalds.  I’m not exaggerating.  McDonalds does not exist in Syria (or at least it didn’t 7 years ago).  The shops would close in the heat of the day and everyone would go home to rest.  I remember sitting in a courtyard with a fountain, covered overhead by layer after layer of leafy ivy vines.  As I walked the streets, twisted down the various alleys of the markets, I had a glimpse of a place that echoed its past.  It was like visiting another era in another world. 

On one of our days we were at the local university.  It had been a strange day for the team.  We were taken to university officials when we entered the campus (note: all of the university campuses we visited had guards at the entrances).  We sat nervously in an administrative building.  At one point, our bags were searched.  I was especially anxious as my back pack contained all of the Arabic New Testaments (getting caught with Bibles in Syria didn’t mean a trip to prison, but it was a possibility that we could get kicked out of the country).  We tried to play it cool, but I held my breath and quietly prayed as my bag was searched.  The guard didn’t stop at my contents.   Exhale.  We were moved to another room and waited more.  Eventually we spoke with a university official.  He showed us around the campus and introduced us to a few English speaking students.  We spoke briefly as the official politely ushered us off the campus.  As we were about to get on the bus, the young women began to ask me about my thoughts on George W. Bush and the war.  Then, she looked at me and said those words that stopped me:  I hope you know that we are not all terrorists.

Those words stopped me because I realized in the moment that some parts of me believed that most of the people there were terrorists.  My assumptions and prejudices slapped me in the face.  I came to love the Syrian people, but these beliefs revealed parts of my heart that shocked me. 

As the trip went on, these beliefs were constantly challenged.  I was overwhelmed by the hospitality I received from strangers repeatedly.  I was invited into house after house for tea and refreshments.   It felt so surprising, especially since this is not a cultural value in the U.S.  When’s the last time a stranger invited you into their house?  At a certain point, I had this desire to shout, to proclaim to the world: These people, whom you have called terrorists, you’ve missed them completely.  They are kind, they are welcoming.  They are normal people just trying to live their lives.  Why doesn’t this make the six o’clock news?  Why is the only view we see of the Syrians tied into war or violence?  With a gun or a bomb strapped to their chest? 

I had missed them. 

My eyes were opened. 

My time in Syria was the final exam in a year of having my cultural beliefs challenged.  It was a humbling year, but I am continually grateful for the ways that experience helped me to begin to see outside of myself and my home culture. 

That year didn’t eradicate my tendencies to make snap judgments or generalizations.  I still make them.  I still cling to assumptions that are just plain wrong.  I think I am able to see them more for what they are though.  And sometimes I’m able to pause and ask questions, instead of pretending I have the answers. 

………………….

People are usually surprised when they hear I’ve visited Syria.  They cautiously ask what it was like.  I know what they’re really asking.  Was it scary?  Was it awful?  Why on earth would you go there?  To be honest, I had a couple of scary moments, but what shouts the loudest was my experience of the kindness of the people I met.  I’ve been saddened as I’ve followed the reports out of Syria.  My heart breaks for the Syrian people.  This is not the first war they’ve known, nor most likely will this be the last.  There are deep reasons for the wars and violence there.  I don’t know what needs to change there, but I so badly hope that something shifts. 

As I listened to the radio this morning I knew I needed to share my little story.  I struggle to name my hope for those reading this post.  Awareness is good.  But deeper than that is a desire that you would see beyond the generalizations.  And pray.  

What Are You Trying To Say?

You know how in “The Matrix” Keanu Reeves couldn’t see the Matrix, but by the end of the film (spoiler

alert) he could see everyone in code?  I’m starting to feel that way with story structure.  The more I learn about and internalize narrative, the more I can’t help but seeing it everywhere I go.  Last week I wrote about a recent experience with a film that lost steam at the end.  Yesterday I went to the movies with my family and I was struck again by story structure issues.  The movie itself was good, but I found myself noticing how a certain aspect of the story was confusing.  Towards the end of the film, the story switched focus and picked up a new narrator briefly before returning to the original narrator and storyline.  It was an interesting part of the film, but felt out of place.  It was compelling, but it felt so separate from the main storyline and to be perfectly honest, really didn’t add to the message I think was trying to be told overall.

Yet, I think this “B” story* could have been integrated.  Instead of shifting narrators once at the end of the film, the director could have begun to follow this character’s story earlier on and brought in the second narrators voice throughout the film.  Or this part of the story could have kept the same narrator as before for continuity sake.  And there’s always the (horrifying) option of shortening the sequence.  Gasp!  Sometimes as a storyteller we have to be ready and willing to edit.  That has been some of the best writing advice I’ve ever received.  I tend to have lots of ideas when writing and am ready to approach a topic from a myriad of directions.  However, too many angels can take away from the main point.  Last spring when I wrote about modesty I ended up having to cut out close to 50% of the original piece.  The day before I posted it, I read it to a friend and she gave the honest feedback that the first half really didn’t connect with the second half.  Then she came back to me with the question: what are you trying to say? 

I think story tellers can forget the main narrative they are trying to communicate.  Sometimes we get so swept up into the details that we lose the plot.  Now, I’m all for complex storylines, but when the film fades to black, we the audience should be able to say what the story was about.  Unless the film is “Inception”, but let’s face it, most of us are not as skilled storytellers as Christopher Nolan.  Yet, we all still know what was motivating Leonardo DiCaprio’s character in that film, even if we disagree with the state in which he finds himself.  If we lose the story, whether it be in film, writing, or even the narrative of our lives, then we lose the message we are trying to communicate.    

So, what are you trying to say?

*“B” Story means a sub-plot to the main storyline.  A great example of this is found in “The Shawshank Redemption” when Andy teaches the young inmate how to read.