Anything for her

What would you do for the one you love? Would you put your own life at risk? Break the law? Kill? Walk all over your principles, aspirations and desires?

It is somehow easier to admire the big gestures, to appreciate the remarkable sacrifices the very heroic make. But what about the tiny acts of heroism, the daily ones, we do for love? Like disappearing unnoticed for 15 minutes to buy beers, food and comic books; getting out of bed with the flu to drive to the station; always finding time during a busy day to cheer up the sad ones; stepping aside to let other one shine.

And what about being at the receiving end? Do we want to be saved by a knight in a shiny armour, or would we rather sort things out on our own?

It is quite funny that some men consider it their prerogative to puff up and defend the nest, while others would quite happily let you deal with all the dirty work. In the latter case, control is still retained, and nobody is to be thanked. The first, well, explains why firemen are so popular. Some women want to be saved.
Similarly, some women cannot stop mothering the entire neighbourhood, while others shall not be disturbed during their highly synchronised lives.

To be honest, I would like to know that in times of trouble I wouldn't be left alone by the one I love. That he would mainly hold my hand, and then, occasionally, when it gets really tough, carry me on his shoulder.

In the meanwhile, I'll try and sort myself out on my own. Almost.

Straw dogs

Finally got around to reading John Gray's 'Straw dogs'. And what a read it is, crystallising incoherent thoughts in my head. In particular, how can relentless optimism cohabit with a nihilistic view of the human condition?
Simple. The loss of hope is hope itself.
Admitting that we are just an accident, that we have no purpose as individuals, because the species does not require us to reproduce anymore, sets us free. It stops us from having to be something, to reach something, to commit to something.
Every day is a success itself. Yesterday's gone, tomorrow may never happen.
Rationality is not going to save us. Same for religion.

If we want to translate the above thinking into the day-to-day EI life, this means that emotional incompetence may just be a non-religious, non-rational surrender to the natural self-regulation of planet Earth, to the failure of humanism, to the impossibility of determining our own fate. Grown up in a strictly empirical environment, with a quasi-mystical belief in the scientific method and a total aberration of Aristotelic metaphysics (which, BTW, was only meant as the 'book after the one about physics'), admitting to the limitations of progress as an unshakeable mean to the truth can be disorientating, to say the least. However, if we look closely, quantum mechanics taught us that there is no objective science, that we modify our environment the moment we attempt to measure it. It was the founders of contemporary technology who also set the limits to our achievements. Having said this, even if I have dropped illuministic dogmas of a better future, the scientific method is still the solution to improving our life as individuals. I would rather take rationally-designed medicines developed through clinical trials than have leeches applied to my skin. I just don't think that the universe will benefit from the internet, GM organisms and the iPad. And the relief is that 'everything will be fine', as I keep repeating to myself. At the end of the day, will it really matter if we miss out on a promotion, the partner of our dreams or our best friend's birthday party? Yes, for us as individuals, no, for us as part of an ever moving flux of life.

It may sound like a cop-out, but when asked about my purpose in life, I could not find an answer. Most people say 'their children'. This is wise and biologically sound. In my case.. Well, I will have to leave you guessing.

Yesterday

We never got to say goodbye properly, did we? At least not in public. Not that we do public. Mind you, you would be horrified at the idea of this blog. Or maybe you have always known that while you buried your feelings out of sight, I covered them up with an unstoppable banter. Whatever way you look at it, it is from you that I learnt to put up, shut up, explode, box up, never look back.
Although, it was only after you went that I learnt what untouchable pain really means.
How can I explain the crater in my soul, that will never be filled again? The fat, voluminous tears that emerge from the innermost depths and just pour out of my eyes when the thought of you grabs me unexpected?
I miss you like nobody before or after. Every day, every night.

At least I know that there was nothing left unsaid between us. It took us 30 years, but finally you got me, I got you. From that point on, it was easy.

I don't know why this year this date feels particularly sorrowful. Maybe there is a deadline to unspoken grief. Maybe once you open the lid, even just an inch, the flood of hidden feelings takes a life of its own and breaks all barriers.

Maybe saying goodbye wasn't all that necessary. Because, to me, you never went away.

Singles, EIs and Nobel laureates

This week the Nobel Prize for economics was awarded to three researchers who elaborated the 'search and matching' theories. Specifically, their work explained how market frictions can hinder the smooth functioning of an economy; how supply and demand are matched, where there are transactions or search costs involved.

Eh? I hear you say (Or maybe those are the little voices in my head.. But that's another story)
Well, interestingly enough, one of the applications of the 'principle of voluntary pairing under competitive conditions' is romantic matching. If you are single and struggling to find the love of your life, blame it on those couples who rushed into each other's arms without hanging around long enough. By getting hitched too early, not only we risk to get it wrong, but we also deplete the pool of available singles for perfect pairings. Unless of course we are prepared to accept that some matches are going to dissolve at some point, as we realise that original the search wasn't complete.

This is good news for everybody out there who is in doubt, who is still seeking for The One (or The Two, The Three, The Four), who thought they always got it wrong. They didn't. They just need to patiently keep looking around in order to close the perfect transaction.

You see, there is hope.

Habla con ella

One good thing about being an EI: people tend to open up. Maybe because I rarely say 'I told you so', or cringe, or pass judgement, or look smug. Au contraire.
How could I? With my incompetence?
Of course, these days I often have to sign a confidentiality agreement before private conversations, but you have heard about this already.

I read somewhere that one of the signs of approaching middle age is the increasing number of divorces in your circle, accompanied by a decreasing number of weddings. This year, with two (possibly three) friends saying 'I do', and only one saying 'I don't anymore, sorry', I am still being kept young.
So, do it for me, carry on falling in love, have babies, embark on impossible love affairs. And if you do split up, find somebody else pronto. Don't stop hoping.

And tell me all about it. Because I don't want to stop either.
PS
To TF (you know who you are): you are amazing and so strong you can shape your own happiness, whatever way you decide to go. I love you and will always be your support group. As you are mine. Crying is good at times.

Confronting the inner prude

Amsterdam, 11 am on a Monday morning. Is it me, or is it kind of early to buy sex? And to be faced with sex toys in all shapes and forms?

As I got kicked out of my room by housekeeping, I found myself wondering around the hotel to kill some time. Not too far in towards the town centre, a giant dildo stared at me from a shop window. Wow.. What can I say? The catholic girl I was brought up as urged me to carry on walking at sustained speed, ignoring the odd sex shops alternating with indie clothes retailers and cafes. Only to end up in sight of a smiling half-naked young lady waving at me from a red-lit window. And the lady shaking her booty next to her. And the topless one around the corner... That's too much bits and bobs before lunch time, as far as I am concerned.

Which got me thinking. This is no place for an analysis of social injustice and objectification of the female body (or the male), but if I'd rather be at home, on my comfy sofa, with a hot chocolate and endless repeats of 30 Rock, rather than preparing an advisory board meeting, how must they be feeling?

And, honey, my dear, a slide preview involves boring middle-age men going through their presentations. Not ladies stripping behind sliding curtains..

Make a wish

When you blow your birthday candles, do you still make a wish, even if unattainable? And can you recall what you wished for on your last birthday? Did it come true? And have you ever regretted what you wished for? Or was your wish formulated incorrectly? Or maybe left open to interpretation, so that the outcome was not what you expected?

The time warp

You think of changing life, a new beginning, a fresh start.
And then, here you are, in the hotel where you have been so many times it is not even funny anymore. Back in a familiar place, seeing different but similar people, doing the same job, saying identical things. Can old life and new life meet without a time/space singularity? What happens if past you meets present you? If the person in your previous role is on your plane, sitting a couple of rows down, going to see your old clients, while you are off to see your new ones?

Letting go. Easy peasy, uh?