Nice Guys

A good friend of mine asked me a question pertaining to his current relationship issue: "What's your take on this?  Do nice guys really finish last?"  My first response was going to be some wisecrack; "No, they finish quickly--so usually first--because they're noobs, and second, they never 'finish' because it never ends when it's with the right person.  Finishing whatever race it is isn't a concern or a priority."  Then I reminded myself it was a serious conversation.

I just simply replied, no, they do not.  And he was taken aback.  I suppose he assumed I'd have a different philosophy.  So, he questioned my answer.  He asked if nice guys don't finish last, then what is he doing wrong?  I responded, "Nothing, man.  It's just the wrong girl."  So, yes, buddy, this blog post is specifically for you.  It's my in-depth approach and philosophy to this matter of stupid, mean, and foolish girls, and these stupid, nice, and foolish guys that supposedly never win.

This is going to happen over and over again, but you can't change pace or what you're doing.  You can buy her the flowers, you can take her to the nice restaurants and to see all the new funny and/or romantic movies.  And hell, let's disregard the whole spend-money-on-her concept, and hop to the essence of the relationship.  You can respect her, give her freedom and control over her choices, actions, and life.  You can support her in each endeavor, encourage her when she feels down about things, and always be there.  You can be sweet, nice, and unconditional.  But she'll still probably walk out on ya.

This is no fault of your own, my friend.  You aren't doing a single thing wrong.  I suppose the only wrong decision you're making is that you picked the wrong girl.  She probably isn't ready for a serious relationship and her priorities when it comes to guys are so unrealistic or naive that she is just as blind as I am with one eye, when it comes to guys.

A lot of guys sit there and ask that question, "Do I need to start being more of a douchebag or mean?  Am I too nice?"

You're probably too nice.  And being a d-bag probably will help you attract a certain type of girl, but by no means will this amount to any lasting happiness or stability.

Because here's the thing, man; you're a good guy. You're a nice guy.  You're going to do whatever it takes to make her happy, whoever she is, and you can take care of her, stand up with her, and she'll love you for everything you are.  And if she doesn't now, I guarantee months from now she'll realize what she lost, what she's missing, and what she chose to toss away.

Will you be there waiting?  I hope not.  If she doesn't appreciate you for what you are now, and it takes losing you, you walking out of her life, and moving away for her to realize it, then it's 110% her fault, her problem, and something she needs to accept and feel shitty about.

Because I've been there.  I've tried so hard for someone, and watched her walk away. Whether it's because she thought freedom was better or because she believed the grass was greener with the parties, with the night life, and being young... she dropped me, this foolish, overly nice, and understanding gentleman, for that.

And approximately nine months later, I got a text message.  She realized what I'd been for her, and that all these guys walked all over her, used her, and treated her terribly, and she relapsed back to the last person who lifted her up, made her feel special, and showed her how wonderful of a person she is.  And I was already gone.  The realization hit her like the CTA going full speed.

And to be frank, these ladies will go on about what they want in a relationship.  Someone who'll eat pizza with them, be lazy, and stupid with, right? All these silly attributes that build up their naive expectation of what a serious relationship is supposed to be like.  Beyond that, some of these girls are so out of touch with how a gentleman should treat them, what the actually deserve, and what lasting happiness is, that they wouldn't see it if, well, hit them like the CTA.

Buddy, this girl.. you deserve better, and someone who appreciates what you do for her, and who you are.

And to the women out there that are sweet and incredible, and that aren't as blind as my dear friend's soon-to-be (hopefully not) ex-girlfriend, you're all probably in relationships, but this guy's accepting applications soon.

Because I know what a nice guy will do, not because it's what he's supposed to do, but because it's what he wants to do, and we aim for the consequential smile, giggle, and sparks.  Call us stupid, gay, or lame.  You can say it's a waste of time, money, or effort.  But we're the guys buying flowers occasionally not because of holidays or any nationally specified day for flower-giving, but because we want to. We're the guys planning wonderful dates and nights out not to ask her to a dance or marriage, but because it's a Thursday night, YOLO, and why the hell not?  We're the guys who'll care more about you than we actually like you.

Frankly, we're the nice guys who end up with the wrong girls too many times to the point that we lose faith in what we're doing.  But someday, my friend, you're gonna meet a girl who'll make it so obvious why it never worked out with all the others.  Someday, probably later as opposed to sooner, you're going to encounter the greatest thing, and it's all going to make perfect sense.  And ladies, you post about wanting a nice guy, and you question where we're at.  You kicked us out of your lives.  Wewere there but you thought Mr. Douche-pants was significantly better, more attractive, and could shotgun a beer better.

Don't change who you are on account of her not liking that.  Because we're the breed that doesn't ever finish the race. We're the guys that don't care about the finish line.  And it might seem like everyone else is working out and it's all going perfectly for everyone else.  But that's not true.

You're better than most, bro.  You're deeper and more thoughtful than most other guys out there.  And someday, you're going to realize why you're going through this right now, and it'll be because you'll meet a gem, a catch, who is practically perfect for you, and who'll appreciate all you are and all you do.  And your almost ex-girlfriend will face palm so hard because she's going to realize what she lost, what she chose to toss away, and she'll be the one regretting.

Chin up, man.  The best is yet to come.

(With the whole finishing the race thing, I want to point out I'm looking at is as an ending to a relationship or journey with it all.  Finishing would suggest an ending.  Happy endings are just silly.  We don't want these things to end, people.  Unrealistic as it may seem, we want it to last forever.  There's just an endless journey that we each want to set off on, no end in sight, and to travel these roads with our one true love, in a red Ferrari, towards a Californian sunset.  No happy endings.  Just ensuing happiness because we're where we want to be, we're higher, and for once we're not worried about the destination, but where we're currently at.)

Charizard

"You just can't sit there and put everyone's life ahead of yours and think that counts as love."

So, I used to believe this. Wholeheartedly. I figured if I went out of my way for people, did selfless things for others, and just put the rest of humanity first, that this was the best way to love others.  I was right, and wrong.  A lot of my closer friends think I'm too nice, too kind, and that I think too much about other people before putting myself first.

I'm walking this fine line where I begin to question why I put up with so much bullshit or so much inconvenience to the point that I'm practically unhappy.   One particular person never ceased to criticize me for this.  I feel like she judged me for it, looked down on me for it, and was just confused or intimidated by it.  And after trying to be an outsider looking in on the past few years, I begin to feel the same way.  Why do I keep doing this to myself?

I'll be late to work because I'm jumping some lady's car on Kimberly Road and get written up for it. I'll be close to broke, but I'll buy a guy a gas tank, a gallon of gas, so he and his family don't have to sit in front of a Taco Bell waiting for someone else to stop.  I'll push an old guy and his granddaughter's car up a slight hill despite my sports induced asthma, and ignore the fact I'm running late to a dinner date with a friend at the Lemon Grass Cafe.  I'll pick up drunk friends from parties and get them home safely, even if I gotta be up early or if I'm in the middle of things.  And yes, I'll drive out of my way to go to Indiana to be with a friend in the hospital, knowing it'll make for a rough night. (ha.)

But when my car's messed up off Arsenal Island and I'm pushing an '01 Chevy Impala up a hill, no one stops.  When I need someone to pick me up, no one answers their phone.  And when I hope or want something back, I'm empty handed.  But I keep doing it.  I keep going.  That part of my philosophy I have literally only explained to one person.  And I don't think I'll ever do that again, because I don't think they understood (see previous two posts).

Back to the original quote: this doesn't count as love, does it?

Not quite.  Selflessness versus selfishness... love is patient, love is kind.  It endures all things, bears all things... Hmm.

I like to think that putting someone else first is just one facet of it.  The rest relies on enduring it, no matter what.  And when I say "no matter what," I mean even if they steal from you, even if they lie, even if they cheat.  Even if the leave you and give up.  And those things I listed... that wasn't love. That was just being a nice guy.  I like to think it's practice.

No, my friends, love to me is being selfless when you need to, focused on yourself when you must, and enduring it all in the long run.  It's not wanting to be the only person who makes the other happy, but doing whatever it takes to do that.  So, to the individual that believe that this putting others first was my idea of love, it's just one piece of the puzzle. And everything I've already said is just that one piece combined with a few others.

Don't get me started.  And for the record, my choices and decisions to consistently put others first, while sometimes bothers me, ultimately makes me feel better, it just betters me in general, and I'm happy I do it.  It's worth every negative feeling, inconvenience, and write-up.  And I wouldn't want to live my life any other way.

I'd like to personally thank my dad, a lot of my friends, and every stupid hindrance I've encountered along the way that has taught me this.  Thanks. :)

An Explanation lol

I have come to the realization that I have not written a lot lately.  I do not believe it is a lack of inspiration, by any means. There is no shortage of influences and incentives to encourage me to write. I feel as though I cannot find the proper way to put these feelings and thoughts into words that will somehow make sense. I mean, that was the entire focus of my last post and poem. I suppose I can spend some time explaining it, to those of you that read it, then scratched your heads, and wondered, “What is this nonsense?”

Have you ever had so much you want to say? You have all these emotions and thoughts, and you just need to release. You feel like you’re going to explode if you try to hold them in, and you’ll implode if you somehow convert them to some sort of language, because you fear the other person will not receive it the way you intended.

I cannot help but think of that stupid, stupid song, Say Something. It was quite popular, and I suppose it still is. The line they consistently repeat goes, “Say something, I’m giving up on you.” It’s so terribly accurate in the sense that sometimes we will pour our hearts out in words and these sentences hoping to drive a point home or cause some sort of reaction, and we are left with nothing. So instead of selling out every thing I am feeling, and all the thoughts I have had of late, they remain reticent; hidden, guarded, and secretive.

I’m standing here with all my words, raining down around me. Dozens of paragraphs, all arranged in a way to tell this clever story of a boy who simply has too many feelings, too many thoughts, and not one soul to tell them too. And they just take their stupid umbrellas, pop them open, and try their best not to get wet.

My favorite line from that poem was this:

Never have I encountered such a conundrum as this; the imperative to disclose sedulous and lucid feelings, adulterated and awry in the segue from heart to mind to lips.

Before, I used to just throw my words around, and speak my mind, and try to explain my way of thinking. Lately, though, it seems no one agrees or understands my philosophy. I’m concerned that quite possibly, I may be crazy or insane. Do not make the mistake of thinking me naive, because I have pretty solid reasoning for every one of my beliefs.  And naive is too meager of a word.

And words are meager things, are they not? That’s a reference to an episode in the Walking Dead, by the way. I do not recall what episode, but the Santa guy says something along those lines. Yes, Hershel. Santa guy. Clever, right?

I am losing, and words are not enough. They are not sufficient. And I am disappointed, frustrated, and absolutely lost.  And I am digressing from the original point of this whole post. I was going to explain the poem. I used complicated words and complex vocabulary to express that no matter how elegant or eloquent my language gets, it still will fail to carry the essence of my thoughts and feelings to the listening ear. Only one person figured that part out.  One out of like twenty different people who read it. Props, right?

Anyway, after some reflection, I had another realization.  I suppose I have always been somewhat aware of this, but it has really struck home, especially due to recent life changes and circumstances.  I think more than most normal people should.  I feel easily, and sometimes my emotions get the best of me.  For the longest time, I was practically ashamed of this.  I decided it was a good idea to keep my thoughts to myself, and contain and even suppress feelings; being too happy was never a good idea, and letting small or large travesties bring me down was a sign of weakness.

I have decided, though, that this is who I am and I do not need to change that for anyone.  So what if people don't understand me or how I decide to think or approach things?  They say sensitive guys are the worst kind.  I don't consider myself over-sensitive.  I just am not afraid of thinking about things, and I am not afraid of feeling.

As my little poem suggests, I am in no way expecting a single person to understand.  My fear used to be that people would be unable to properly understand what I am thinking.  I used to worry about people misinterpreting things I say or not understanding my feelings on things.  My conclusion, though, is that what they think or say or how they react doesn't matter.  I'm happy that I'm a thinker.

Because in the end, when things fall apart, I know how to handle myself in good time, and prepare for the recovery, moving on, and bettering who I am.  In the end, it is my uncanny ability to understand my own feelings and thought,s and my methods of taking that understanding to do what is best for me and fight what will make me happy, that will bring about a result in just that.

The poem was about not wanting the world to see you or hear you because the world will not understand.  It is about more than just words, more than just thoughts, and more than just feelings, but who you are as an individual.  It is about realizing your emotions, your deliberations, and every facet of your being is something a single person or a crowd will never be able to accept or understand.  Sometimes, yes, such feelings and thoughts should, and should have, remained secret.  I know that now.  But sometimes all we need is someone who understands.

Anyway.  That's it.  I'm going to go for round 3 and explore this beautiful city.  Peace out, girl scouts.

And feel free, my dear friends, to grab your umbrellas.  Don't get too wet.  I'll be here, dancing in the rain.

"You don't know me.  You don't even care." 

 

Reticent

 

I decided to give some poetry a whirl.  Hoo-rah. I'm no poet, and I used a bunch of unnecessary words and then made it all rhyme.  That counts, right? 

I want to believe that words are tools that I can manipulate to reconstruct things, navigate through quandaries, and fix all and any problems I encounter along the way

I wish only to ventilate these wanderings in my head, to a hearkened ear, and have one discern and extrapolate all the things that I am trying to say

Inside, my deliberations are immensurable, or infinite, if you will, and aberrant and preternatural. But when enunciated they flounder; they become inferior; meager, as I always fear.

Out loud, thoughts become misconstrued; language, while seemly and consequential, fails to suffice while I yearn for it to carry my thoughts to the heedless ear

Vexatious, claim my listeners; hearing without grasping, seeing, but not imbibing, for I am nothing but an artist lacking weapons to befittingly articulate the simulacrum in my brain

Analogous like Twain and his Mysterious Stranger; unfinished and cabalistic, my ideation is depictive of forty-four, received like its disingenuous and ambiguous compilation by Paine

Never have I encountered a conundrum such as this; the imperative to disclose sedulous and lucid feelings, adulterated and awry in the segue from heart to mind to lips

Effluent with my words, I ponderously speak; I could assert that I lack the astuteness in diction, but please, do not consider me remiss

Systematically, each word is meticulously assigned and even more cordially released; if only I could just disseminate my thoughts candidly to your heart

Such complications are puerile; ineffectual for me to spend time pondering and deciphering my own; but if untimely and precociously advanced, my own would fester and fall apart

Almost in vain, I try to evince these sentiments in an actualization that could engender you undertake the very avenue I have been shambling down since the beginning

Perplexed, everyone miscarries my divulgence; disturbed, they fail to properly adjudicate the significance of my words, as they seemingly lack the ability to discern their meaning

Can you fathom my heart; can you at least attempt to decipher this torrent of emotions and thoughts, funneled by this varying hindrance we call language?

Could be so? Consternation washes over me; reality reminds me that when kept secret, these dispositions are infinite; invincible unless morphed to a clever adage

And so be it; the aggregate that is accumulated by an amalgam of heart, soul, and mind, shall remain sealed behind closed lips, smothered by a sharp inhale; clandestine

And I am not timid for chance of erroneous judgment, but for my message to be decorticated and enfeebled by your ears and interpretation; no- these thoughts shall remain mine

Best kept inside, behind this egress you call my mouth, are my deliberations; my conjugations are most befitting, when these remain forborne and magnificent

Each revelation is certainly well-intended, but I refuse to allow the thoughts that are closest to my heart to be diminished and lessened; they shall remain inside; reticent

Hamartia

"My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations."

John Greene was absolutely brilliant when he completely disagreed with Shakespeare's quote from Julius Caesar: "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves."  The author of The Fault in our Stars goes on to suggest the alternate philosophy that the fault, rather, lies in our stars.  And it makes sense, I guess.  In Julius Caesar, both individuals were suffering not because of their stars (in other words luck, fate, or destiny), but because of decisions they had made.  But in the novel, the pain and suffering the characters were facing were happening not because of their decisions or choices, but because of their "stars."  I think it is both, though, that the fault is in both ourselves and our stars.  We have the absolute choice to fix or make up for our flaws, or hamartia, as Hazel Grace describes it.  Furthermore, we can choose how we decide to deal with, react to, or handle the problems and obstacles this indifferent universe places in front of us.

So, obviously, I'm reading the book.  It's a very good book.  I must say, it is certainly better than the movie and if you're a reader, I'd definitely recommend it.  It fits the theory that the book (if written before the movie, as most usually are) gives you an unadulterated and full view of the story and you can get a more in-depth and precise look at the characters.

One thing the book does, that the movie does not, or at least not as much, is focus on Hazel Grace's tough decision on the entire issue of her being a grenade, and, as she puts, "trying to limit the number of casualties."  She has a concern that her death will leave a wake of destruction and harm all those who care about her.  It's funny, almost, because in the book, Greene wrote in a video gaming scene where Gus's in-game character throws himself on top of a grenade to sacrifice himself to do the same exact thing.  Maybe I am just drawing needless connections, like I usually do, but whatever.

Anyway, her fear is that when her body finally fails to fight the cancer in her lungs, she's going to hurt a lot of people when she leaves the world.  She was concerned about Gus being one of those "casualties," and she also understood that every single minute she spent with him was another centimeter deeper the pain would go when she dies.

It evinces her selflessness, I would say, for her to think not of the benefit of a relationship with him, but rather the consequences for Gus by going down such a path.   The ending of the novel, however, is actually ironic, and caught me off guard.  From Hazel Grace's perspective though, she was hoping to save Gus from having to go through the pain of losing someone he loves and cares about.  From Gus's perspective, I'd wager that he was refusing to let go of the most incredible person he had met thus far, and he was certain that his decision, with the pain and cloudy future inevitable, was the only decision he could live with, and the right one.  (God Bless awkwardly long sentences.)  Even more, he was willing to risk it and accept it if and when it happened.

He tells her, "You realize that trying to keep your distance from me will not lesson my affection for you.  All your attempts to save yourself from me will fail."  That's certainty.  Confidence.

I think we all run across a little scenario such as that.  I am dumbfounded because I am sitting at a fork in the road where I have a really difficult choice.  I suppose it isn't quite the same scenario as Hazel's where it's a question about if I can be selfless so the other person won't have to suffer through me dying.  Rather, I am concerned about being as unconditional as humanly possible and having to deal with a fair amount of pain, struggle, and anxiety, more like Gus.  And just like Gus, I am certain, and confident.   Just like Gus, I have a knack of taking pleasure in the finer things in life and marveling at everything.

He writes to the author of An Imperial Affliction, saying, "She is so beautiful.  You don't get tired of looking at her.  You never worry if she is smarter than you; you know she is.  She is funny without ever being mean. . . You don't get to choose if you get hurt in this world, old man, but you do have some say in who hurts you.  I like my choices."  He makes the conscious decision to allow himself to possibly get hurt.

During these little scenarios, if and when we get hurt, our cohorts rub it in and say, "I told you so."

And it all circles back to where the fault lies; in ourselves or our stars?  In Gus's (and I guess my commitment), the fault would indeed lie in himself.  It was his choice.  Old Willy was right in Julius Caesar.

Anyway, pardon my little digression.  I'll simply segue into the main purpose of this post.  (That's supposed to sort of be funny.) We can't save people.  I am slowly starting to realize and accept that little bit.  But we can impact them.  We can not prevent the almost disconcerting indifference of this universe from ruining situations or our hopes and dreams.  And sometimes your hamartia is something you are simply unable to do without or rid yourself of.

The coolest thing, I think, I got out of the book and movie was their focus on infinity.  Some infinities are greater than others.  I suppose if you didn't read or see it, you won't get it, so I'll explain, just like they did.  Between the integer one and two, there are an infinite number of decimals.  Between two and three, you could easily conclude there is the same infinite number of decimals.  But between one and three, there is more of an infinity than one to two or two to three.  Maybe that doesn't make sense.  And maybe it'd make more sense if I didn't spell out the numbers.  Anyway.

You can't save people.  Not from themselves, not from cancer, and not from death.  But you can choose to impact them.  Sometimes it takes acts of selflessness, making yourself vulnerable to a possible grenade going off, or letting your guard down and risking something awful.  But you have the choice to impact someone, leave fingerprints, and experience small infinities with them. I honestly don't believe these impacts and infinities are only possible in an romantic type of relationship, but everywhere.

In my life right now, I'm experiencing a minuscule infinity with hopes that it blooms into something greater.  Regardless of what my head tells me, I am just as certain and ready as Gus was.

My final point is an almost last quote from Augustus from when he first met Hazel.  She asks him why he keeps staring at him and he responds: "Because you are beautiful.  I enjoy looking at beautiful people, and I decided a while ago not to deny myself the simpler pleasures of existence."  And while romantic, I think it offers a greater point: breathe in while you can, and experience the amazing things and wonders of your relationships and this world before you, well, cease to exist.

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“I'll fight it. I'll fight it for you. Don't you worry about me; I'm okay. I'll find a way to hang around and annoy you for a long time.”