Is it strange to miss someone you've never met? Or not miss, exactly- that feels like an insulting way to put it. What I mean is, is it wrong to feel a sense of loss when I never had in the first place?

***So here's the deal... I haven't written anything in forever just for myself, which not only sucks but also gets me into a pattern of not processing anything that's going on in my head. That = bad. I don't have time to write anything new right now, but I have some old stuff I've never posted. This is something I started in September- no lie. I have no idea why I didn't finish it, since I had nothing but time over in Spain, but I didn't. There are at least three more blogs-in-progress lurking around here somewhere, so maybe someday when I have time again, the world will be graced with their dubious presence. Also, excuse the writing towards the end- I was finishing this up the other night and Xanga decided not to save my changes. I think it was worded a lot better the first time around.***

As I was walking home from school the other day, I was listening to The Beatles, which is a story in and of itself. My mom can't stand them- she thinks their lyrics are trite and simplistic. I've tried explaining to her that their simplicity is why millions of people love them, but she isn't having it. In any case, I didn't grow up listening to The Beatles, and so now I'm listening to a lot of their songs for the first time, probably with a more objective ear than most. I'm inclined to agree with my mom sometimes- how does anyone get away with a song that's 50% "Yeah, yeah, yeah"s? But when I was listening to I Wanna Hold Your Hand, something in it struck me. It was simple, yes, but in a good way, a way that reminded me how I used to think. I'll admit that when I look at an attractive guy, my first thought is not, "Hmm, I wonder if he'd let me hold his hand?" Everything on the radio is full of sex or angst or both, it seems like. Every "singer" I see exploits their body even more than their overedited voice, and hires backup dancers to make you think of sex whether you want to or not. Consider the following video I saw on Spanish Disney, of all things: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ipzcOZmaGUE Seriously! These girls are what, 15? Even if the song was in English, I don't think I'd have any idea what it was about, other than the fact that they're cool and they like to wriggle suggestively.

But what if someone ignored all the other parts of my body? What if a guy looked at me and the first thing he wanted to sing about was holding my hand? I wonder, has that ever happened? The thought popped into my head and I couldn't get rid of it. Here in Spain, especially, I've gotten used to being given the once-over or hearing "¡Hola, guapa!" or "¿De donde eres, chica?" just walking down the street. There was even a guy who unabashedly looked right down my dress as I passed by. (That, I was not so okay with.) It's a nice ego boost sometimes, even though I know they just think a redhead is something cool and exotic. Maybe it's the media* and maybe I've just gotten used to it, but either way, it struck me as sad that such a thought was a novelty. I guess I expect now that when I meet a guy, he won't be looking at my face. Is it wrong to assume that? Is there really someone out there whose first thought towards me is not sexual?

I realize that's a cynical way to look at it, but when faced with overwhelming evidence, I have to wonder where the clean-minded boys have gone. The problem is, if I want to be seen in an innocent light, I have to come from a paradigm of innocence and relative naiveté, and I can't unlearn the things I know. What I know is a culture (multiple ones now, actually) in which looks are of ultimate importance and sexuality is a tool. I don't believe these things, but people do, and I have to realize that even if I don't want things to be that way, sometimes they are. And that sometimes I buy into it. That's the other problem. There are lots of wonderful people who I love regardless of their physical appearance ("regardless" meaning it doesn't even register, not that they're ugly); and I've found that the better I know and like someone, the more attractive they become to me. But I have to be honest and say that when I'm at a bar and a male stranger tries to hit on me, whether I feel flattered or skeeved out (not that the two are mutually exclusive) doesn't depend on my guess at the content of his character. When Colleen and I used to sit and boy scout, I never recall saying, "Daaayum! I bet he's got an awesome soul!" Even though it's hypocritical and I don't want to be that way, I judge people, and especially men, based on their looks. It's only a partial judgment, and it usually doesn't affect the way I see them, but I do it, and that bothers me. And yes, I'm sure we all do it, but that doesn't mean I like being that way. (Avenue Q, I've found, is appropriate in every situation- think "Everyone's a Little Bit Racist" and you'll get what I mean.)

The other part of this equation is sex, or more specifically, sexuality. I consider being aware and in control of your own sexuality, rather than exploiting it, to be an important part of being an adult. The idea of [sexual] innocence is nice for little kids and Catholics and Disney movies, but the fact is, everyone (except maybe for asexuals) has sexual impulses. Repressing or ignoring them isn't preserving innocence- it's perpetuating ignorance. (Once again, life lessons from musicals- Spring Awakening, anyone?) That’s not to say that these impulses should always be acted upon; but when sexuality is reduced to something to whisper or giggle or pray about, it remains childish, meaning that childish ideas about sex are the only relevant ones. I'll gladly call myself a hopeful romantic,** and I Wanna Hold Your Hand makes me squiggle inside, so it's not like I have no notion of innocent romance. What I mean is, the medieval idea that [female] virginity is paramount (that could be a whole other post by itself...); and the childish idea, perpetuated by Disney, that that virginity will always be taken by the first attractive person you meet, who you'll then spend the rest of your life with. Probably after being kidnapped by a beast or sleeping for a hundred years or so.*** In other words, it's not a romantic idea- it's a sheltered one.

 <---See what I did there? I made talking about sex a mature thing to do. That's how it should be. Granted, I make more sex jokes than I do terrible attempts at puns, and I make a LOT of those. Obviously I don't have a problem with that kind of humor, but... it seems like that's the only kind most people rely on anymore, which isn't just boring and uncreative, it's a harmful mindset for thinking constructively about sexuality. I’ve tried to tone it down, because I don’t want people to assume that the way I talk is the way I think. Part of my mind will probably always be in the gutter, but I’m trying to allow myself to think more maturely about sexuality. Also, I’ve found that when there’s a disconnect between the way I talk and the way I think, it gets harder to say what I really believe, because either I feel like a hypocrite, or the two things become more like each other. Cognitive dissonance FTW!

I found this quote on one of my friend's facebook pages: "When I'm older and my daughter asks me who my first love was, I don't want to have to pull out the old photo album. I want to be able to point across the room and say, that's him." That’s sweet, but it’s not the way I think anymore. I hear and read so many stories about people marrying their high school sweethearts, and everyone says how adorable it is. And I think, wow, that was kind of naïve, because how can you possibly know what you want out of the rest of your life before age 20? (And yes, I’m well aware of the irony there.) What makes for a strong relationship is enough life experience to know what you want and don’t want out of it. I used to think that I should only ever date, kiss, love one person. My idea of true love was one untainted by other people. Now I’ve realized that people can use, damage, scar each other at any age, the first time around, and that people with a ton of notches on their belts can still have soul mates.  I would never discount love at any age or stage of life, because it can be and often is real, but I don’t think that love [especially first love] is enough of a reason to spend the rest of your life with someone (though it’s pretty damned important). I’ve learned enough, especially in the years since high school, to build a much better picture of my ideal relationship. We should rely on each other, but not as a sole means of support or self-esteem; have excellent communication; be emotionally mature enough to put each other first when necessary; make each other happy; challenge each other to be better people; be friends as well as lovers; be lovers too- yeah, I said it, because sex and physical chemistry are going to be important; have the same or compatible goals and priorities; and, what separates us from being temporary or just friends, love each other enough to commit to being in love without exception, for as long as we live. Not like I’ve thought about this or anything.

 

I don't have any authority to write about anything, really, other than my own experiences. I've had good love and bad love and maybe some innocent love in there, but all I really know is what I’ve experienced firsthand. And that’s the key: experience. “To live is to be marked,” says The Poisonwood Bible, and it’s true. My old ideas about love and innocence were tied up with my frustrations with sin and purity. When I learned about Benjamin Franklin’s steps to achieving moral perfection, I wanted to complete them so badly I could taste it. It upset me more than I can express when I realized that I would never be able to experience the tabula rasa again. Every time I did something wrong, something that made me not perfect, I experienced not only guilt but a deep sense of loss, because it meant that I no longer had that blank slate. To be anything other than pure, not just sexually but in the broader sense, was unacceptable. To be marked was to be ugly- black ink stains on a snow-white sheet. It took me years to figure out that they were actually brushstrokes.

I’ve been thinking a lot about this lately, about what it would mean to be a blank slate. My conclusion: it would be pointless. I’ve done things in my life that I’m ashamed of, what in my Catholic days I would call “sin.” I haven’t treated people the way they deserve, and there are aspects of myself and my personality that I sometimes really wish would just die. But even if I could erase all of the hurt, the regret, the bad memories, the mistakes I’ve made, I wouldn’t. [I don’t have a musical analogy here, but think Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.] It sounds so obvious, but it’s literally taken me years to figure out that it’s okay not to be perfect, if I can learn something from my flaws, and that I can’t expect my life to be a blank slate either. I’d like a perfect, happy family and a life with no complications, but no one’s life is really like that, and if it was, they’d miss out on an essential part of being human, which is learning from your mistakes. That’s definitely the case for romantic relationships and learning what you want and don’t want in another person, and that’s why it’s probably not a good idea to marry the first person who calls you pretty; but in a larger sense, this means that I’ve learned to see everything as an opportunity. I’m beginning to see my dad’s anger and closed-mindedness as a chance to respond with patience and kindness. Yeah, sometimes it’s awful, and there are times I wish I had never had to experience any of what I did growing up; but without that hard-won knowledge, I would be a different person. I’m not sure if I’d be better or worse off, but I’d like to think that my empathy (one of the things I value most about myself) is partially a result of coming to terms with the way my dad is. If I can’t understand him, or at least get a sense of the paradigm he’s working from, I’ll never be able to see him as a whole person. When he’s just a type or a problem, I can brush him away or respond in anger; but if he’s a real person, I have to consider how my response affects him, and what the way I respond says about me as a person. As much as it’s been a struggle, I value this mindset much more than I would a perfect childhood.

 

So here’s the bigger question: what is innocence, exactly? It’s bigger than just sex or the lack of it, so what does it mean, and when does it end? Babies are innocent, but as soon as any sort of personality or opinion emerges, there’s a potential for subversion. After age two or so, it’s all downhill, so to speak. Is it better to be without personality or opinion? (I’m going to take a stab at the general consensus here.) And, more importantly (to me): is maintaining some sort of innocence necessary or even possible? If I hadn’t come to the conclusions I have about my dad, I would be less whole. Without the experiences I’ve had, good, bad, mediocre, and ridiculous, I would be completely different. With them, I’m emotionally complex, and I feel like I understand myself and others better every day.

Innocence, to me, is a relative term. It doesn’t have the positive connotation it once did, but it’s not all negative, either. If I say I want innocent love now, I mean that I want it to be free of any sort of ulterior motive. I want to love and be loved with all our flaws out on the table, and I want it to be for the sake of love itself. To me, exploitation is the opposite of innocence, because the motives are not pure. Using someone is what truly corrupts their innocence- anything other than that, presented and received with good intentions, can be simply another opportunity to gain life experience.

 

*“The media” is an overused catchall for the public reflection of parts of our society that we don’t like. I hesitate to use it in that clichéd sense, but in this case I couldn’t think of a better word, because I would consider print and video media to be a fairly accurate gauge of societal values as a whole. Sheesh, can you tell I’ve been writing a lot of papers lately?

**I prefer the term “hopeful romantic” to “hopeless romantic” because it indicates a happy ending. Juliet was a hopeless romantic; Beatrice was a hopeful one. Both considered romantic stories, but I know which one I’d rather end up like.

*** Disney life cycle: childhood >> inexplicable disappearance of one or both parents >> hardship >> rescue from hardship by a man with a strong jawline >> marriage to said man and implied everlasting happiness. Is it just me, or does no one ever date? It’s all wham, bam, happily ever after.

Also, Jesucristo, I started waaaay too many sentences with prepositions.

YAY FOOTNOTES