[This post is kind of long and rambly, so if that’s not your thing, I’m warning you in advance. If you don’t know me in real life, it will make absolutely no sense. Oh and there’s no sex in this post.]
Back when I started this blog, I sort of had a plan to not post things that were too personal. I had a blog before (which even I can no longer access since I managed to forget the password) where I think I posted some somewhat personal things. Because of that, I felt a bit uncomfortable about just any random person knowing about it. It was mostly just my friends who read it, and I was totally fine with that.
But with this blog, it was a chance for a fresh start. I could just post random things, about baking, drinking, video games, statistics, whatever, as long as they weren’t too personal, and not be afraid of random people knowing about it. Well, there was that one incident where random people descended upon my blog, but besides that, I haven’t had this weird anxiety about people finding my blog. Or at least, people I know in real life finding it.
But every once in a while, I let things build up for a bit too long, and then I need to have a cathartic outpouring of my thoughts and feelings. So here it is, with a fair amount of restraint. Actually, quite a large amount. The random people thing, you know.
I’ve been reading Phil Galfond’s blog, which he started last month, and one post in particular stuck with me. Here’s a professional poker player who’s well-known (at least for people who keep up with poker) and has I’m sure thousands of people reading his blog, and yet he’s able to be so open and honest with his emotions. I really admire people who can do that.
I can’t compare myself to him or anything, me being an engineer who plays poker maybe two or three times a year, and him being a professional poker player who’s won and lost over a million dollars in a single day. But if a guy whose blog is thousands, if not millions of times more in the public eye than mine is can talk about his feelings like that, then shouldn’t I be able to?
Well, not necessarily. I mean, we’re fundamentally different people. Everyone’s different. Some are open, some are not. I’ve always been a fairly private person. And some things I’m going through now, I either can’t put into words, or I can’t really share here, because I’m not ready to and I can only share those things in person. But the truth is, it’s been difficult and probably always will be difficult for me to just lay everything out there like some people can.
But therein lies the dilemma. For a lot of things, I do wish I knew other people in the same situation that I am. Because misery loves company? But that would involve me giving up more privacy than I’m willing to right now. And my friends, as supportive and generous as they are, can’t possibly understand some of the things I’m going through. And yes, I’m purposefully being oblique here, and there are multiple “things” that I’m referring to. (And please, don’t ask me what they are; I’ll tell you these things in person when the time is right.) I’ve taken some steps, which some may consider small, but I consider progress for me because they’re definitely outside of my comfort zone, on some of these fronts, and yet I still feel incredibly alone sometimes. Nobody understands me. At least not fully. And maybe nobody ever will, because nobody’s exactly like me.
It’s one of those things that I’ve had to come to terms with. I’ve spent most of my life feeling like I was different from the people around me. The Asian kid growing up in the South, the loner in high school who spent his Friday nights alone, the college student in CS class who didn’t understand the jokes flying around in lab. For all those years, I wished that I could just fit in. But I was a square peg trying to fit into a round hole. It wasn’t going to happen. And it took me a while to accept that.
But then I came to realize that people actually did accept me for who I am. Like me for it, even. Gone were the stupid social expectations and cliques of high school. Well, not entirely, but still, things were better. I can be the male baker who writes semi-erotic stories and obsesses about who’s a special guest star in the credits without people giving me grief. Or at least, not too much grief. And yes, there are still things I could improve. My relationship with my job, my hoarding habits, my super-introverted hermit tendencies, etc. But I’m getting there.
Then there’s the Valentine’s Day thing. Valentine’s Day always brings up these feelings of loneliness for me. I seem to always be conveniently not dating anyone on February 14, and so the constant reminders of chocolates and flowers and jewelry I could be buying a loved one make me feel especially alone. Is it just me, or has the advertising gotten more aggressive this year? Maybe I shouldn’t have signed up for those deal websites and their daily emails. Maybe I’m just feeling the sting from the ads more acutely because I’m getting older.
I do have this weird yearning for a romantic candlelit dinner at a nice restaurant with a special someone. Not a specific someone, just… someone. And I don’t even think about the sex afterwards. Well, OK, let’s be honest, sometimes I do. But really, what I want is just to be able to have a nice romantic dinner where me and that someone can show each other how much we care about each other, how we want to spend time with each other, and just feel totally natural and at ease with each other. And we’d eat something romantic, like medium-rare steak or dark chocolate truffles. Is that so hard? Yes, it is. It’s hard to find nice people. Especially on the internet.
It used to be that I was surrounded by single people. Single people I wasn’t dating, but still, we could commiserate in our solitude together. But as I got older, people started finding other people, and my dates never led to anything lasting. Was it me? Or had I just not found the right person? It’s a numbers game, people always say. And I’m not going on enough dates. So it’s unlikely I would’ve met the right person. But who wants to keep going on dates, spending all this time and effort on it, when the odds of disappointment are so high? The truth is, it’s not actually that fun for me. But if I want that candlelit dinner with optional sex afterwards, I have to go through all the pain and heartbreak before getting there. And that’s daunting.
But you know what? After writing all that, I’m strangely hopeful. There’s more opportunities on the horizon, opportunities that haven’t materialized yet, but I know they’re there. Not just in love, but in other areas of life. So I’m going to try and find them. Slowly, but I will. So things will be OK. I know it.
Catharsis over. Sometimes I need to fall apart into a thousand words. But I feel better already. And tomorrow is a new day, free of heart-shaped balloons and boxes of chocolate. Or at the very least, they’ll be 50% off.