When someone presses the "dislike" button

Lessons that, for most of us, can be very hard to swallow:

-The fact that a person dislikes you doesn’t always mean they don’t know you well enough.
-The fact that someone dislikes you doesn’t automatically mean they are an asshole. It also doesn’t mean that you’re an asshole.
-It’s okay to not be fond of somebody who likes you. The same goes for vice versa.

On the first point: We all want to believe that everybody would like us if they knew us better, and that any person’s aversion is based on misinformation. Unfortunately, this isn’t true. If a person looks at me and doesn’t like what they see, it doesn’t necessarily mean their lenses need a new prescription. They could be seeing real flaws that are deal breakers for them. They could be seeing personality traits that are objectively neither good nor bad, but are simply not compatible with themselves. They could be seeing qualities that remind them of bad memories or sometimes their own insecurities. I’m not for everyone, and neither are you. This is all right. It’s not okay for somebody to be nasty and hostile, but we’re all allowed our own feelings. If I do have a flaw that is consistently pointed out, then it’s my responsibility to work on it. However, I shouldn’t do it with the end goal of winning any specific person’s friendship. It also doesn’t help to bury oneself in shame. That can actually stop us from making improvements.

Regarding the second point: Sometimes a person will dislike you for a terrible reason. They may be bigoted or prejudiced. They may have a prior commitment to animosity because of malicious intentions, and that does reflect badly on their character. They might just feel unfavorable toward most people. But, in other circumstances, there could be valid reasons for an aversion. The most common reactions seem to be to vilify the person who doesn’t like you, or to internalize it and decide there must be something wrong with you. As I said, it doesn’t have to mean any personal failing for either party. It could just be incompatibility.

As for the third point: Although we’re much more apt to like people who appreciate us, the fact that someone is fond of you doesn’t mean you’re obligated to return that feeling. That doesn’t mean it’s justifiable to be a jerk, but you’re not an unkind person for not wanting to hang out with them or be close. Likewise, it’s not weird or pathetic to like somebody who doesn’t seem interested in you. In that case, it helps to not internalize their disinterest (although that’s easier said than done), and it’s important to respect their boundaries and not push a relationship.

There are complex reasons for why some people click with each other and others don’t, and it doesn’t always reflect on character. It’s easy to get hung up on the people who don’t like us, even if we get along well with most people. The helpful thing is to do the best we can, and find those who both understand and enjoy us. There are plenty who will.

The intimacy of Photoshop

There's a strange sense of intimacy in Photoshopping a person--not to change their appearance, but to remove smudges or scratches from the picture's surface. It feels like you're grooming them through real touch, even though you're only clicking on pixels. This can feel odd if you're fixing up a photo featuring someone you haven't seen in years, no longer have a relationship with, or have never met. There's a certain thrill in digitally primping someone you wish you had known, like a famous person or historical figure.

It's hard to divorce two-dimensional images of people from their tangible forms. For that reason, it's also eerie to find a photo of someone who is no longer alive and look into their eyes, even though they were alive in the picture. It's confusing to read a distraught message from a friend while seeing the userpic of their grinning face.

Time is never static, but photos give us the illusion of that. They really do seem to store an unchanging facet of a person. And maybe many of us present two-dimensional versions of ourselves in real life, because it feels safer than showing our fuller and unretouched selves.

The Nazi room

Some friends have said that they regret using Facebook because it makes them like their peers less. That someone they would probably like in person becomes someone they can’t stand because of the opinions they post. I understand this sentiment, and at times I can relate to it. But at the same time, it’s hard to believe that somebody’s defining beliefs and overall worldview would never be expressed face to face if you know them well enough. And if they are hiding certain values, I’m not sure I’d rather be unaware of what those values are.

In the past, I have written that there is no single “true” self. People are multifaceted, and we can be kinder and more complicated than our belief systems. I don’t believe that a human necessarily has only one set of values; they can have several at odds with one another. But even if their values aren’t a neatly matching set, others can still feel alienated by a particular belief they have—even with the awareness that it isn’t their only belief. I know I will distance myself from a person if they express specific beliefs, just as I know I’m not exempt from alienating others with mine.

The internet is a paradoxical place. It’s a space where humans are bolder and more confrontational about expressing themselves, and at the same time more cautious if their words are for public consumption. It’s a place where individuals can perform a one-dimensional version of themselves, and where they can also share sides of their psyche that are not usually seen. It’s a meeting ground where people dismiss each other more readily because it’s easier to see a human as a set of pixels or an algorithm, but people also might offer each other more time. Because the online world is us, an outgrowth of both space and time.

Just as the internet is people and the internet is a place, people are places. Some are homes. Some are locations we think are homes, but turn out to be stops along the way. Some are havens we visit routinely, but where we don’t ultimately live. That’s why I think of a personality as a house. Some houses have consistent themes throughout. Those homes are cozy and predictable. Some prefer that, others find it dull. Some houses are neat and affable in the rooms that are meant for showcasing, but complete chaos in the private quarters. And others don’t hide their mess.

This is the type of home I’d find most disconcerting: The social, guest-receiving rooms are open and embracing. The living room contains an MLK poster and books about environmentalism and civil rights. Then, somewhere tucked far down a hallway, there’s a study full of KKK propaganda and Nazi memorabilia. The resident is flustered upon guests discovering it, but insists it’s “not a racist thing.” They say they have no problem with (X minority group), they just “don’t want them in their country.” (So what does “having no problem with them” mean? Not objecting to their basic existence, provided that existence occurs far away and they never have to inhabit the same space?) The person who owns and maintains this house may not see the space dedicated to bigotry as their “true” room. They may see it as just one coexisting with all the others, no more of a core space than anywhere else. They may even like to have minority friends in the house; just not in that area. But the guests who liked the main quarters won’t feel comfortable there anymore, and it would be especially scary if the house was a place where they’d regularly enjoyed spending time.

That figurative house is who some people are. Some may not actually be aware that they contain that specific room. Others might know about it but blame others for putting the contents inside, not acknowledging that they choose to hold onto those things. And I know my definition of welcoming is subjective; some would feel a lot more embraced in the bigotry room than in the main socially presented areas. But that is how I see it, and I think the internet provides a window into rooms that might not otherwise be seen—even by those who live in the house. The difference lies in whether or not the homeowner justifies that room; whether they respond to its discovery by more carefully hiding the contents, by bringing them out into the open, or by trying to renovate.

Road maps II

Wires and veins and road maps are all similar visually, and linked in concept. Technology connects people as part of a larger body and is the highway we travel together.

Why the friend zone is a myth

When I say that "the friend zone" doesn't exist, I don't mean that leading people on doesn't exist. I don't mean that nobody deliberately flirts with someone they know has unrequited feelings for them, aware it will hurt but not caring because it feeds their own ego. And while that behavior is often exclusively criticized in women, people of all genders do it. Anybody who behaves that way is being selfish and dishonest, not a friend. So I'd rather call it "leading people on" than "friendzoning."

When I say there's no such thing as "the friend zone," what I mean is that people do not become friends with others out of spite. Nobody decides, "I'm going to be friends with somebody who likes me romantically in order to punish them. I'm going to relegate them to a confined 'zone.'" And if a person sees friendship as inherently manipulative or punitive, then the chances are high that they're a pretty sub-par friend.

Also, I suspect a lot of people think they're being led on when they may be interpreting friendly behavior as flirtatious. As I said, it's not that this never happens. It's just that there can be misunderstandings, sometimes due to wishful thinking and sometimes due to entitlement.

The US's relationship status: It's complicated.

There’s a meme that says, “I don’t think America should elect any president in 2016. We should be single for a few years and find ourselves.” I really love that because not only is it hilarious, it can be an extended metaphor.

If the President is the US’s significant other, then the US is also polyamorous with Congress. The Constitution is basically a “terms and conditions” of the relationship, and they really need to write a prenup. Every four years it finds itself in a love triangle which gets voted on like a reality dating show. The US is finally reconsidering its bias toward exclusively dating rich white men, but it has a long way to go. And Republicans and Democrats are its “type”, even though there are plenty of other suitors who could be more compatible.

Social media time travel

I wish there was a social media network to connect us to people from different times. And before anyone says "books", I mean in a reciprocal way. A Facebook-like service to communicate with others from the future, or the far distant past, or with relatives the way they were before we knew them. Or even with a friend who completely changed; to talk to them when they were different. It would ret-con the universe and completely screw up our timeline, but it would be so damn interesting and cathartic before time starts to eat its own tail and the aliens have to show up and fix everything.

Cycles of abandonment

An all too common relationship pattern I notice: One person is afraid the other is going to leave them, and this fear may not be grounded in reality. So instead of trying to talk to their partner about what's going on or try to reconnect and be closer, they lash out at them and become vindictive because they're anticipating abandonment. And then, in a self-fulfilling prophecy, the other person does leave them—but only because of the way they started behaving. This seems to happen a lot.

Unconditional love vs. unconditional trust

People tend to think that if you love someone unconditionally, then you're obligated to trust them unconditionally as well. But while love may not always be "earned," trust definitely is. I've heard it said that the best way to find out if you can trust somebody is to trust them. It's true, but if they proceed to betray your confidence, you're not obliged to continue to trust them out of love. That can turn into enabling.
              I'm not referring to romantic relationships. That type of love, while incredibly strong, is often built on the way your partner behaves. And even if the love itself is unconditional, the relationship isn't entirely so. I'm thinking more along the lines of family relationships; people you didn't choose to bring into your life but need to establish boundaries with, which can sometimes mean limiting or ending contact. Standing up for yourself does not mean you no longer love them.

The subjectivity of forgiveness

Forgiveness is complicated, personal, and different for everyone. While there isn't a one-size-fits-all solution, I would say that nobody should try to pressure or rush anyone else into forgiveness. It might take a long while—and there's no "correct" or prescribed time frame you need to adapt to. It's also okay if there's never a point when you're able to forgive an action or a person (also, people and their actions can be separated and forgiven at different times). It isn't an obligation. If anybody tries to convince you that you owe it to them after they've done serious harm, then they're not genuinely remorseful and probably haven't changed.

Adults and the idealization of teen love

I used to wonder why adults tend to idealize adolescent love; why it's such a theme in media that there are basically whole book and movie genres about it. I now have a theory about this. Most people will say teen romance is unique because everything is happening for the first time, hormones are at fever pitch, and you feel everything so intensely at that age. That's part of it, but it's not the whole reason. It is also idealized because it's pretty much the only time in your life when you have a relationship that's entirely about getting to know each other and entirely about feelings. It's uninterrupted by real-life intermissions like financial budgeting and daily chores like managing a home or doing errands together. Things that can be mundane. Of course, sharing those parts of everyday life can be a great bonding experience in itself, and they make the partnership seem a lot more "real." But I think that's why teenage relationships are so memorable to people: because it doesn't feel real yet. It's still like a fantasy, but one that's being acted out by both parties. Not all adolescent couples are happy ones. Teen relationships can be terrible and sometimes even traumatic, and mature relationships are usually a lot better altogether. But the unadulterated quality of them (an accurate word, since they're not adults) is what makes them such a source of fascination.

Different, just like everyone else.

There are certain ways I interact with my husband that not everyone understands. For example, I try to ensure that we both receive a 50/50 ratio of everything. If we're sharing a meal, I make sure I split it perfectly evenly. Back when we had separate bank accounts, I would always make an effort to take turns paying for our outings. He'd pay for one night out and I'd cover the next. He jokingly calls me "the relationship accountant." Others think this is weird when they hear about it. Mike says most people assume that this behavior only starts when someone is planning to leave a relationship or trying to build some kind of case against their partner, to prove they're being shortchanged. My motivation is the opposite. I do it to make sure he's not getting any less than I am; that I'm not unfairly benefitting.

Another factor of my relationship with Mike which is hard to explain is the way that we're so different in terms of hobbies and interests and general mannerisms, but we often feel like the same person. Once in a while we'll react differently to something and he'll say, "I just had one of those weird moments where I realized we're not the same person." That never becomes more apparent than when one of us is trying to eat the other's food. Nothing reminds you that you're separate entities quite like vying for the same resource--which is another reason why I try to split everything down the middle.

Outside of my marriage, there is also a way I interact with men in general that not everyone will understand. Forming new friendships with men can be tricky because I'm often afraid they'll think I am interested in them in a non-platonic way. A lot of women have told me they experience this anxiety, but my reason is different than the one I've heard from others. Other women have said they're hesitant about this because the men are usually interested in them, so they don't want to send out a false signal of reciprocation. For me, I almost never believe a person is interested in me unless they outright say so. Maybe this is naive of me, but it's how I operate. So my fear of a hypothetical man thinking I'm into him or am trying to start some sneaky extramarital affair is not due to a belief that he'll want to pursue that; it's due to the fear that he'll get uncomfortable or freaked out by my (falsely) perceived interest. It's weird. I'm bi, so it would make sense to also worry that female friends will make this assumption, but I never worry that women will get this impression from the get-go. Maybe because heterosexuality is usually taken for granted? I do worry that they'll assume I'm attracted to them once they know I'm bi. I don't think, "Oh, what if she's bi too, and she likes me, and thinks my disclosure is an invitation?" Rather, my thought process is, "What if she wrongly thinks I'm hitting on her and gets uneasy?" It's the same concern I have with men.

This entry isn't in any way meant to present me as special and unique or to cast "most women" in the same light. I'm just talking about certain things I've experienced that I'm not sure others can relate to. If any of you can identify with this, I'd be curious to know.

Nine years

Written December 29, 2014.

*   *   *

Yesterday was my anniversary with Michael O'Malley. We've now officially been together for nine years. Everyone who knows us sees us as an inseparable unit. As Davey said at our wedding, "If those two were any closer, they'd be like a fleshy Voltron."

It's funny and definitely true, but it's also true that we're very different from one another--and that works perfectly for us. It might seem counterintuitive how we can be such a great match when we have more or less no common interests. But what we don't share in interests or hobbies, we share in values, humor, and heart. Sometimes we disagree, but our deepest values are aligned. They always have been, even when our worldviews were completely different than they are now. We started off with complimentary mentalities and then our values changed together, so we still ended up in a mutual place. Mike and I have layers upon layers of in-jokes and can basically read each other's minds. We've seen one another through struggles I can never imagine facing with anyone else. All of our adventures spanning the past almost-decade have been shared.

Some of you may already know the story of the first time the two of us met in person, after months of talking from across the country. It was the date we didn't call a date. I had just turned nineteen and Mike was twenty-four. He showed up at my family's house, an Army tank-sized guy with an epic beard and a trench coat. My mom opened the door and announced, "Ginny, Hagrid is here to take you out!"

So I left with the real-life Hagrid. We went laser tagging and stopped at the Bridgeport Flier, where he made fun of me for barely eating. Then we hung out in his living room, where I decided to find out how many people could fit onto the couch at once. We piled ourselves, his two sisters, the dog, and two guinea pigs into a giant heap on the sofa and it nearly fell through the floor. He had to go back to Washington to finish school, but we talked every day for the next three months. Then I took a plane out to see him and we drove across the country back to Connecticut. Nine years later and we're married. We have a cozy apartment full of Keurig cups, psychedelic drawings, and the world's snuggliest cat. But wherever I go with him, I'm home.

Meeting Michael was finding my home. We share a whole world between us that we not only inhabit, but build upon each day. The greatest privilege I can imagine is to spend the rest of my life thriving in that sacred space.

Love and growth

Love of any kind is supposed to help you grow, but there's a distinction between adding to a person's identity and just stretching it out. When you do the latter, you think you're helping them grow but are really just spreading them thin with unrealistic expectations.

Healthy love is a weird paradox. You consume each other without depleting one another; supplementing what was there to begin with.

Oil and water

This is an old essay of mine, but I think it's still relevant.

*    *    *

I've been considering how there are two types of people who often struggle in romantic relationships. This isn't meant to be a generalization--just about all of us have struggled in our love lives, and there are far more than two "types" of people who are plagued with romantic problems. But I'd like to discuss a phenomenon I've come to recognize. It's a pattern which seems to effect two specific groups of people. The pattern follows them from one relationship to another, much like an STD (though luckily, it's not contagious).

The two kinds of people I'm describing are as follows: those with weak personalities, and those with personalities that are very intense and dynamic. When a person with a bland personality finds a vivacious partner, it's a toxic combination. This is why.

A dull person has very few opinions or interests. Every idea they express is borrowed from someone else. It's an adopted brainchild, rather than a biological one. Some argue that there's no such thing as a truly original belief, because all of our views are influenced by others. While this is true to a certain extent, I think that originality does exist. I've heard plenty of people express unique ideas. However, I'm talking more about consistent beliefs. When someone has a weak personality, they have no core beliefs or passions that are central to their identity. They take on the hobbies, beliefs, and interests of whoever they are currently dating. They become their significant others' shadow. (When I say shadow, I don't mean that they follow their partner around. I mean they take on the basic blurry form of their partner, but are not an exact replica. A shadow partner can't become an exact replica of you because that would require them to genuinely believe what you believe and to genuinely care about the things that are important to you, rather than feigning it. Also, I call this type of person a shadow because they cannot exist independently of you. They exist independently, but their personality does not. When the relationship ends, they shed their identity like yesterday's clothes, and change into a new persona that will match their next romantic partner's.) This is a parasitic kind of person. They may not mean to be that way, but they are.

Relationships with shadow people may seem like a dream come true in the beginning. The first few months may be filled with moments where you say, "Wow, we must be soul mates! We both have liberal arts degrees, vintage cars, and a deeply seated commitment phobia! It's amazing!" A person with a strong personality can't last for very long with a partner without one, though. If you have your own hobbies and interests and beliefs, you want to be with someone who does as well. Any conversation gets boring if it becomes a one-sided diatribe and the only response you're hearing is, "Me too!" And bland people can't adapt to meet their partner's needs, because it requires mental gymnastics and their brains just aren't that flexible.

People with strong, larger-than-life personalities also tend to struggle in relationships. This is because it can be hard for others to keep up with them. It's easy to feel eclipsed by someone who's so passionate and energetic if you're more low-key. It's an obvious truth that we often forget: We can only be happy when paired with someone on a similar emotional and intellectual wavelength.

I've also noticed that about 99 percent of the time, relationships fail if one person is emotionally unstable while the other is not. It sounds obvious, but many overlook this when getting to know each other. I've been the more stable person in a relationship. I've also been the less stable one. It didn't work out either time because nobody likes to feel wholly responsible for another person's well-being, unless he or she a control freak who thrives on that sense of power. The idea of "rescuing" someone may seem appealing to some, but it rarely works--and the desire to rescue can also be a desire for control, even if only control of one's own role in the dynamic.

So, anyway, those are just some thoughts that have been floating through my head. I'd like to hear your thoughts on this, too.