How to Crush Without Being Crushed

Nearly 15 years ago, right at the end of my first year of college, I met this wonderful girl.

We met at a very outdoorsy community service project my service group was working on. She was a friend of a friend and had spent most of the day trudging through the underbrush on the other side of the project site. It as right at the end of the day that I actually met her. Immediately, I was smitten.

That summer, I spent a whole lot of time hoping that she’d still be around when school started back up.

Sure enough, she was. Even better, she was living right down the hall from me.

Relatively quickly, we got to be pretty good friends.

We’d spend hours just sitting in her room talking. Every night we’d be there until she was just ready to doze off. And every night, as I left we would hug and smile and wish each other well.

I, of course, became even more smitten.

Then one night, in a rare flash of want overcoming sensibility, I kissed her after that last hug of the evening.

Without a doubt, she was a bit surprised.

I went to bed thinking things were OK.

The next day, and for about a year afterward, I would know differently.

A lot changed after that opportunistic meeting of lips. At first, she just became a little distant, more guarded around me. Then, as she moved off floor (for other reasons), she became a lot distant. For months she would barely acknowledge my existence. Not responding to e-mails or attempts to chat in public places.

Losing her like that was compounded by the collapse of my academic career and being frozen out by another friend of mine (who I also had quite the crush on, of course).

That was kind of a bad bit of time for me. What weighed on my most, though, was not knowing the “why” of it all.

I only had half the story. In and of itself, that’s not a problem. The problem came up when I tried to figure out the other half with nothing except that kiss to go on.

My mind spiraled into myriad things–she hated me, I disgusted her, somehow that kiss had been a breach of an unspoken platonic guarantee, it had destroyed the friendship and hurt her more than I ever wanted to.

All of it, I surmised, was my own fault.

Perhaps just as bad would have been if I had managed to be detached and blind enough to be able to say that none of it was my fault.

Very rarely do any of us have the full story. Our minds fill in the blanks as best they can, drawing on our fears and hopes. Filling in the blanks, however, does not mean we’ve guessed right or that we’re even close to the reality. More often than not, in retrospect, those wild imaginings make no more sense than your average Mad Libs story.

That’s something we all forget easily in the joy or pain of the moment.

Reality goes on with or without us being aware of it. Better to try to hold on and follow it than be rudely awakened by it later on down the road.

Eventually, about a year after that kiss, after a lot of dust had settled and many other things had changed, I caught up with her and we actually talked a little about what had gone on. Her side of the story wasn’t at all what I had expected it to be. No, I hadn’t offended her or scared her off. My (not completely unwelcome) advance had come hot on the heels of her life getting more complicated as she began to fall for people and other people began to announce their desire for her. So she pulled back and made hard choices.

None of that was my fault. It was the reality of the situation. And, up until that moment, there would have been no way for me to know that.

Communication is the linchpin of any relationship–romantic or otherwise. It’s the only way all involved can get the whole picture, the only way they can know more than half (or less) of the story.

If we remember that, it can help us keep those wild imaginings in their place. If we remember that, it can help us not get lost in the clouds or the abyss, so we can see more clearly and choose more wisely.

A few more years down the line, in a random conversation with some other friends about “the good old days” of that second year at college, I discovered that there was even more to the story than even she had told me. Not anything vitally important, mind you, but extra bits of context that made it easier to understand her confusion and need to pull away.

Just an extra added reminder that even when you think you’ve got the whole story, you probably still don’t.

Reality just keeps moving on, with or without you…

Tags: affection, college, friendship, stories

Relationships are part of a vast plan for our enlightenment…

—Marianne Williamson

In high school, I attempted to go on a few dates. By most standards, none of those attempts were successful. By the time I got to college, I fel a lot less pressure about dating and tried to get things going more often. While most of those attempts weren’t successful either, they were, at least, less painful to fail at. That failure, when it occurred, could be attributed to a handful of reasons. Two of the most common are different flavors of plain old bad timing. (It’s that whole “Day Late, Dollar Short” thing, y’know.)

Bad Timing (By myself)
Anyone who’s been reading my words here for a while will know that I tend to crush on people pretty easily. Every now and then I actually try to upgrade a crush to an actual date. As those loyal readers also know, my luck when it comes to who I crush on isn’t always the greatest.

So, it should be no surprise that when I actually get around to asking a girl on a date (without doing my research first) things turn out to be timed just plain wrong.

Case in point: My second year at college a large group of my friends and I frequented the main campus dining hall. At that time, the food was still top-notch (especially considering it was the campus dining hall) and, even better, all-you-can-eat for one price.

The counters were staffed with students, of course, and after going regularly for a few weeks during any given quarter you could get a pretty good idea of everyone’s schedule. It was nice to have familiar faces behind the sneeze guards, standing dutifully in the steam. Sometime, when the lines weren’t too long, you could strike up a conversation or two with people you probably wouldn’t recognize without their trusty tongs and serving spoons.

I am a big fan of pizza. And my college had some pretty good ‘za. Even better, they had a few really cute girls that would rotate through the server position in the pizza station. One of them really caught my eye.

She was a little shorter than me, not incredibly slender and not too curvy, with this great loosely curled red-brown hair. She was cute, not gorgeous, but cute in a very safe, friendly sort of way. Her name, I would eventually find out, was Wendy.

After a few months of smiling at her as I picked up a couple of slices and offering pleasant “Hello”s, I managed to psych myself up for the actual Big Question. Luckily, I had my friends to help with that “psyching up” process. I tend to perform better when I have an audience to turn to if things go really bad. At least then I can share the laugh.

So on this particular day, as I go up for a second slice and first swing, I have it all planned out. There’s movies on the weekend that would be great, some camus events coming up–even if I have to schedule the date a month from that day, I’ve got options I can rattle right off.

After I get my ‘za (because having to ask for the food after asking someone out would just be awkward no matter what their answer was), I almost chicken out. I begin to walk away and then turn back.

“I know you probably get this all the time,” I say, almost wincing at how much that sounds like a typical pick-up line, “but would you be interested in going out some time?”

Wendy smiled politely. The kind of smile that says “Damn straight I get this all the time,” but in a nice way. She tells me she’s got a boyfriend, so the answer is no.

I say, “That’s OK…” and make my way back down to my table to relate the tale of failure to my eagerly awaiting friends.

For the rest of that quarter, I got my pizza from the other side of the cafeteria. Just to avoid awkwardness. After that, it was back to the polite smiles and general pleasantries.

Bad Timing (By Others)
My bad luck in dating often exploded to truly riotous proportions. Sometimes it was so bad, I could have sworn I was in some sort of scripted sitcom. A bad one. Where I was the sidekick to some dashing hunk.

By the end of my second year at college, I had switched majors. This brought me into contact with a whole new batch of people in a very varied group of classes. One of those classes was International Media (taught by one of my favorite professors of all time Dr. Michael Prosser). It was an interesting class–fun, creative and educational. Even better, though, were the people in it. Well, one person in particular.

Her name was Liz V. (not to be confused with another Liz who would end up in my classes… and who’d I’d have considerably more success with when it came to dating). She was very earthy. Her straight dark hair came down to just below her shoulder and her eyes were a warm brown with a sparkle of excitement in them. She didn’t wear a lot of jewelry or makeup, and when she did she went from attractive to stunning in her own way.

I had a couple of chances to work with Liz on projects in class and we got on pretty well. About halfway through the quarter, I decided I’d take the chance and ask her out. Though my job at the campus magazine, I had managed to score a stack of passes to a new movie coming out, so I even had an excuse to talk to her about something other than Russian news casts.

That day I made it in to the classroom early, so I could be ready as soon as she came in. Before long, she was there, getting situated in her desk. I started up the conversation and quickly got to the part I had rehearsed in my head.

“So what are you up to this weekend?” I asked.

“I don’t know yet,” she answered. Just the answer I was hoping for.

“Well…”

This was the point where my friend Jill walked into the room and took up the seat next to me, on the opposite side from where Liz was sitting.

“…I have some passes to a new movie that’s opening and I was…”

“What movie are you talking about?” Jill interjected.

“Uh,” I turned and glared at Jill. She was not part of my plan. “Don Juan DeMarco with Johnny Depp and Brando.”

“Oh!” Jill said with such vehemence you’d think she knew exactly what she was doing to me. “I’ve heard that’s a movie you have to get laid after seeing!”

I turned back to Liz. Using every ounce of my will power to not pummel Jill.

“Or we could go see something else…” I said sheepishly.

Then Dr. Prosser came in and class started.

I never got an answer. And I didn’t ask again.

After class, I explained to Jill exactly what she had done and she apologized. It was one of those moments of true obliviousness that you don’t actually believe exist until you experience it for yourself.

I ran in to Liz V. a year or so later (coincidentally when I was actually dating, uh, Liz…) at an event in the city. Her, my girlfriend, her boyfriend and I chatted very briefly before we went out separate ways.

I haven’t seen her since.

Tags: college

My years at college were very busy by just about any standard. A lot of things were started. But one of the most painful and educational things that happened that year started the summer before I left for school.

And it started in New Orleans.

Between my last year of high school and my first year of college, I went to the 50th Annual Key Club International Convention in New Orleans. It was, by far, the most raucous “high school” party I’ve ever been to. But The Big Easy is good for that sort of thing.

I was the only person from my school’s club to go, but that was just fine. After four years of attending NY District conventions and the previous year’s International one in Toronto, I knew a bunch of people from all over the state (and a couple of other states, too).

Needless to say, during that convention week, many crushes were developed. (Many addresses were also collected and I’ve stayed in touch with some of those people right up through now.) One crush in particular had started at a NY District convention as a wee bit of interest. In the wilds of Bourbon Street, though, that wee bit grew to a size larger than a crawdad. In the twilight of a river boat dinner, it became a full-blown crush.

Her name was Sarah. She was from upstate NY, just outside of Buffalo. Not too terribly far from where I would be attending school. This, of course, put all sorts of ideas in my head.

Let’s take a moment and remember what kind of state of mind I was in before college. I was a social outcast. Any positive social interaction, especially any prolonged conversation from a girl I considered attractive, was an amazing experience. I knew next to nothing about relationships and was a die-hard old school hopeless romantic.

All of that, and Sarah seemed to be not not interested in me. (Yeah, I know, a tricky double negative, but that’s how I thought back then.)

And so, for a while after that I kept in touch with her.

I had my share of adventures and whatnot in my first year of college. I fell in lust, I fell in love, I learned exactly what a psycho hose beast was (and ran from that one). I even started to get my head on straight and make great friends.

When Sarah did finally come and visit, I was pretty well situated in my new life. I was really looking forward to welcoming her into it as much as I possibly could. I was downright giddy when she actually showed up and took great pleasure in introducing her around to my good friends.

My buddy Z and my compatriot in “Chris-ness” CA took to her right away, as I suspected they would. They were my best friends in the world, we did everything together that we could. It was great that she fit in so well with all of us.

And then, a not-so-funny thing started to happen. She started to spend more time with them, than with me.

That’s when I started to feel it well up from deep within me. A slow burn that I had never felt before. It grew into a bright, tight fire, constricting my lungs and making my vision actually go spotty.

She was my girl, damn it. How did they end up with her. I was supposed to be the one spending time with her. She was supposed to fall for me.

I didn’t see any of them much more during her visit.

And then, one day, my phone rang. It was Sarah.

“I’ve got kind of a strange question for you,” she said, hesitating with on obvious bit of nervousness.

My mind whirled. What could it possibly be? “OK,” I managed.

“Well… my senior prom is coming up…”

Oh God! Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes! My heart was doing an odd fluttery thing.

“And I was wondering…”

And I’ve been wondering for years! It’s about time you came to your senses and asked…

“Do you think CA would go with me if I asked him?”

Ye– wait… that can’t be right. I felt all the muscles in my back tighten. My throat dried up. I almost dropped the phone. I took as deep a breath as I could manage (which wasn’t much of one) and said, “Uh, I’m sure he would. After all, he’s a lot like me and I know I…”

“That’s Great!” She was obviously relieved. “And do you think that Z could give him a ride if I set him up with a date, too?”

Now it felt like there two very distinct knives planted firmly in my back. Each penetrating not only a lung, but a ventricle. Breathing was an afterthought. Standing was almost too much. “yeah… I suppose he probably would…” My brain was just spinning a blank.

“Wonderful!” she said. “Thank you sooo much. I’m going to call CA right now.”

“Uh, yeah…”

*CLICK*

I stood there with the phone, just me and the dial tone, for a while. I heard the phone ring across the hall and knew it was her calling my buddies to invite them out to prom weekend a couple months in the future.

And that’s when it really began. A constant burn. Every time I saw either of them.

I started to notice things. I noticed they would stop conversations when they thought I could hear them. (They didn’t quite notice how far sound carries in a dorm hallway, so it was always too late… I knew exactly what they were talking about.) There was never any mention of Sarah while I was around. There were few deep conversations among the three of us. There was even one time, just a few weeks before the prom, when I caught them going out for their tux fittings. They made up a very lame excuse and scurried off.

The weekend of the prom was a nightmare for me. All I could do was sit and stew in this newfound feeling of jealousy. Not only had they both said “yes” without pitching me into the deal (or if they had, they had done so unsuccessfully and never mentioned it), they hadn’t even been honest enough with me to tell me they were going until the absolute last instant they could.

To say it was unpleasant would be a massive understatement.

But now, when I look back on it all, I can see that in those dark hours of my own life, my friends were making great strides in their own. They meant me no harm–they just didn’t know how to tell me. They kept quiet because they didn’t want to hurt me. I had never mentioned to them that I knew before they did that they were going to a prom. They thought I was blissfully ignorant. I must have put on a passable act.

From that dark weekend, my buddies came away with good stories to tell. Mostly about how much the prom itself sucked. Z’s date didn’t quite work out, but he did meet another wonderful young woman who would become quite the important part of all of our lives for a while (I, at least, am still happily in touch with her… she’s been a very good friend and brought much joy over the years).

CA and Sarah didn’t really work out either. Which, really, was just as well. I know that her and I would have never worked either. But his time with her got him moving along in his life just fine and, he’s done quite well for himself since then.

That night, I faced a part of my own shadow self–my Adversary–that I had never even known existed. I learned that I did care about some things, like friendship and honesty and openness, more than I had thought possible. It also planted the seeds for me to learn the difference between a crush and Love and Reality.

My life has been an ongoing game of connect-the-dots. That prom night was a big green one that sits smack in the middle of an amazing web of rippled effects.

Nothing happens accidentally. No pain is worthless. It is all in how we choose to look back on it.

And from the vantage point I gained way back then, I could see that jealousy wasn’t worth the trouble it could have caused.

I’m happy to say, it hasn’t reared its ugly head for any length of time since.

Tags: college, friends

Yep. I’m back on a slight relationship thinking track again. I think I’ll blame this one on seeing The 40 Year Old Virgin (which, if you haven’t seen it yet, you should–especially if you’re a guy). Or, maybe, I’ll just point to the fact that Friends and the lessons I’ve learned in the past are things I really need to remember every now and then.

When I started college, it was quite literally a whole new world for me. I was suddenly thrust into a place where I could actually be myself, with a group of people who I had a lot more in common with than I was used to and who were just as lost as I was. I had no history, except what I was willing to share, and every new memory was a shared one that we would all some day look back on and smile about (more often than not).

As anyone who’s been reading this blog for any length of time knows, in high school I wasn’t exactly a ladies man. Lots of crushes, lots of unrequited love, lots of big dreams… very little of anything else. Some habits are hard to break, so my first year at college was more of the same (though with some very distinct shifts in a completely opposite direction). I was crushing on people as quickly and as frequently as I was meeting them. It was an immense amount of fun and quite liberating.

About halfway through that first year, I had a firmly cemented crush on my next door neighbor, Melissa. She was quite unlike anyone I had known before–her quirks were all her own, but she also had a certain class. Mel was a photo major, not too terribly sharp when it came to math (though better than a lot of other artists I knew) and had a great eye for odd beauty. She was also a little skittish, but more than willing to push her own envelope when it came to experience.

And that’s really what grabbed me about her: the fact that was willing to push into her discomfort zone.

At that same halfway point, I had talked my buddy Z into joining the club and moving on floor. Since his taste in women was also impeccable, we found ourselves in the all-too-often plumbed depths of the “we both like the same girl” plot.

Most of the time, everything was just fine. We were like a big, happy, slightly dysfunctional family. There were a good many things we all did together. I have a particular vivid memory of me, Z and Mel coming back from a party over at one of the sets of on-campus apartments one cold winter night. She was a little tipsy, he and I hadn’t been drinking at all (because, at that point, neither of us did). The parking lot we had to cross had iced over a bit and we were feeling a little adventurous. So we talked Mel into leaning back and putting her legs out as straight and strong was she possibly could. “No, really… this’ll be great” we told her, grinning our (more than slightly) evil grins.

We slid her across that parking lot at a good clip, never losing our grip on her and never losing our own footing. She screamed the whole way.

It was great.

Then there were other times when things got a little hairy. Z and Mel started spending a bit more time together for a while. I was busy with my own stuff and didn’t take much notice. At least not until one night when I realized he didn’t leave her room.

And that was when I first experienced a real sense of anger brought on by feelings of betrayal. It bubbled and burned inside me, keeping me up most of the night. Classes the next day were unpleasant, to say the least. Z and I didn’t see each other much that day, which was probably for the best.

A few days went by like that. He was spending time with her, I was seething silently about it. When Z and I did finally see each other for long enough to actually chat, he made an off-hand comment that just set my teeth on edge. I shot back with something else and he noticed how out of sorts I was.

“We need to talk, don’t we?” he said.

“Not in here,” I told him. There was no way I was going to open up what could be a really nasty fight there in the dorm. I didn’t want anyone else to have to deal with the fall out from it.

Outside it was night. Clouds had rolled in and a light, cold drizzle was falling. As we walked around the parking lots, things didn’t get loud. I held my temper, he listened. I went through the whole litany of “How could you do that! You know how I feel about her!” and he was honest and admitted his feelings for her. He also assured me that nothing had happened other than sleeping… and that nothing would happen.

That was what I needed to hear. It made everything OK. It made me sure that my trust hadn’t been misplaced. That he hadn’t been knowingly hiding anything from. That we were all still on the same field, playing by the same rules that had remained unspoken up until that point.

We shook hands. That turned into a good manly back pounding bear hug. We went back inside laughing it off, shaking off the drizzle that was slowly turning into an actual rain.

I learned that night how important perception is. How a slightly skewed view, coupled with some negative thinking and bad past experiences can drag you down into a very dark and unhappy place. And how much of a difference an honest answer and direct accounting of actions can make between friends.

Z and I still talk on a semi-regular basis. I still love him like a brother, though I do think our tastes in women have changed enough that we don’t ever have to really worry about that overlap problem cropping up again. And if it does, we know what’s important.

Mel and I had some disagreements and misunderstandings during my second year. She let that dark spiral drag her down and felt the need to get away from all the rest of us. I haven’t seen her in a few years, and when I did last see her, there wasn’t a lot of talking that went on–just cordially exchanged polite conversation bits. I can only hope she’s found the genuine happiness that I always wished for her.

Tags: college, friends