How to Crush Without Being Crushed

Here’s a quick little something from Reckless Tortuga that does a nice job of illustrating something we all do once in a while: let our imaginations totally run away with us.

The best part, really, is the reality check right at the end. That’s the part we all have to remember to do on our own–otherwise we drift further and further from where we need to be if we want to grow fully into ourselves.

I promise I’ll be back on track here shortly, been trying to put together something special for the coming Valentine’s Day week.

Tags: crushes, fantasy, video

A long time ago, when I was just a wee lad, not even cognizant of what a crush was, the seeds of my longest lasting crush were planted.

There were a few people I could always be found with back then. As seems to always be the case in my life, a couple of them were girls. One of them moved away in fifth grade. Her name was (and probably still is) Mercedes.

On and off, ever since, I’ve found myself dipping into massive crush mode when I think about her.

Wait. That’s not entirely true. See, I haven’t seen or heard from her since fifth grade. And I most certainly do not find myself crushing on the 11 year old her that I last actually remember. (Partially because that’s just creepy and partially because I can’t think about the pre-teen her without slipping into the pre-teen me mindset–which leaves her, mostly, just a cool friend.)

No, what I crush on is the totally imaginary her that I’ve created in my mind. And, believe me, over the years I’ve come up with a few different versions.

Each and every one of those versions, is someone completely different. And yet, still completely her. There are core traits that carry through, no matter once. Her fiery temper. Her down to earth nature. Her innate creativity. All things I remember clearly from way back when.

What changes in my imaginary versions are how those things are expressed.

Maybe, I’d think, she grew up to be some sort of wild artist. Living a bohemian life thanks to having relatives to visit frequently in Europe (her mother was from Spain, her father was from Germany–the arguments in their house took place in three languages at once… it was frightening). I see her with wild hair and a devil-may-care grin, equally at home in high society or back-alley pubs. Living commission to commission and enjoying every minute of it.

Or perhaps, I’d imagine, she caught the science bug and dug into chemistry. Her brown eyes (that narrow so severely when she’s angry) sparkling behind a pair of glasses (so many of us in that class ended up with glasses). She’d be directing her passion toward some greater understanding of how things work, the creation of something that would make life better. She was never about destruction growing up, why should that change?

Then I think, what if that move (to Florida, of all places) didn’t do her all that well. And I image her as a disaffected gothy punk–all jet black hair and dark eye makeup. Her creative nature could have turned a bit dark with problems at school and arguments with her family. There would, of course, be tattoos. Vivid and macabre. Perhaps with a touch of nostalgia–an oddly colored striped cat in battle armor, some swords and skeletons. In this alternative version, she would, of course, be the singer in a band.

There’s more that could be–some more wild, some less–but I crush on them all when they cross my mind. And with each iteration, I learn more about myself. I learn more about what it is that I find attractive.

It’s not so much about the expression. It’s about the root, the underlying motivation for the expression.

That’s something that took me a long time to learn. It didn’t happen until long after I’d realized the amazing breadth of my crushes in general. I wrote it off for ages as me just being strange. But it wasn’t. It was me, unknowingly, being perceptive. It was me seeing through the mess of pretenses and finding that spark that resonated with what was inside of me.

And that’s what we can all find by looking at the relationships we get into and those we fantasize about. That insight into ourselves, culled from the commonalities in ourselves and the objects of our affections (be they real people or hypothetical constructs).

As I come down from the heights of yet another bout of crushing on the now near-mythical Mercedes, I wonder, somberly and honestly, what she’s really doing these days.

Sometimes, I like to think maybe she thinks similar things of me.

Then I’m right back to crushing all over again.

This was taken many, many years ago during a play my class did for Christmas. I was a toy soldier, Ross (in the middle) was a mouse, Mercedes was in the audience.

Tags: fantasy

Such a vision of loveliness on such a gray and dreary day.

She got on the Metro with a small group of others at the GMU stop and sat near the door. From behind the plexiglass divider, across the clear expanse of carpet, I could see her clearly.

She was just slightly shorter than me in her subtle, dark flats. A smile blue dress–the color of a darkening summer sky–with small white buttons down the front was topped with a darker (though no more flashy) long sleeved coat.

Her sharp brown eyes flashed intently beneath her straight, not too thick eyebrows (which had me thinking, vaguely. of Brooke Shields). Her hair dipped below her shoulders and was thick. Not overdone but nicely rich adn flowing–hiding her ears and framing her well-cut (though not quite sharp) jawline.

The smoother feminine muscles of her legs told tales of much walking–perhaps more intense exercise, jogging, some light biking. They remained crossed at the knee for the entire ride, her left foot keeping time with the rattle and bounce of the train on the tracks.

She sat there, across from me, reading. Not a book or a newspaper but class notes of some sort. The well-spaced handwriting filling the fonts and backs of a small stack of loose papers, interspersed here and there with red notes and some highlights.

Intently, she read those words. Absently twirling an errant strand of hair. Gently running her hand along her chin and neck. curling her tapered and unadorned fingers beneath her chin and frowning slightly at a particular page. Then, a smile and a silent laugh at another.

She wore no jewelry except for a thin, white coral beaded bracelet an a subtly patterned dark metallic women’s watch. Both were on her right wrist. no necklaces or rings. Perhaps, beneath that shine of hair, there were earrings, but I doubt it.

Every now and then her eyes would dart up in my direction. Could she tell, even through my dark glasses and tilted away from her head that I was watching her intermittently? Or was she only seein gthe reflections in the glass that separated us? Or was she looking nowhere as Metro riders often do, lost in her own thoughts about what she was reading?

She was not without distinctive favor in her fashion. While her clothing was solid in color and moderately conservative in cut, the strap on the messenger bag she carried boasted a striking 70’s style swirling striped print. And tied on that bag, sneaking out from beneath her arm was a cream and brown scarf, caying out “Look! I can be Bohemian if given the chance!”

And so I rode for the better part of an hour, daring glimpses at the vision across the divide. Careful not to stare too intently, lest i feel like more of a letch than I probably am. Hoping, of so slightly, that those glances and smiles were truly directed at me. Wishing a bit that what she was seeing through the glass was something other than what I see when I look in the mirror or at most pictures. (We are our own worst critics, are we not?)

The train rolled in to the Vienna station and, as she gathered her bag while making a cell call, that wild strap pulled on the edge of her dress, loosing that alwaysprecarious top button, dropping the neckline another two inches.

Daring? Obscene? Inappropriate? No. But, in this case, the epitome of sexy–of potential promise and chances of ecstasy. A glimpse (because that is all I would allow myself) of the clear inner curve of her breasts and the ver so slight appearance of the front connecting fabric of her bra. That little fabric–stark in its paleness against her healthy, tanned skin–lingerd in my mind as I averted my eyes (something that two of the other men around me, leering little boy smirks on their faces, did not do).

The things that we find sexy–that really turns us on–are often so subtle that we forget what they really are. The curve of the neck as it meets the shoulder. The gentle absent trailing of a finger across her chin. The fierce burst of connection that flashes in her eyes. That one hint of undergarment, visible for only a moment, yet always there…

She seemed friendly enough. At any point during the ride, I could have approached her and struck up a conversation.

But I didn’t.

The fantasy of her–a stuent, dedicated to learning, yet yearning to just run away and live, to be somone else, to experiece and explore–was perfect for me right then. Why would I want to shatter it with a reality that could have left us both trapped and uncomfortable on that train? Why spoil perfection on a humid and cloudy August-in-October day?

As I walked along the station platform, I made a decision. If, when we reached the upper level, she and I went in the same direction to catch our respective rides, would speak to her. Safe, away from the confines of the train. Easy escape routes available for us both. I know how I can come across. I know people sometimes like to be able to get away. I know sometimes I need to hide around a corner after opening my fool mouth.

My heart quickened as I watched her–now out of the corner of my eye–as she stepped off the escalator. She went left and my heart dropped as I turned right.

I doubt I will ever see her again and, if I do, I will probably not recognize her. Nor she me.

[The above was written--by hand in an actual paper journal--in the 40 or so minutes I spent waiting for my ride to show up at the Metro station, on my way to a friend's wedding far, far away this past weekend. If nothing else, it was a good way to start a road trip.]

Tags: fantasy

You’ve survived the first few moments, where you were just head over heels for someone you didn’t know at all. You mustered the courage to introduce fantasy to reality and yourself to your crush. There’s only one more set of “moments” to go: the last few.

Of course, crushes can go on for a long time. Even Grown Up Crushes can linger as you decide if there is a friendship lurking amid the heady hopes and heart-thumping dreams. Those first few moments and last few moments may be separated by months–or years!

Inevitably, though, they do come around and you’re left with a choice to make.

There are only three ways a crush can end: You forgo romance and instead revel in a good, solid friendship; you take the plunge and dive into romance; you decide it was just a passing interest and go your separate ways.

As you disabuse yourself of the outlandish fantasy elements of your crush and bring your view of the other person down to a realistic level, you will learn a lot about them. You will also learn a lot about yourself. As the you work through the process, you should get a clear picture of where you fit in their lives and where you fit in theirs.

Finding Friendship

Most of the time, if you’re being honest with yourself about your crushes, you’ll find most of them make better friends than lovers. After all, there was something there that caught your interest and as long as it was more than just “Wow, she’s hot!” you probably have things in common.

If you’ve been working Grown-up Crushes for a while, you’ll have already discovered that Friendship is just another form of Love–a form not cluttered with all the trappings of Romance or the pressure of dating. If you’re open to it, Friendship can provide you with just about everything you need in a relationship.

Friendship is a good thing. Nothing is lost and you gain more time to explore one another’s lives. And who knows, maybe as time passes, you and your former crush will grow more as people and end up in the right place to explore those long-ago romantic feelings. (That leads into a discussion of the Friend Crush, of course, and won’t be fully dealt with here and now.)

Plunge Into Romance

In a handful (or more) of cases, your crush will be more than happy to explore romance with you. This is the way we hope all crushes will end when we start them. That hope, though, can cause us to make poor decisions.

Many times I have seen people fall in love with the idea of being in a relationship. They focus on the idea and not the reality that there is another person involved in the relationship. Another person who has to be just as willing and able to be involved. If you get into a relationship before introducing enough reality into the fantasy of your crush, you may very well be in for a rude awakening when reality finally creeps in.

But, there are lessons to be learned regardless of why or how the relationship starts. The only thing to be lost by taking the plunge into romance is the fantasy.

Hit the Road

Through getting to know someone you were crushing on, you may discover that the reality doesn’t contain any of the fantasy that once caught your attention. You may discover that even friendship would a stretch with the real person.

In that case, it is important that you give up the crush and accept the reality. If you’ve been paying attention and really being honest in your pursuit of a Grown-up Crush, you know you won’t be able to “save” or “fix” the reality of the person to make them match your initial fantasy. Any relationship based on one person trying to change the other–for better or worse–is doomed to failure.

That doesn’t mean you can’t still be genial to your now-former crush. By all means continue to be social with them. But try not to send mixed signals, either to yourself or to them. If you can’t handle the discrepancy between the initial fantasy and reality, it may be best to just stay away from them all together.

In the End

The last few moments of a crush can be painful or joyful and they can stretch out almost as long as those first few moments if you’re not careful. But if you’re honest with yourself and make your decision from the heart and not from the fear in the pit of your stomach or the noise in your mind–if you are decisive and willing to take the risk–the transition from crush to actual relationship can be quick and relatively painless.

Tags: fantasy

That first time she walks in through the door and catches your eye.

Maybe you’ve seen her before, she seems familiar, doesn’t she? Or maybe not. It makes no difference. This is the first time you’ve seen her quite… like… that.

Perfection.

Or at least as close as humanly possible. At least as far as you’re concerned. From across the room.

The light catches her hair as she smiles and talks with friends. (Did she just glance over at you?) You look away, grinning like a fool, but find your gaze drawn back again and again. (Wait, is she doing the same thing?) Try as you might, you can’t rid yourself of the grin or the drift in your attention.

She walks and you see how she moves. There is grace there.

Your mind rushes to fill the knowledge void with numerous details of her life. All, of course, fictional.

She must be brilliant. Or an artist. Maybe she’s on the executive track somewhere. Or maybe a teacher. You can’t choose just one, so you choose them all. She is a Renaissance Woman! She would have so much in common with you. Things would work out wonderfully… there would never be a dull moment in conversation. And she’d challenge you to keep up with her.

Your feel light headed. There’s a not unpleasant flutter in your chest and a not pleasant one in your gut.

What if you’re not good enough for her? What if she laughs at you? What if… what if…

No. Wait. Of course she’ll accept you. Look at her! Even now that she’s closer she still looks perfect. Now you can hear her voice, it sounds kind. And fun.

And so go those first moments. They may last actual moments or they may go on for hours, days, weeks, months or years. How? Because those moments of total imaginary facets of that “perfect woman” don’t end until you do something.

Those first moments are wonderful times full of creativity and imagination. They make you feel like you’re on top of the world (when they’re not making you doubt yourself, at least). They are one of the best parts of a fresh crush.

But they are only supposed to be moments. Stretch them out too long or never move forward at all and you miss the best part of a crush–the part where reality and fantasy mix.

That part starts when you do something.

That something is usually as simple as saying “Hi.”

Tags: fantasy, firsts