// rohitsrealm.com / archive / category / relationships
Have you ever engaged in an experience with the full knowledge that it would be the last time you ever experience it? How did that change that experience? Is there a fundamental duality between engaging in an experience—physically, mentally, emotionally—and garnering an understanding of the implications of that experience? Does a Heisenberg-esque Uncertainty Principle exist in social interactions as much as it does in quantum mechanics?
As long time readers will, no doubt, recall, more than three years ago, I presented a now infamous (and copiously referenced) analysis of interpersonal relationships, asserting that all such relations can be defined solely on the basis of convenience, exploitation, and self-aggrandizement.
In essence, I was taking a sociological perspective on relationships, which I further expanded on with my manifesto on Facebook friends, or more generally, relationships on social networks, one year later. Today, I would like to take a different, more rigorous approach to the same problem, i.e., how do we taxonomically distribute the various interpersonal relationships in our lives? Considering this is an economic analysis, there can be only one criterion (as I am sure most of you can guess): value.
Though I have not yet attained the age where relatives routinely harass me about asinine topics such as settling down
or, worse, finding love,
it seems that no conversation these days, whether it be with friends or strangers, is complete without a discussion of one's status,
e.g., married, single, in an (open) relationship, hooking up, and so on, and so forth. It almost seems as though the older we get—and the more our thoughts and interests diverge—the more we cling desperately onto the rather banal topics of conversation that everyone can relate to (e.g., money, cash, hoes) for fear that without these topics, we might have nothing to say to one another at all. And while I have no qualms about answering the question, whether the answer be single or otherwise, in recent times, I have noticed that the former answer seems to generate rather inexplicable angst amongst the self-avowed (and necessarily self-deluded) hopeless romantics
of the world.
To disabuse these misguided readers (and/or friends) of this angst, I will now present my personal criteria for successfully tying the noose—I mean, knot—so that they might finally understand that though my life will likely never be one of happiness or fulfillment, it will certainly be one of legacy and wealth. [...]
As I likely need not remind you, dear readers, it's been a pretty bad week—or month/year/lifetime, depending on your perspective. What with Cal's heartbreaking loss last week, I thought—nay, prayed—that perhaps I had hit rock bottom (for the time being, of course—misery in a lifetime clearly knows no bounds). As per usual, I was wrong: It's always darkest just before it goes pitch black.
(If that expression appeals to you, check out this Demotivator®.)
What, curious readers might be wondering, could possibly be worse than a failure that nearly brought me to tears? Betrayal. That's what. [...]
Given the unprecedented number of e-mails I received over the past week, I do not deem it too far fetched to suggest that many readers are likely anxiously awaiting this article to see how the saga with my recently engaged friend E-$ would turn out. Please forgive my most egregious delay in responding—a combination of mind-numbing work, crushing grief (Cal lost again!), and unexpected intoxication rendered me incapable of synthesizing coherent thoughts for the better part of this past weekend (the insinuation being, of course, that had those events not occurred, I might have synthesized said thoughts cogently—a dubious proposition at best). Anyway, I last left you, dear readers, in a state of shock, having just hung up on my friend. The next day, I called her back, finally prepared to challenge her, not with anger, but with reason. [...]
Though my (perceived) emotional unavailability
is likely the most often cited reason for the (necessarily catastrophic) end of nearly all my relationships
over the years, I must admit that I have never truly understood what that phrase meant, nor, for that matter, been particularly concerned by my ignorance. First, I have noticed that simply using the mention of the phrase as a cue to stop listening is generally a good idea, and why disrupt a system that works, right? Second, and perhaps more importantly, when it is generally brought up, i.e., at the end of one failed entanglement or another, I am generally well passed the point of interest, and any reason the other party raises is accepted with a nod of the head, and a sympathetic look; comprehension is hardly required. Two recent discussions of emotional unavailability
(both my own, and that of others), however, encouraged me to publish about it today. In this article, I will argue, first, that emotional availability
as it is generally understood, is completely unnecessary for relationships, successful or otherwise; and second, even assuming that it is important for a relationship, that it is certainly not as fundamental a barrier as self-described hopeless romantics
(i.e., idiots) make it out to be.
As yet another quarter of law school ramps up at an entirely unforeseen velocity, I am often left with the none too consoling thought that perhaps, everything I did as an undergraduate will have absolutely no bearing on my life or career in any way whatsoever. I mean, in between reading about rapists and murders and 19th century contract disputes about bales of hay and gravel, it's hard to see why either biology or computer science are particularly pertinent. In other words, the four years I spent at Berkeley, while immensely enjoyable, just as well might have been spent chaining smoking cigs and pounding shots of the three wise men (Jim®, Jack®, and Johnnie®) while contemplating the meaning(lessness) of life with a loaded revolver to my head (what?). Luckily, just when the feelings of worthlessness were about to consume me entirely, along comes the venerable Economist to rejuvenate hope, if ever so slightly, with a fascinating article that validates (for me, at least) the four years of onerous study of such voodoo as organic chemistry
and molecular biology.
(All right, who am I kidding? I loved organic chemistry. Don't judge me.) [...]
Me with G-Unit and P-Diddy at the Violet Hour, Chicago, Ill.
As readers who have (for reasons unknown) been with me since (at least) last summer know, my decision to leave the Bay after six years of, among other things, getting hyphy and ghost ridin' the whip, was by no means easy, due not in the least to the many close friends and natural comfort zone I would be leaving behind. This weekend's much hyped tour, aptly entitled Touch the Magic: Chicago,
which reunited the maladjusted boys of 1524 SF for the first time since we bid our tearful goodbyes to The I.S. (i.e., Inner Sunset), was a poignant reminder that though distance may separate us from our good friends, it need not obviate those friendships entirely. [...]
Almost three years ago in a seminal entry commemorating the fourth anniversary of the venerable Realm, I set forth this site's (and consequently, my own) life plan
for the decade to come. Invoking both Faulkner and Byron, I reasoned that the only way to move beyond the petulant and aimless attacks upon Berkeley bums that dominated this site was to embrace a path of unchecked self-destruction, in turn becoming a better writer. And how exactly was I going to destroy my life? Simple: meet the woman of my dreams, fall madly in love, be overwhelmed by hope and joy, and then have the said woman break my heart beyond repair, leaving me in a state of ever-worsening despair, unable to find love or happiness ever again
(emphasis original).
So, why do I bring any of this up on this day of all days? Well, today is August 8, 2008, which means I only have a little over four years in which to get married. Needless to say, shit has gotten real.
Nary three weeks after announcing the continuation of my much-touted romantic quest (to ruin my life), and hardly a year after finding—and losing—a potential soulmate, I once again found myself on a flight, this time from Orange County, Calif., to Chicago, Ill., seated next to an (attractive) woman and engrossed in conversation. As the flight lifted off, and as the brief initial exchange with the passenger in the window seat gave way to a conversation interesting enough such that I was persuaded to put down the (obviously pretentious) book in my hand, my thoughts immediately turned to that fateful trip last year and the opportunity I had let pass me by. Determined not to let the pitch sail by yet again, I steadied myself for the swing. The second time would be the charm, I assured myself.
Alas, if only it were so. Unfortunately, as much as I would like to report to you, dear readers, that my second foray into meeting potential soulmates on airplanes was more successful than my first, I cannot. This is, after all, the Realm, a place of little happiness and less success, a place where there are no happy endings, only soul-crushing disappointments and heart-wrenching failures.
