Life is a Comedy—Impossibilities, and Absurdities

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The other day, driving home through a picturesque valley on a Sunday afternoon, I came across an Amish buggy with three young women, probably teenagers on their way to some activity after church. When it was my opportunity to pass, I noticed one had checked me out from the corner of my eye, and up the road about 100 yards past, I looked in the rearview mirror and the one girl waved.

So, of course, seizing the chance, with a goofy grin, I waved at my mirror. Instantly the waving girl covers her mouth as if shocked or embarrassed for having been caught. I would love to be a PA Dutch-speaking fly on the wall for that conversation.

Anyhow, I was out with my twenty-something cousin the other night, talking to the nineteen-year-old waitress about her older boyfriend when she declares, “I will never date any guy under thirty again!” it really did floor me. I mean, the complaint of the ‘impossibility’ was that I was “thirty years old living in Milton” and here is a young woman, far more attractive in some regards, saying that she would only date guys that age!

I guess it’s just how the cookie crumbles.

Prior to even considering the ‘impossibility’ I had a teenager who had shown interest and ruled her out simply on the basis of her age. Sure, I really enjoyed her company, we even went out on platonic dates a couple times, but a gorgeous person like her would never want a guy like me, given my age, average looks, and height—especially since I was a truck driver at the time.

Do you know the profile of the guy she married?

Yup, he’s older than me, no taller, very average as far as appearance and—a truck driver.

That’s one of the reasons why I felt confident about the impossibility, that I would not make the same mistake of assuming her disinterest or letting these things be a factor. But I would have no such luck, I would be disqualified by my age, despite my accomplishments, and there was no convincing this young woman otherwise. She felt I was useless concerning her ambitions.

I really can’t figure it out, but maybe I have gained perspective:

“I used to think that my life was a tragedy, but now I realize, it’s a comedy.”

Joker

The absurdity is that when I was serious and sincere the girls that one would think would be most attracted to me ignored me. It really did hurt. My confidence took a serious nosedive after years of this kind of treatment. But since then, I’ve learned that the impossible odds that I faced were a result of false advertising, not reality, those who I thought had great faith were fake.

It’s better to laugh at these kinds of people and move on to those who can appreciate what you have to offer. They aren’t worth your disappointment or tears. Treat them like the absurdity, not an impossibility, and move on. They’re the joke, not you.

And 9 out of 10 giggling Amish girls agree!

Edit 07/16/2022: Upon reflection of my tone, I realized that my fleshly desire for justice had leaked through and had taken the blog down to avoid looking bad.  However, it has never been my desire to sugar coat of gloss over my own failures.  That is why I have decided to republish this blog with this disclaimer added.  The real point is that there has been progress.  It is far better to finally see the absurdity of it all than to be so serious and linger in the hurts.  Absolutely, I do believe there is unfinished business there, things that would be wonderful to resolve over a cup of coffee with the woman who said I would “make a wonderful husband” and yet my life no longer needs the approval or validation of the culture that she came to represent.  No, I’m not 100% free, I have my moments of sadness.  Nobody said that leaving father and mother (Matt 19:29) would be easy nor that we wouldn’t foolishly long for Egypt and slavery again.  Still, my hints of lingering bitter aftertastes aside, things are going well when I’m able to laugh rather than cry about the devastating events of my past.

Are Those Girls Laughing At Me?

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There was a time, many years ago, when I had a particularly severe struggle with insecurities, it was likely related to a recent romantic rejection and this mess of anxieties being part of the aftermath.  I had walked into a youth volleyball event and, observed, a couple of girls across the room laughing. 

I had known how cruel young women could be about guys who didn’t meet their standards, overheard their giggles and comments related to that slightly awkward and unfashionable older guy who was the constant butt of their jokes.  So my fears of this sort of ridicule were not entirely unfounded.

But, after a quick self-assessment, making sure I wasn’t wearing my underwear on the outside or anything too obviously wrong, I did my best to ignore that nagging voice and find another explanation.  They could have been laughing about anything, there was absolutely no reason to conclude it related to me and yet the unpleasant knot remained in my stomach.

Had I run with this conclusion, based upon my hallucination of their reason for laughing and not reality, this incident would be added to my existing grievance with the female gender.  I was already aware that many girls have a 5′-10″ cutoff for guys they will date, the guy that did end up dating the one I had asked was a six-footer, it could be that they were laughing at my expense?

However, had I went with that, even if I didn’t match across the room and command them, “do better!”  Something that most definitely would have branded me as a weirdo even if they were guilty and did apologize.  Even if I had simply allowed my own explanation of their actions to metastasize, it would be the root of a very toxic attitude which would further marginalize me.

My initial interpretation, born of my anxieties, not their laughter across the room, was the real problem.  Even if we banned all laughter or every snickering teenager girl were reprimanded for their feeding of male insecurities, had a plan been devised to force all girls to date short men as reparations for discrimination and height privilege be excoriated by leaders, the actual issue would never be solved.

No, I’m not saying that genuine acceptance doesn’t go a long way towards healing old wounds.  Becoming part of the Orthodox world, where I didn’t have a reputation to proceed (and limit) me, where it was possible to talk to the opposite gender comfortably, did certainly help.  And there’s no denying that my being in a relationship has lowered the stakes and helped me to relax around other women.

Still, all that only happened once I stopped caring what other people thought and subsequently became comfortable in my own skin.  Today, unless it was a really bad day, I would be more likely to laugh with those laughing and then ask them what they were laughing about.  Slinking around, making accusations, might gain you a following on social media and earn the meaningless sympathies of those only hearing one side.  But it will do nothing to improve self-image.

Painful as it was, I’m glad that things didn’t work out for me because someone swooped in for the rescue.  Had this happened I may never have found my internal spiritual footing and, after briefly appreciating the charitable effort, remained as lacking in confidence.  Pity the woman who marries a man looking for her to bolster his self-image and mend his brokenness, that relationship is probably going to be hell in a few years.

My physical stature hasn’t changed since my days of paralyzing approach anxieties and there remains plenty of reason that one may laugh in my direction.  But my life improved vastly when those voices of self-pity and doubt were muted.  At this point it would not matter if those girls had been truly laughing at me, I wouldn’t take them so seriously anymore. I’m a different man.