Okay, so admittedly I am not the smartest of the bunch. I was far too old when I deciphered "Haz Mat" meant "hazardous materials" on interstate highway signs. Or like when I was studying Latin in high school, and deduced that 'Albertus Magnus' College sort of translated into 'Fat Albert' College... (My high school Latin teacher was not amused.)
It wasn't until the other night that I started to examine all of the characters' names on Mad Men. "Sterling" as the silver fox, "Campbell" cuz he's canned and never satisfying, on and on. Which brings me to Don Draper. "Don" like the head of an Italian Mafia family, and "Draper" as in one who hides behind a shrouded veil of secrecy. Uh-duh! I'm pretty slow sometimes. Well, most times. And the T doesn't help matters.
But it got me to thinking about pasts. More specifically, it made me think about my own past. Dating now is a bit tricky at best. In no way am I comparing myself to Don Draper, but... This idea of having a secret history, one that wouldn't immediately be assumed by those who surround us, or even by those who know us intimately. (Wait, that was a comparison, then, wasn't it? Whoops!)
Draper seems fleetingly haunted by this past that he can't ever fully escape. And I suppose that is the problem with a shroud: it only conceals what we hope to cover up, but doesn't make that subject disappear. There is no way to erase what already existed – it just is, or at least, was...
For me, I don't wish to erase my past, my history in various forms. Be it the feminine form, or my sordid romantic chronology, which may rival that of this aforementioned televised Casanova. But there are some elements that I would gladly try to conceal. Namely: I am not so great at relationships.
The Don Draper character keeps shuttling himself between the narcissistic impulses of adultery, thinking he not only can have it all – but that he *deserves* it all, versus, feeling the bottom nearly drop out from under him, where he then scrambles to reconfigure the life he feels he may lose at a moment's notice. That kind of struggle is what makes his character human, and makes us relate to his experiences. Even when the plot drags, there is something (at least for me) that makes me not want to give up on him, or the show on the whole. Like a relationship that has extended past the honeymoon phase, I still tune in out of loyalty, curiosity, and hope for connections fostered.
I don't think I am as snide, or exude as much of a sense of entitlement as Draper might, but I definitely can have my moments. My reflections on my most recent relationship brings me here, to this humbled realization: I can live without anything, but the only demons that haunt me are the things I have not done well.
Throughout my life I have been plagued with a sense of inner turmoil. I was a chronically ill child who easily spun out of control emotionally. As a kid, I frequently envisioned my own demise at the hands of a stranger, which is still as frightening to admit now in my mid-thirties. Many of the relationships I have experienced have been wrought with traumas and abuses. All of this to say: I have been terrified and terrorized by the very process of living. As a result, there are things that I have not handled as gracefully as I wish I could have. Romantic endeavors being the focal point of that declaration.
It is somewhat easy for me to live without things, as maybe the tough part is living *with* things. Having transitioned, I had to prepare myself for possibly losing everything and everyone. I lived through the awkwardness of strained relations, and dynamics that were too unhealthy to sustain. It granted me some perspective, and strengthened my own foundation as a resilient individual. (In the past, my codependent ties kept me tethered to those of whom I desperately wanted to love me. It was incredible to know that I will be okay without those loves, those lovers, or that support I feared I couldn't survive losing.)
As much as I miss certain people, or certain intimacies shared amongst confidantes, I am a pretty hermetic type of person. I tend to opt for an evening alone to write or watch some poignant film, rather than hit the bars with my buddies. Being alone doesn't scare me, I often prefer it. But the part that I have found challenging is immersing myself within a relationship, to only then learn all that I still need to fix. We are all flawed, but often don't realize just how flawed we are until we really *need* to be perfect (and sadly discover that we are not).
My last relationship came after a year of being single – a year of tremendous transformations and self-improvements. But I found out that all of my transformations happened in a vacuum. It's easy to feel healthy and whole when we don't have a context through which to explore other facets of our being. Love relationships make us feel vulnerable. They remind us of our fragility and weaknesses, and typically provoke us when we are painted into those dark corners. Partners push buttons we didn't even know existed in us.
After a year of being alone post break up from a very tough relationship, I thought I might have been ready to try again. Unfortunately, the only way to see if I was ready was to throw myself in head first to this new romance. Needless to say, I landed on my head, and I'm still picking myself up, and dusting myself off from the rocky landing. This last relationship was a wake up call to all that I still needed to resolve within myself. Those demons that needed exorcizing, and stagnation that needed some circulation. But I heeded those calls, and took responsibility for those changes that needed to occur. That was a huge part of the impetus to find external assistance with my lingering anxiety (which then shifts into depression if left unattended). And why I upped my T doses to the suggested amount again, trying to strike that delicate balance, which we all know is no small task. I feel like 'a new man,' and wonder if I really am as good as I feel now. (It begs to question if I just feel 'fixed' because I am single again, and have no context through which to remind me of my still damaged edges.)
I reflect upon Don Draper and all that he lost because of his impetuousness, and enigmatic shrouds covering past personas. (Reminding me of that line from Iron & Wine's song "The Trapeze Swinger": "Please remember me, my misery, and how it lost me all I wanted." ) I have been too hot headed, and at times felt too entitled to love well. I lost a lot. Lost big. Maybe I needed to lose it all in order to find out what was worth keeping. It's too bad that I only learned what needed fixing in myself after I broke the one relationship that seemed worth keeping.
As season three of Mad Men ends leaving us wondering how this new chapter will unfold, I am thinking that this may also be my own version of a cliffhanger. Now that I've instituted so many changes in my life, and started anew – where will this new line lead me post break-up, with newfound stability, patience, reserve, and fortitude? I guess I'll just have to tune in...
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