JTBL #15: Routinely Breaking Convention as a Polyamorous Pornless Writer
It’s when your perspective changes from could be to would be. Suddenly you’re not chasing a dream. You’re living it.
In the drudge of my security guard times, I used to daydream of driving sports cars, meeting beautiful women, or even having a chance to put some creative talent out there. It was a never-ending pattern of waking up to that horrible alarm sound, kicking myself all the way to work, not getting paid enough, listening to complaints about every various meaningless thing, and then doing it all over again.
It’s a reality shared by many. Enjoyed by few, but accepted by most. After all, escaping it only happens in American movies or when you win the lottery.
Finding a creative voice
After a month of grueling work trying to please a bunch of editors and actually focus my thoughts on paper, I got my first article done. This won’t mean much to someone who isn’t a writer, but after 10 years of writing mostly unscrutinized freeform gibberish, it’s rather mindblowing how much only a month’s worth of learning can improve your text. I find I’m constantly reinventing JTBL to reflect not only my jumbled disarray of thought, but also my improved writing skill.
But after tons of heeing and hawing, it’s done and published! Check out some mind quieting exercises at Goodlife ZEN!
Completely delving into the writing process was demanding, and not just mentally. I spent hundreds of hours huddled up against my computer, neglecting exercise and healthy eating habits.
And approaching women.
Porn – the universal sterilizer
Huddled up in my writing cave, I crept into my small hole of comfort, online chats, and PORN. I found myself not only subperforming sexually, but also becoming foul-mouthed and angry. I was slipping back into that frustrated bitter boy that I was some years ago. No worries, I thought. A few days of approaching girls on the street will take care of this.
So I went and took a walk in Zagreb, renowned for its ridiculously high amount of gorgeous women per capita, and felt … … nothing. No need to open my mouth. No need to go and explore. No playfulness. This was worrying, if even scary.
Time for some heavy detox. I figured the first to go should be porn, since it’s like the spearhead of the online lifestyle, and the main reason to avoid speaking with real people. Just two days without porn, and the effects were profoundly noticeable. I felt more energized, more alive, more vital. This was fascinating from a psychological standpoint, and more research revealed something I had suspected:
Teach your brain to only get aroused by porn, available at the click of a mouse, and suddenly you won’t recognize real people as sexual interests anymore. Scary huh? That’s not all. See, porn becomes boring after a while, since it’s .. rather repetitive, and our brains regard it to be highly more rewarding than the natural stimuli. In other words, it’s like eating chocolate so good that you forget the taste of real food. Enter Rule #34. The evergrowing desensitization leads to more hardcore porn and larger quantities of it.
A week of strictly no porn, and I’ve gone back to my habit of chatting up woman-creatures on the street. Life seems more colourful somehow, and sex is so much better. =)
I took a deep breath, grabbed my grocery bag and made a decisive action towards her. This girl was something of the legends – a brunette with a godly shape and face to match. Even in Zagreb it’s rare to find such a woman. I absolutely had to find out about her.
She was talking on her phone. I decided I wouldn’t let it faze me and bravely said hello. With a slight caution, she held the phone aside and said hello, unsure if I was a lunatic.
-I thought you were gorgeous and wanted to say hi. What’s your name?
She hung up the phone and smiled.
We chatted for a few minutes and I asked about her dreams and passions, like I usually do, but what followed was something I would’ve never expected in a million years.
“Dreams?” she giggled and continued, “You realize I’m still in high school?”
“Yeah sure you are.” I laughed, trying to get a handle on the situation. Strange joke if ever?
“Nono, I’m 15 years old. I know I look 17, but I’m 15.”
I stared at her blankly. She wasn’t kidding. Look 17? Geez woman you look at least 25!
“Well, I gotta go now. Nice talking to you!”
She scurried off to where ever, and left me standing holding my groceries and gaping jaw.
Seriously. I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried.
Facing loss without jealousy
In the grand scheme of things, I’m rather new to the concept of polyamory. Feeling-wise anyway. I’ve grown familiar with the idea of not particularly caring that the women in my life have other partners. All I care about is that they’re having fun, and their encounters, sexual or otherwise, are those of safety and respect. Sounds idealistic maybe, but it’s my reality. Jealousy after all, is nothing but the fear of loss. If someone’s having sex, it’s completely the opposite of my loss!
Hurt my loved ones though, and there’ll be hell to pay.
It remains to be seen how it works in real life. Just recently I’ve ran into my first question mark in this philosophy. My time in Zagreb has an expiry date, and future travel plans are uncertain at best. It’s becoming painfully obvious that I won’t be seeing a particular someone in a while. All I can do is shrug it off with the knowledge that there’ll be more awesome people to meet elsewhere.
But it’s no secret that I’ll miss her curious world. I hope our paths cross again soon.
I spent last weekend at the countryside visiting friends. Save for the foul catholic odor in the atmosphere, the country air was a fresh change from Zagreb’s rather stagnant atmosphere. I wasn’t there to preach my liberal extremeties, but rather sit around and have a glass of wine with friends. (With perhaps a tiny bit of advice here and there on how to get unstuck and live one’s own life.) Circling around lifestyles and offspring, it wasn’t long until polyamory made its appearance in our various conversations. I kinda knew the topic was a no fly-zone in dark ages-ville, but since my situation was very topical in that sense, I thought it’d be fruitful.
I’ve long been a proponent of taking care of my own shit before taking on the responsibility of a child. That’s to say, I don’t want a kid if I can’t provide them with a good home. If I can’t, I’d rather be childless. Regarding kids and polyamory, it’s a bit of a questionmark. In my ideal world, all it needs is a great woman and a safe home for the kid. She should be fine with other great men in her life as well, who would be fine with the kid. That’s enough variables to cause a headache.
Traditional ideas of marriage fly out the window long before, of course. Not that I really care – marriage is bullshit. But since we live in a society, that official side would have to be handled in some sort of civil way. So yeah, a bit of a questionmark. Not today’s problem, thankfully!
I got about half way through explaining this idea, and the reply was a patronizing, almost defensive “Oh when you find the right woman, you’ll settle down and start making babies.” Coming straight from that place of ‘we as a couple are collectively relationship experts and qualified advisors for polyamorous lifestyles’.
Ready for retaliation, I raised my forefinger of supreme knowledge, drew a deep breath of ranting magnitude and …
I looked at the young couple and their baby rolling on the floor in their lovely little home. I’ve learned not to push my own dogma uninvited, and this was the correct time to shut the hell up. They needed to find their own happiness. If that involves my coaching, I think they’ll let me know.
In any case, fuck settling down. I’m heading to Barcelona for a job internship!
Now, how’s that for waking up to your dreams? Next stop, sports car.