Being a salmon sux

My spirit animal should be a salmon. Except, there are other animals that will do - solitary or disliked animals - like the animal that actually is my spirit animal - the wasp. Salmon are not actually solitary creatures - but they are dying off, and I definitely feel like a dinosaur sometimes. And they are radioactive and diseased (no, not me) - but, they swim upstream.

And so do I.

Do you know what it's like to be the only one all the time?

I'm guessing you don't. Because that would disrupt the very definition of what I'm saying.

I'm not talking about a "one of a kind." Not talking about some celebrity of the moment, something or someone that is the be all and end all. No. I'm just talking about being alone. All the time. In what you think or believe.

It sounds egotistical. Like I'm the only one like this so I'm so special. Maybe I think I'm special - because I wouldn't change anything. I can't. It's not how I'm made.

But let me tell you. It sux.

The only one that likes or dislikes something that everyone else dislikes or likes. The only one that thinks something is inappropriate - or appropriate. The only one that thinks it's ok to tell a child, yes, you are going to die. There is no heaven. There is no God. Grandma and grandpa are going to die.

The only one that thinks it's possible not to lie EVER.

And still be kind. In fact, that's kind. Not lying. Telling the truth. Or what you think is the truth.

The only one that doesn't like The Art of Racing in the Rain.

Do you know what it's like to be in a group on Facebook - because you want to belong, you want a crew, you want a team, you want LIKE MINDS in the room with you - and you go down a list of 50+ people and every single one of them loves something that you hate? How do you speak up and say, actually, I don't like that? Do you? Do you be the one person? The one that hates what everyone else loves? I dare you.

Because that's my life every single day.

And I speak up. I say, "You know, I didn't like that." And I say, "But I'm guessing you will - based on the percentages." I'm the odd one out. I know that. It's hard to speak up. But I think, people should know - not everyone agrees with them. Not everyone loves that or doesn't love that. Not everyone agrees or disagrees with them. People should know, and young people should be given an example, that it's okay to have a different opinion or an alternative view. It's okay to say "no" whenever everyone else says "yes" or "yes" when everyone else says "no".

Presumably there are other salmon out there. But I wouldn't know. I've never met one.

Because it's hard. How many are keeping silent? The only ones inside their heads?

Do you know what it's like to never have anyone to talk to that agrees with you?

Right now, I'm the only one wearing a mask. I started wearing one in February. Yes, I'm that person. Or I guess I am. I wouldn't know if there are any others - because I'm always the only one.

I wore it to an art opening in February - I was the only one. It was embarrassing. There must have been at least 100 people there. I was the ONLY ONE. And one of the curators said to me:

Thank you.

I wear it to the supermarket. I'm the only one in the supermarket wearing one. And an employee said to me:

Thank you.

But to me, my life, and the life of my loved ones - one of whom has an immune compromising situation - is more important than "going with the flow" or being embarrassed to stand out.

Then I go back on Facebook and somebody says, "I don't like Art of Racing in the Rain, either." I'm so relieved I want to cry. And it's just one person. And they don't say it to the group but just to me and I say, phew.

Thank you.

Peer pressure is real.

I know that when my lover returns to work, it will be hard for him to practice the rules of social distancing that will still be in effect - if everyone else doesn't do it too. I know it will be hard for him not to return to smoking - if one of his coworkers invites him for a smoke break.

I'm swimming upstream all the time but I'm doing it by myself. I'm carrying it by myself. And sometimes - no, a lot of the time - I have to wonder, what does it matter? That I hold fast to my beliefs and my thoughts but no one agrees with me? That I wear a mask but my lover doesn't?

That I hate bees and love wasps.

When Harry Met Sally: The Gift that Keeps On Giving

I remember when I first saw When Harry Met Sally and the question that stayed with me, "Can men and women be friends?" (without also wanting to be lovers?) The answer the movie gave seemed to be no. And the answer that life has given me has been, largely, no. I thought I believed it, too, this maxim, "men and women can't be friends." Until recently, it occurred to me, I've often tried to remain friends, or be friends, and it hasn't worked out, not because of me but because of the man.

So my new maxim is: MEN can't just be friends.

I really think I can. I think I've had in me since my undergrad college days, at least, if not forever, if not genetically, some propensity towards that communal concept you see so often in French movies. Men and women cohabitating in unique combinations, friends and relatives, some lovers, some not, some lovers once, not anymore, some married once, now just friends, that sort of thing appeals to me.

My ex-husband and I are "friends" - except not really. The reason we are not really friends is that there is an imbalance. He still wants me romantically and sexually. I don't have those same feelings anymore. And he can't let go of them. Or won't. And so I am perpetually with the conundrum if it is really any good for us to be in contact at all, if it's not just "adding salt to the wound" - for both of us. I honestly think that I am capable of being an unadulterated friend to him. But it's not working.

I had a "friend with benefits" a couple of years ago. We only saw each other a couple of times in that capacity, but we had a sort of liking for each other and we stayed in touch. It was mostly flirting, tho, and when I moved in with my boyfriend, I found out the true nature of my relationship with that person was, indeed, purely physical - from his end. Or purely superficial, if you will. He came back into town and wanted to get together. I informed him that I had a boyfriend BUT made myself completely available to get together AS FRIENDS. I cared about him. I wanted to know how he was doing. I wanted to give him a hug. He kept angling our rudimentary attempts to make arrangements into something that would lead to going back to his apartment and having sex. My repeated efforts to meet for coffee or lunch - to be friends - fell flat. And now, we are not in touch at all. Pity.

In grad school, I had a gay friend. Yes, this even applies to gay friends. We were close, so close. We did everything together. At some point or another, jealousy, another man, got between us. I guess. I barely remember. But this friend, he also had a history of never allowing female relationships to last. Well, I missed him. Many years I missed him. I had - and have - no one to talk about the things we used to talk about. No one with whom I share that easy camaraderie that we had. It was awkward then. We had those awkward yet real conversations - if I never meet anyone will you marry me? And both seemed relieved when we both "moved on" and did meet people. I guess. I always kind of wanted it, honestly. So in that sense my boundaries were blurred, but so were his at the time. As I say I missed him and ever since I've looked for him. I finally found him and he wrote back. And then he didn't. I heard from him a handful of times and then no more. His communication fell off right around the time he went for a long stay with his husband - and I couldn't help thinking - did his husband tell him he can't be in touch with me? Why can't I have a friend? A like mind?

A man I met online. Our relationship, though tumultuous and painful, was long and real. We "broke up" - first him, then me. And he would say, "I hate that when this happens, you can no longer be friends." And I would answer, "You are making that decision, not me." I would still gladly have kept up our friendship - in order to have the intellectual stimulation that he provided. In order to know that he was okay. In order to not just let something drop that had meaning. That was part of your life. And now it's as if we never knew each other, as the song goes. I can't even tell him happy birthday or Merry Christmas. Am I the one "holding on" unnaturally or with some agenda? I don't think so. I honestly think that we could be friends. That would could partner in other ways. I once saw a picture that he drew and found it perfect for a book I had in the works. I thought, maybe that's why we met. From the start, I was open to a working relationship, and said so. Now he is gone. Doesn't answer me.

It can go the other way too. When I first married, my then husband told me to end contact with an ex that I had - and with whom, ironically, I was friends. So I did. I have always regretted that.

Men and women CAN be friends. It's men that are unable to compartmentalize, to say, this is my friend, and to remove the sexual aspect. Not women. If people, in general, would be more open to relationships taking turns in ways they could not imagine. If they could HAVE some imagination. How much more colorful and close the world could be.

This is my view. And I'm sticking to it.