Relationships have come to seem cheap to me. First of all, whether or not any given person meets someone compatible is largely a matter of chance. As I decide on which characteristics are most important to me (mostly having to do with shared morals), I see that not many people have those qualities, and that I've already decreased my already poor chances at dating just by setting what I'm sure most will agree are rather fair priorities. I see that other people have ridiculously shallow preferences pertaining to looks. I see people with preconceptions about other people that are based in racism. I see people who want to date a gender role rather than a person. Thinking of the sorts of relationships these sorts of personalities end up creating, it's difficult to imagine something that is profound and transcendent. It's difficult to see myself achieving anything profound and transcendent, having to interact with this pool of people.
I guess that is my "problem:" I naively expected relationships (of all kinds, but especially romantic ones) to be somehow profound and transcendent. I had an overly romantic view of relationships in the past. I also had an unrealistically high opinion of adults as a youngster; now, I see how weak and troubled they are, and, as I begin to understand relationships as something that they create (and therefore subject to their foibles), rather than some magical thing that enfolds and ennobles them, I've abstracted the ugliness of other people's relationships: The concept of a relationship itself seems cheap when I look at other people, when I try to take a sociological perspective of relationships. It's like, relationships are nothing but a bunch of children running about chasing toys, tooth-rotting candy, and dollar store knickknacks, and passing up anything that isn't flashy enough or familiar enough or similar enough to what the cool kids have or resembling what's on TV, children who are immature to the point of being constitutionally incapable of wanting something more or even imagining what they might be missing out on.
I guess this is just a messed up way of looking at things. I could try to restrict my focus to my own relationships (currently non-existent), but I would have to have some contact with some of the masses to have any hope of ever getting one. I have to be involved to some extent with others, and I take note of what they are doing (for example, I read some ugly things while browsing personals ads), so my focus wouldn't truly be restricted. I don't know why it has taken me so long to divest myself of my youthful perspectives on humanity, but I also find myself recently (as in, past 5-7 years) aware of the necessity of letting go of a view of people as some sort of fundamentally unified whole. There are people who would murder me in a second if they had the chance to do so. We, humans, are most definitely not "all in this together;" it's more like we are "stuck with each other." With that unified ideal, seeking and developing a relationship is devoting myself to one of my more or less equally deserving comrades. Without that unified ideal, it's as if I'm dodging through enemy territory on a dangerous and uncertain mission. I know that any good relationship could seem more valuable in light of all of this (for how rare and fortunate it would seem), but my mind tends to lean towards the chance aspect: any good relationship that I got would be the result of me running into a like mind in a favorable situation when both of us are paying attention and in the right mood (the statistical equivalent of finding a needle in a haystack) rather than something I'd earned by developing myself into a good person in a world of fair judgers who can be counted on to see, respect, and desire that goodness. Sometimes when I think that I would enjoy a hug at that moment, I think of the horrible people in the world who also enjoy hugs with significant others, who have spouses who tolerate their racism or other -ism, and my human desire disgusts me.
That's it; that's the big thing. I'm embarrassed to be human. Because of the conduct and constitution of other humans. I've experienced this before, but I feel that I have really achieved some sort of important self-knowledge by coming back to it via the specific impressions that I've discussed in this post. This kind of embarrassment or disgust must be a fundamental experience for me.
I guess that is my "problem:" I naively expected relationships (of all kinds, but especially romantic ones) to be somehow profound and transcendent. I had an overly romantic view of relationships in the past. I also had an unrealistically high opinion of adults as a youngster; now, I see how weak and troubled they are, and, as I begin to understand relationships as something that they create (and therefore subject to their foibles), rather than some magical thing that enfolds and ennobles them, I've abstracted the ugliness of other people's relationships: The concept of a relationship itself seems cheap when I look at other people, when I try to take a sociological perspective of relationships. It's like, relationships are nothing but a bunch of children running about chasing toys, tooth-rotting candy, and dollar store knickknacks, and passing up anything that isn't flashy enough or familiar enough or similar enough to what the cool kids have or resembling what's on TV, children who are immature to the point of being constitutionally incapable of wanting something more or even imagining what they might be missing out on.
I guess this is just a messed up way of looking at things. I could try to restrict my focus to my own relationships (currently non-existent), but I would have to have some contact with some of the masses to have any hope of ever getting one. I have to be involved to some extent with others, and I take note of what they are doing (for example, I read some ugly things while browsing personals ads), so my focus wouldn't truly be restricted. I don't know why it has taken me so long to divest myself of my youthful perspectives on humanity, but I also find myself recently (as in, past 5-7 years) aware of the necessity of letting go of a view of people as some sort of fundamentally unified whole. There are people who would murder me in a second if they had the chance to do so. We, humans, are most definitely not "all in this together;" it's more like we are "stuck with each other." With that unified ideal, seeking and developing a relationship is devoting myself to one of my more or less equally deserving comrades. Without that unified ideal, it's as if I'm dodging through enemy territory on a dangerous and uncertain mission. I know that any good relationship could seem more valuable in light of all of this (for how rare and fortunate it would seem), but my mind tends to lean towards the chance aspect: any good relationship that I got would be the result of me running into a like mind in a favorable situation when both of us are paying attention and in the right mood (the statistical equivalent of finding a needle in a haystack) rather than something I'd earned by developing myself into a good person in a world of fair judgers who can be counted on to see, respect, and desire that goodness. Sometimes when I think that I would enjoy a hug at that moment, I think of the horrible people in the world who also enjoy hugs with significant others, who have spouses who tolerate their racism or other -ism, and my human desire disgusts me.
That's it; that's the big thing. I'm embarrassed to be human. Because of the conduct and constitution of other humans. I've experienced this before, but I feel that I have really achieved some sort of important self-knowledge by coming back to it via the specific impressions that I've discussed in this post. This kind of embarrassment or disgust must be a fundamental experience for me.
