Is it worth it?

Frozen in Flagstaff

I've been up in Flagstaff now for almost a full day, and the weather here has been amazing.  I posted a status update on Facebook this morning saying that I was "enjoying -4 degrees" here. I realized as I've been walking around today that "enjoy" is not the right verb.  I've not seen snow piled up this high before . . . in fact, the whole scene reminds me of some kind of poster one would see saying something like "Christmas in Switzerland" or something.  There are heavy icicles on the roofs and as much as 2 feet of snow piled on top of them.  Some accumulations have literally been taller than me (but they may be covering bushes, I don't know).  

The very frigid temperatures and icy walkways have discouraged me from wandering around for great lengths of time outside (I usually like to walk a lot when I'm up here), so I've been sticking around the hotel and spending a lot of time reading.  

(As a side note, I should say that when my dad asked me what I was going to be doing in Flagstaff, I told him, "as little as possible".  I'm living up to expectations, despite my obsessive checking of work E-mail.)

Portrait of a Cactus

At any rate, I brought down many issues of Arizona Highways and New Mexico Magazine that I haven't had time to read in the past 3 months or so.  

The November issue of AH is a "photography issue", with one photographer talking about his techniques of photographing various desert flora against a dark background (usually with monsoon clouds looming) while illuminating the subjects with a strobe light.  An interesting technique, to be sure.

One of the photos, though, was of a prickly pear cactus - except it was done up like somebody's portrait you'd see hanging over the fireplace - along with a standard grey backdrop and just the right kind of highlighting, surrounded by an appropriate frame.  The cactus was taken out of context and treated like a pretty girl wearing her Sunday dress in a parlor room chair.  

The cactus collector

This picture of a cactus like this reminded me, ironically, of one of my dating experiences.

Oh, and I shouldn't say the word "date" or "dating", because those concepts are either frightening or passé - at least in the gay community - except to only the most old-fashioned among us.  (Old-fashioned is also either frightening or passé, in case you were wondering, except when it comes to government-recognized marriage.  Go figure.)

Now, many of you friends know that I'm not one for the whole bar experience.  I'm not good at walking up to people and striking up conversations.  Few people find my eccentricities entertaining upon first meeting me, and other than that, all I have to offer is boring small-talk. (I'm pretty much bereft of any knowledge of pop culture - which seems to serve as the departure point for any successful bar conversation.)  Also, I don't think gay men go to bars to really meet people anymore, and if they do, it's usually for a one-night stand type of thing.  But I've written about that before.

Ok, I'm getting off on a tangent. (Surprise, surprise!)

All this to say that I usually have far better luck with the whole online dating thing.  Such was the case with a very nice fellow I met who seemed to conform to the bullet points I typically have with guys I'm interested in.  Smart?  Check.  Good writer/conversationalist?  Check. Well-educated?  Check.  Charming?  Check.  Cute?  Yes, very!

But, we found a mutual time to meet up, and I put that time down on my calendar.  Interestingly, he loved to collect various cacti, and was somewhat of an armchair expert on different varieties.  While I'm no collect or expert on cacti, I certainly do enjoy them very, very much - so we decided to both drive out to a cactus place the next free day and browse around.

Now all of this is very good, right?  Meets all of the criteria, cute, and we have a mutual interest!  That's gotta be a recipe for success, right.

Umm, not really - it means that he's going to be one of the fraction of one percent of guys that I actually *like*.  They only come around maybe once a year.

So, let the anxiety begin!

Now, you friends will already know how strict I am about keeping my word about things. Staying on top of appointments, following through with tasks, doing what I say I'm going to do when I'm going to do it.  I'm very anti-flaky with my own life, and the biggest irritation I have with people is when they get flaky.

Well, when it's just about time for my outing, I suddenly start to sneeze.  And my nose runs.  And I sneeze more.  Of course, I think it's springtime allergies - and I really do.

But I go out with this very friendly man - who is a gentleman in all respects - and certainly quite the lover of cacti.

And how am I?  I sniffly wreck with a runny nose, who couldn't think of anything except where the nearest Kleenex box was.  Pretty looking cacti were about the furthest thing from my mind.

Of course, I hope for the best, and I did send him a follow up E-mail (or phone call or whatever), even though if it were me, I'd not want to go out again with somebody who spent the whole time sneezing and didn't really seem interested at all in cacti.  No, we didn't end up going out again.

Missing the train

Alright, so what was the point of that whole story?  Surely not something about cacti . . .

Maybe more to say that I've only seemed to have a lot of not-so-good dating experiences (with one or two exceptions) - sometimes ones I didn't do so well with, and sometimes ones that the other guy didn't do so well with.  And it's worth mentioning that I really don't want to be single. That's just not my thing.

I read an article by a woman who, at 36, was very concerned that having kids at that age would begin to be dangerous, since she was getting older.  Eeek, that really scared me, because I know the clock is ticking for me the same way as it is ticking for straight women - and on the same timetable.  

Has the train left the station on this one?  Did I miss it?  I think that perhaps I did, like I missed several trains that I hoped to have caught by this point in my life.  If I did miss it, is it my fault?  Or is that simply the way of the universe or some type of personal destiny (or even punishment)?  

Was it worth it?

I was talking with an acquaintance of mine who is working on her PhD, and told me about how difficult and lonely that graduate school experience was.  I ask a lot of people I know in various doctoral programs this very important question: is it worth it?  I don't recall one of them saying "Yes".  I do recall most of them giving an answer like, "it's been a very good experience".

In the same way I ask them if it's worth it, I also ask myself if the choices I've made over the past 10 years or so since college have been "worth it".  Especially when I think that some of those choices have meant that I've had to give up a lot of the things I hoped to have accomplished.  I don't know if those choices were the "right" choices (if there even are such things as "right" or "wrong", and if there are, if one can even determine that).  

I've written on here before about the deep existential pain I feel about the road that I have not traveled - about the choices that I've given up.  In deciding to walk through open doors, I may have chosen an easier path, rather than ignoring open doors and deciding to be more independent - to strike out on my own and follow a path that was more risky.  I don't think that I've necessarily chosen the road less traveled- I may have chosen the road that was easier for me, or made the choice that I needed to make at whatever point in my life I made it.

Is there an answer to the question?

Maybe the lesson in all of the conversations here is that nobody can ever answer "Yes" to the question of "Is it worth it?", because there's no way to tell where the other road would have led you.  One can only speculate  . . . and we all know how good we are at predicting the future.  We really have no idea whether or not we're living in the best of all possible worlds - or the worst of them either.

"Is it worth it" requires one to make a judgement based on information one does not have access to.  Do people really live the life they've wanted to?  Or do they live the life they got? Maybe the question is irrelevant because answering it is impossible.  

I'd really like there to be an answer, though . . . I'd like to say at the end of 10 years since I've finished college (coming up this May) that this time has been "worth it".  I don't simply want to say that I've "had a good experience", even if that may be very true.  

Isn't that a scary thought - to ask yourself if you had to do it over again, would you make the same choices?  Would you do it all again?  Everybody I've heard answer that question always says yes - but is that the honest answer?  If the honest answer is "No", what do we make of that- for ourselves and others?  What are the implications?