FALL in Love...With Caution

As the autumn leaves turn yellow, orange, red, and brown, they tumble to the ground in giant heaps of beautiful carnage. As the sweetness and warmth of summer come to an end, they are replaced by the chilly winds and bitter flavors of sour green apples and tart cranberries. And, sad as it may seem, love responds in kind. It’s commonly known that most relationships come to an end at the turn of the season, thus breaking the population into fractions in search of their other (and sometimes better) halves. For the past week or more, I have been receiving calls from friends who have been hold-up in their apartments deep in the throws of love since late May (when all the warmth began). Direct from Splitsville, they’re driving around in search of their next love. When it comes to those dear to me, I understand that I am something of a mandatory pit-stop on the relationship super-highway. Only instead of over-priced gasoline, nickel-slots, and Freshens frozen yogurt, I can offer my buddies compassion, words of encouragement, and (occasionally) ruthless judgment.

We all want what’s best for our friends, so when we see them driving full speed towards a dead-end, it’s hard not to reach for the grab-handle, mime stomping the breaks, and cringe in anticipation of the big collision. Some dead ends are obvious (for example, the Girl du Jour already has a girlfriend whom she’s “thinking about leaving”—DEAD END; the GdJ is “on the fence about this whole lesbian thing”—DEAD END; or the GdJ is from the Czech Republic, is only here for the summer, and wanted to have a real New York lesbian experience before she goes home to marry her boyfriend DOUBLE DEAD END…these are actual examples I’ve picked up over the past month of coffee dates), so bracing for the crash is not so much an act of pessimism as it is an one of realism.

I believe that there are times in one's life where one needs to be emotionally reckless. Sometimes the only way to learn why not to make a certain choices, is to go ahead and make them and suffer the subsequent consequences. One can have an academic understanding of a situation without experiencing the heartache. But, to intimately understand what it costs to give oneself to another, one must get, well, intimate. I believe in doing stupid things and learning from experience. I knew with every ounce of my being that my first love would break me. I didn’t know how, I didn’t know when, but I could sense that she was a Lesbian of Mass-Destruction; and I knew I would be destroyed. I got involved anyway. Why? Because I was a 20 year old virgin in drama school, suffocating under years of Catholic repression and guilt. I knew said LMD would lift that burden from me—and this was a trade I was willing to make. Was this decision a conscious one? No. I was a junior in college, so in love, and desperate to be touched. Bring on the bombs.

In retrospect, I wish I had made a clear choice, a sort of barter. "In exchange for the chance to experience love & explore sexuality, I'll give you my reputation, my dignity, my extra-curricular time, my actual class-time, and eventually my soul..." Hindsight is twenty/twenty; but, I can now see that in this VERY clear dead-end, it would have benefited me greatly to leave some emotional currency off the table. I anted up with my heart and then bet my trust, my body, my time, and all of my attention—needless to say, I left the table emotionally bankrupt.

Now that I have some perspective and have safely survived this affair (and a few others), I can chalk it up to experience and thank the gods that I somehow (probably through sheer force of will--read: stubbornness) still have faith in love. But my advice to anyone less resilient would be to gamble with one’s self responsibly. Decide how much you’re willing to risk. What is this girl worth? How much is she asking of you? Does she want your time? Your trust? Your ass? And then decide if you’re willing to gamble with these things. Every time you role the dice, you run the risk of losing. What are you willing to lose? And if you don’t predetermine a limit, you’re likely to bet the whole kit & kaboodle—the rush of endorphins that comes with taking a chance is addictive, just ask a gambler, or a race-car driver, or a lesbian.

In cases that hold some hope (Eg. She’s a single, intelligent, attractive lesbian who has shown moderate interest in you, your life, or your ass; she does not appear to be a sociopath, an asshole, or a lesbian of mass-destruction.), I always advise my friends to proceed with caution. Pay attention to where you’re going, that way you’ll know how to get back to the pit-stop when you need me (I’m always open). And please, pay attention to the road; watch for signs; and don’t speed. Windows down, heater up, and some great music—a slow drive on a crisp fall afternoon sounds great, doesn’t it?