The intricacies of Dartmouth culture have become so convoluted in my mind that I'm not exactly sure if this observation is profound or blindingly obvious: sex, even the casual kind, is about connection.
Over the course of the last six months I have collected a lot of survey comments from a lot of people, and a significant portion of them have expressed feelings of frustration, isolation and loneliness. For my final column, I'd like to let them know that they aren't as alone as they think. So many of us go down into putrid fraternity basements and fill ourselves with mood-altering substances in order to lubricate our socializing, to make it easier to talk and to relate. We also do this to dull our inhibitions and sometimes we pick someone to rub our lips and/or our bodies against, in the hopes that it will make us feel a little bit better about ourselves, a little less alone and a little more connected, even though we probably didn't realize that we felt disconnected in the first place.
And then when morning comes and the haze in our brains has burned off we realize that our superficial attempts at "connection" haven't actually brought us any closer to these people. This is in part because we don't actually want to get close to them because this makes us vulnerable, and also because physical closeness does not equal closeness of any other kind. Regardless, many of us proceed in this fashion, because it is quicker to strip off someone's clothes than to strip off their defenses, to get to know them and let them get to know you.
So many of us attempt to walk an impossible line because we desperately want to connect with someone. We are naturally inclined to make ties with each other, but, to protect ourselves, we have learned never to take it seriously. We have learned to build walls, not to let down our guard and not to let ourselves get hurt. We have learned this well, but we still crave connections so instead of opening our hearts, many of us settle for opening our bedroom doors. Because most of us are unable to admit that we need other people, because we want to believe we are okay alone. And maybe we are. I like to think I am, at least for now.
But sometimes without meaning to, without realizing it, we have let other people in, at least a little. Because we brought them to our bedrooms and we closed the doors but we forgot to find out if we trusted them or not, if they deserved this privilege or not, because we were so disconnected before and so lonely without even knowing we were lonely, because in so many other ways we are so happy. And so, out of this human need to find connection, we are hasty. We connect in the only way that is readily available to us, and we take these shortcuts. But these shortcuts don't show us anything about these people, except for what their bodies look like as we engage in a series of actions that neither of us really mean, and despite our best efforts, we end up getting hurt.
This is how it goes for many of us. There is another common path that can be more or less dysfunctional than the one I've just described, depending on the people and the circumstances. Some of us are not okay with engaging in actions that are designed to express emotions that we don't really feel, so we look for people whom we can really feel them for, or at the very least convince ourselves that we feel them for. We let down all of our defenses and we pick a person to let in. We let them in, and not just beyond our bedroom walls: into our heads and our hearts. We begin to trust. But then we come to realize that we need this person, or at least convince ourselves that we do. We cling to him like he's our only source of air. We become codependent. We begin to forget ourselves without him. For some people this works. Some of us like needing someone and like being needed, but the burden of another's happiness is not a skimpy obligation.
I'm sure there are other options, but these two seem to be the most prevalent. Both of these paths have their privileges and their pitfalls, and both have the potential to be enormously detrimental to our psyches. There should be some middle ground between hooking up with someone you care so little about that you can ignore them the next day, and being with someone that you need so badly that you believe you can't exist without them.
There are a lucky few who have found something in between, but this is not the general way of things. More often, we either open our legs but not our hearts, or open our hearts and lose our heads.
When we engage in these relationships (or non-relationships) we are using, abusing and deluding each other and ourselves and the only real reason for it is that we are ashamed to admit our own vulnerabilities. But really we should be ashamed at how much time we spend pretending we don't have any. And just because we have them doesn't make us weak. It makes us real. It makes us complicated. It makes us interesting. It makes us the people we are and not the robots we pretend to be. We can still be strong, happy and functional while admitting that we are just a little vulnerable, and put ourselves out there just a little. Just enough so that we can express to someone that we like them, or respect them, or just enjoy their company and that's it. No need to ignore each other, but also no need to spend every waking hour of our lives together.
We shouldn't have to bare our souls and make grand promises and personal sacrifices for someone just so we can have a relationship that is based on more than random sex.
We shouldn't have to sacrifice our dignity and self-respect to have a physical relationship with someone without making a serious commitment, but Dartmouth society has dichotomized relationships into either entirely meaningless or supremely meaningful. The truth, as I see it, is that relationships (particularly at our age) should be neither entirely meaningless nor supremely meaningful. Perhaps this is the source of so much of the angst and frustration and hurt that surrounds sexual and romantic relationships at Dartmouth. The only chance I see of lessening it is by attempting to forge some sort of middle ground.
