There are days when I fall in love again and again and again.
I'm just a sucker. A sucker for love. The love of words.
I hear a word. I see a word. I read a word. And I'm telling you....it's like the first time all over again.
Some words make me laugh. Some make me cry. Some just choke me up and make me want to have a good weepy drive while searching FM stations for Air Supply, the Bee Gees or Nirvana.
Some words taunt me. Challenging me to look them up and figure out how they're used. Then I'm tortured. Torn between enjoying my newfound information and going back to correct the original source - or sorcerer - of the challenge.
Occasionally a word angers me. Like when someone I know uses a word that bugs me. Or, more specifically, when they use a perfectly good word in a manner I find annoying. Or when they abuse a word I wished they just didn't even know. Usually it's not the person's word choice so much as my own frustration at feeling negative in response to words they may not even be choosing deliberately. Words for which they may not even appreciate the import and impact on others.
Some words make me want to spend the rest of my life online. Writing just seems so honest sometimes. And reading someone else's words sometimes seems an act even closer than...being close. Kissing is easy. Sharing real words with another. Well, that's a little trickier.
But the best words are words that open the floodgates. The floodgates of inspiration and emotion and energy and creativity. The floodgates of response.
And I'm very lucky because I'm surrounded by words. And, sure enough, they tend to reproduce.
I write words. Others read my words and they send words back to me.
This past weekend, I sat quietly - a highly difficult feat - while someone described email as lacking intimacy. I wished they could see my email.
There are sentiments sent to me in email that might not reach me otherwise.
Sure I spend some time on the phone with those close to me. And, of course, I spend good amounts of time with friends and family.
But phone time and in-person time are never enough. Not when we're thinking and feeling and craving and responding throughout the day. Not when we have something to say at a time when our audience isn't available or accessible.
Like when a friend reads one of my essays at an odd hour. I often awaken to an early morning email thanking me for the experience I triggered. Or letting me know that I seemed to be describing them when I talked about my own journey. Or confessing that they had felt the same way I had at one time or another.
What a gift.
And, on occasion, I receive a story back.
Everyone has a story. Or, should I say, everyone has lots of stories. Anyone who's living a life has a story to tell at any given time.
There are days when I'm privy to those stories.
And everyone definitely has an opinion.
I'm almost always privy to those. Whether I ask for them or not.
And now I very much know how careful I have to be when I write about nice guys. Damn if I didn't get 101 responses for that one little essay.
Most folks felt something. Sadness was the emotion I heard about more than others. And it was a sad essay. At least I thought it was sad.
But, of course, not everyone read the essay the same way.
Some just thought it was me who was sad. As in "you're really sad...a sad case, you are."
They thought I was perhaps ragging on nice guys.
NEVER.
I would NEVER rag on a nice guy.
The point - for those who care - was that nice - or sexy or athletic or successful or hunky or genius - is not enough. At least not now. Not now in my life. At this point in my life, there's got to be the intangible. The immeasurable something that makes me want to become a part of that person.
So, really, the essay had nothing to do with nice guys.
Even though it was called "Nice Guys"...
It was just about guys.
And girls.
And guys and girls.
But everyone reads differently. And everyone reads me differently.
And that's perfectly okay.
Because the responses I receive are enough to keep me in a state of bliss. The words I receive are, more often than not, much more compelling than those I've written.
Tonight I'm in love with whoever came up with "Is there an emoticon for "ram my throbbing rightness down your throat"? I can't find the original source, but the words just really hit the spot.
And I'm in love, as always, with Madeline. She sent an email saying she hears my voice when she reads my writing. Granted, she hears lots of voices, but the sentiment was good nonetheless.
And I'm in love with Valerie. She found a way in her busy day to put the word raucous to good use.
But the love award of the day goes to a really funny guy - a very nice guy - who should write a whole lot more than he does. Luckily, I get to see his writing from time to time.
Here's today's very nice guy offering:
"Greenbeard"
It was too late. She had already committed to dinner. She thought his name was Greenberg - great, she thought another boring night with some boring Jewish doctor or lawyer. Wow, that's great, she was ready to say, congratulations on removing that mole or congrats on that merger you engineered between Exxon and Mattel.
He had suggested a seafood restaurant. It was a neighborhood place, where the owner caught the food right outside the door. Great, I am meeting a fish at a fish place. Or even worse, a shrimp!
He was waiting. And he was happy to see her.
"Arrrgh, you are a mighty fine lassie", he growled.
She smiled. Ordinarily, she would be mad as a successful career woman with lots of friends who loved her to be referred to as "lassie". (She collected Gloria Steinem trading cards when she was younger. She was particularly proud of her Bella Abzug) Yet there was something different about him...something exciting.
"I am Greenbeard, plunderer of the high seas, arrrrggggh!" he growled.
Greenbeard came in full battle gear. Not like her other dates who wore boring khaki pants and button down shirts. No, he had a black eyepatch, full beard and mustache and tri-cornered hat. Tall leather boots and a big belt buckle,a large sword, you bet. A silver hook for a right arm. And of course a parakeet on his shoulder.
"Meet Molly....argggggh!"
"Molly wants a biscuit. Molly wants a biscuit" squawked Molly.
And so she and Greenbeard sat down for dinner. And instead of being disappointed, she was entranced by Greenbeard. Of stories of treasure and pillage and plunder. What girl can say no to a good pillage story. Plus when that wasn't enough, he had some really good recipes on how to cook hard tack (the one using a peach glaze sent her heart aflutter).
"Come near to me, you buccaneer" she was heard to say after having a little too many Captain Morgans.
And so they went "around the world together". He brought her riches, treasure, jewels, MP3s downloaded from Kazaa, laptop computers with wireless connections beyond her wildest imagination.
But as time went on, the relations between the two of them strained more and more. She was tired of hearing stories after a while that used the words "slash" and "bloody stump" a little bit too much. She grew tired of eating hard tack, even when cooked in a fine bearnaise sauce. She was tired of fighting off scurvy. She was tired of his hook ripping her clothes. Her mother said why couldn't she find a nice man and stop chasing pirates. (And why did he have to always use '"arrrrrgh" in a sentence??)
But the final straw came when her cat, Joo, got tired of hearing Molly squawk "Molly wants a biscuit" and turned Molly into a biscuit.
What she really wanted to tell him was it wasnt his fault. And she fervently wanted him to know what a great pirate he was.
But she didn't know how to say that.
So she ended their relationship in a nice and simple way. She got a restraining order.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Well, restraining order or not, it was a lovely response to "Nice Guys."
Thank you, very nice guy (aka Bill).
And remember, just because you're nice, doesn't mean you don't have that intangible just because you're nice.
And, just to make sure we've covered our contrapositives, just because you've got that intangible doesn't mean you're nice.