From Sessions in The Balcony: A Note

I admit to it. I was not always the person I am today. I also admit that my personal awkwardness and my need to fit “in” or be “cool” was enough to overrun the nicer parts of me. Therefore, I admit to being a “guy” and I admit to playing the games and subscribing to a role that was not fitting for my best possible potential.
I also firmly and somewhat regretfully admit to my dating flaws and single-life fiasco, my lies by omission, or the mistruths and manipulations of time and facts. Yes, this was me. Yes, I was bitter in some regards because I was uncomfortable. And yes, there were funny moments and not-so-funny ones at the same time.

I never dated well. I was never comfortable with my approach which is why I chose to hide behind images and silly superficial ideas, which I thought might make me more attractive.
Also, I never liked the rules of engagement. I never liked the unspoken rules that came with hook-ups and the traditional process of how to introduce yourself, what to say and, of course, what not to because first, you have to come off as cool. I mean, no one wants to speak to someone who’s uncool.
No one wants to come off as awkward or uncomfortable, which was me. And to be clear, the most uncomfortable was me at the beginning of the night before I left my home.
I say this because this is when I would choose the outfit for the night, which meant that I would start out with something, look in the mirror, get uncomfortable or insecure, change, put on something else and then repeat this process about a dozen times before getting back into my original choice of clothes.
Here’s another thing about that; I had my “go-to” outfits which are the clothes that I thought I looked best in. But, here lies the tricky part; how do you circulate this so you can pull off your look and not look like you’re wearing the same outfits all the time?

In any case, I admit to the mistaken arrogance for confidence. I admit to trying to act the part and be someone who I wasn’t.
I remember subscribing to the shallowness and misunderstandings of true beauty for the commercialized confusion of what true beauty really is. I admit to silencing desires and ideas because I was too insecure to explain my turn ons and desires.
(What a waste this was.)
I say this because I missed out on countless opportunities to enjoy myself as well as mutually enjoy another person of my choice.
As for the misconception of beauty, I say this because beauty is not rigid or in only one form. No, beauty is a cosmic connection. This is not about a perfect shape or size or a figure that suits all. No, not at all.
Real beauty is the kind that beams from someone and as such, no sort of ugliness or outside opinion or variation could ever dim the shine which illuminates from a person’s eyes.
Beauty is sexless, faceless, ageless and raceless but above all, real beauty is far from loveless. This is fulfilling. Real beauty is the kind of connection that we can share. This is the connection that somehow destroys the world around us and all that is left are two people, in love, and connected by an undeniable chemistry.
So why deny it? Why not enjoy it?
I admit that I denied myself this pleasures of true beauty. I also admit that, wholeheartedly, my shallowness was only a cover for the depths of my truth; which in fairness, I was a status whore uncomfortable because of my lack of confidence. In my own right, I thought that my version of beautiful was tainted – because I saw myself as tainted. Therefore, in my testament to change, I testify to this as part of my truth as well as my past; furthermore, I can say that I have met the most beautiful people in the world – and they didn’t even know it.

I admit to this the same as I admit to being a terrible wingman. I admit to being a dick at times and some of those times were funny. Some of those times, I saw myself as a cog in the wheel of karmic debt which was owed to someone because of their own mistreatment of others. I have and will always hate social bullies.

There was a friend who I’ll call Adam. He and I were never very close but we ran around in the same crowd. Adam was slightly awkward and less than traditionally well-dressed. He was an odd guy who struggled with his approach. 

One night, Adam caught the interest of a girl who was (in his words) unsightly.
He said she was ugly. He said that she wouldn’t leave him alone. 

I suggested he should go for it because if she was as ugly as he described, the last thing he ever wanted was to be at home, alone with his thoughts during his “secret time” and regretfully thinking that he never took this girl up on her offer.
Well, Adam appreciated this suggestion.
However, although Adam had morals, his standards were somewhat different. For him, this method of thinking led Adam to be more accepting of all kinds of people regardless of what they looked like.
Because “Hey,” said Adam. “I don’t want to regret turning them down!”

We were at a bar one night, somewhere near SoHo, and Adam was addressing a girl who was at the bar. She was much less attractive than her friend, which I appreciated because she was not the one who was used to being the first for attention.
I was happy to see this.
Her friend, however, was clearly a knockout with good looks, great hair, a body that was obviously desirable; yet, with all of this, her insecurity was alive and well. She had all the stuff that makes a commercialized look what it is and she was not the one who was receiving the attention.
I loved this.
Now, there is an unwritten rule which states that if “your” friend is talking to or trying to hook up with “my” friend, then this means that the two of “us” need to talk – or at least try to.
This means I was supposed to talk to little Ms. Knockout. However, I do not like these rules nor did I play by them. I was happy to see Adam’s girl receive attention and the other receive none. By the way, it was very clear that this was bothersome. She was huffing and puffing about this.
The so-called pretty one was trying to pull her friend away from Adam because no one was paying attention to her. Especially me, who in fairness, I was not her type anyway and the only reason why she was huffing was because no one was paying attention to her. I saw her try to interject herself into Adam’s so-called rap. But Adam did not pay attention to her.

I overheard the pretty one complain about me not speaking or paying attention to her. Admittedly, I call out my immaturity here and say that I somewhat enjoyed this because A) I saw myself as an average Joe and this girl was certainly and undeniably very pretty – and B) I saw myself as less than and, to some extent, I saw this as me winning a prize for “my people” or for those who’ve been dismissed or excluded because they are not as pretty. 

Normally, I would not be this dickish but the sight of this young women becoming so angry that she was not admired was somewhat funny to me. I overheard her complain again and try to distract the girl whom Adam was doing quite well with. 

Finally, out of conceit and frustration, she spoke at me with an aggressive introduction by saying, “And you are?” as if to say who are you and why are you not talking to me – or as in, who are you or what’s your name and to destroy the hugeness of ego, I looked at this young woman through my side-eye and said, “Not interested.”
This was great!

The somewhat funny Adam managed to get the girl’s number and the two left shortly after. The pretty girl called me an asshole, to which I said “Yeah, that may be true. But at least I’m not insecure.”

And by the way, I am totally insecure and so was she. Perhaps I’m more open about this and certainly this was not me at my best.

I recall leaving the bar shortly after and Adam asked me why I said what I said. 
I don’t like people who walk around and expect to be paid attention to. I don’t like people who expect that their looks trump the world or appear so full of themselves. Adam asked me if I overthink too much.

All the time, I told him.
“Well,” he said. “At least you’re aware of it.”

If I could go back to that night or to any of the nights of my former, shallow-self, I would tell me one suggestion that would save me years of misery. 

Never be afraid to love who you love. Never fall into the commercialized version of love, success, money, or power.
Love who you love wholeheartedly because if you don’t you’ll train yourself to settle and live a life that will be unfulfilling – and then one day, you’ll miss out on an opportunity to love someone more than you can possibly love anyone or anything else in this world.

I would probably tell my former self, don’t fall for this. Don’t be afraid to be who you are. Don’t be afraid to risk it all. Risk everything if you have to.I would say “Do it now!” because otherwise, the wrong ways of life can become habit forming.
Then, this becomes normal and status quo, which makes your unhappy life a hard habit to break.

Trust me on this.
Love is the best feeling in the world. What’s strange about this is so many people are afraid to do it – to love, to live the way they want to, to feel, to enjoy, to clasp hands together with someone who makes their heart thump.

I would tell the old me, “It’s out there.”
You just have to accept it and let the love you feel grow.
Let this return to you from the hand of a person who holds your heart.
And trust me . . .

You’ll be happy.

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