Dating and Relationship Discussions

Ok,

Many of my friends know of my interest in the subject of male/female relationships and gender differences. This comes from both my own struggles within marriage, post-divorce, as a mother of both a son and daughter, and as a woman who has been dating in mid-life. It also comes from trying to understand the confusing dynamics of my own family, as well as my friend's families, that I witnessed growing up. It even comes from observations of office gender politics.

As I work on computers and have access to the internet I have read many advice columns, research articles, and done my own investigation via internet dating services. I was a psychology major in college, have read numerous books, participated in therapy, and had many discussions with both men and women on this topic.

I am still formulating insights and finding where they resonate with others in the field (both as consultants or participants). As I test some of the 'theories' out and try some suggestions I may choose to share the thoughts and results here, in newspapers, books, and with others via their blogs.

Following this post will be others pointing to some of my comments and reflections on particular topics.

I hope to bring some of these ideas and insights to this site for further dialogue and comments.


Sidebar - so far I seem to be successfully engaging with a new potential partner and have developed deeper satisfying friendships with men. This may indicate I have learned something useful :)

Are You Zippy?

In honor of John Robison's 50th birthday, the upcoming publishing of his first book and memoir Look Me in the Eye, our long term friendship, and survival of adversity (and kids) - I wrote this piece.

Are you Zippy?
photo by Ian Adams

The value of having a really good ‘Aspergian’ friend when clinically depressed


I barely could get up each day, let alone smile, for about 3 years. Needless to say these were three years of living hell. Why John remained my friend was somewhat beyond me, yet he wasn’t affected, as others were, by my lingering depression.

He was steadfast and a bit curious.

When he would call up, as he did regularly, he would ask, “Are you Zippy today?”

Mostly I’d have to honestly answer,“No.”

Yet John would ask me out to dine at a casual or fancy local restaurant, offer me an opportunity to ride in one of his favorite luxury vehicles, or take me on a river jaunt in his boat.

I was grateful for these invitations as they at least got me out and gave me a break from having to make decisions for myself, my family, or home. I could feel cared for and protected. I never felt obligated to have to be other than whom I was, or emotionally where I was. I could hope that one of these outings might suddenly shift my neuro-chemical imbalance so I could again be ‘Zippy’.

John and I first met when he offered to take my daughter Mariel to the Big E with her best friend Danielle, who was also a good friend to his son Jack. I think they were about 8 or 9. I did not know of Jack’s more descriptive nickname- ‘Cubby’ - yet he seemed like a cool young kid and the three children had fun on the roller coasters and Ferris wheels of the fair. Danielle’s dad Mike and I got to go along too, and act like big kids.

I welcomed anything that might bring joy back into my life such as wind blowing my hair along with the wild screams and laughter of kids on the coaster. It didn’t work for the longer term, but did in the immediate moment. John eagerly captured this with his camera, so at least I could have a chance to enjoy it as a memory sparked by his clear and crisp images.

John was the official photographer for the fair and able to get us in free. Free was good as I was anxious with an extraordinary fear of financial devastation. When one can hardly make it into work, or out of bed, one doesn’t feel confident of making it to retirement. I believed I would not make it to age 50, and I feared for the future of my family.

Over several days we returned to West Springfield to eat, to ride, and hear music. John arranged it so that the kids could see the featured acts, and my daughter was drawn up on stage to delight in being serenaded in the spotlight.

I found myself growing more appreciative of John. Mike had been my friend for many years, and though we shared numerous close moments with our daughters, he was not nearly so accepting, generous, nor as easy and reliable to be around.

One thing I did notice, however, was that when Mike and I attempted to be funny - to crack jokes and share ironic insights - John seemed pretty deadpan in response. For me, humor, even attempts at it, seemed essential to my survival. Though I could not smile easily, I knew I should. My intellect told me so. And I wondered why John seemed so serious. He was not, after all, depressed, and he was not at all stupid.

“What was he?”

It was not until years later that we first talked about Asperger’s. I just accepted that John was a bit odd. But compared to the multitude of uncompassionate people I met, who avoided and were mean to me in my days of desperation (the ones who were insecure, weak, careless, self-centered, liars, or afraid), John was amazing. He was perfect. A perfect friend.

I found out about John and Asperger’s after he visited me at home to tell me about the best seller “Running with Scissors”. I had heard some buzz about the book on the radio and was curious as I knew that my less than fully functional background and, of course, present, seemed to pale against the early life of the author, Augustan Burroughs.

I wanted to hear stories of anyone that managed to survive adversity. I wanted to hear that maybe I could. I wanted to see if I could ‘feel’ anything in empathy.

I listened to John, realizing he was more animated and personal than I had ever experienced him, and that increased my curiosity. When he told me Augustan was his brother I knew I had to read the book, and as soon as possible I did.

I recall my jaw dropping as I tore through the text. I had had no clue about the strange scenario that surrounded the development of my friend. The John I had known seemed relatively ‘normal’, although he was somewhat affectless.

I wondered, “Did this book truthfully describe his background and family life?”

Though John was barely mentioned, the book referred to his travels on the road in the music scene, and that he was diagnosed with Asperger’s. A light bulb went on. (Still no smiles). I could not wait to talk more with him.

Maris, my sister’s daughter, my daughter’s cousin, was originally diagnosed with Asperger’s and eventually considered a high-functioning autistic child. I had learned a bit about Asperger’s and autism from my sister, research and reading, and from my direct experience. As a former psychology major I had a framework of developmental and abnormal psychology to strengthen my understanding.

I told John about Maris, who was an extremely sensitive child since birth, and also did not ‘get’ affect. She did at times laugh, often tickled by her own weird sense of humor expressed through bizarre sequences of words, imagery, or actions. She was very musical and extremely brilliant. Anything that caught her interest she would hyper-focus on and learn all there was to know about it; clarinets, water spouts, prop planes.

I reflected that John seemed to have great expertise in many areas, an encyclopedic knowledge of cars, audio effects, pyrotechnics, and was adept at working many machines. He seemed fairly confident and competent in business. He was analytical and matter-of-fact. But John’s comfort level in personal relationships was less. He had a few strange mannerisms, difficulty focusing on people’s faces and eyes, often a monotone vocal delivery, and habitual expressions.

Yes, the profile seemed to fit.

Our friendship shifted. We began to talk of the mind, its mysteries, and Asperger’s, autism, and depression. We began to share more about our backgrounds and find ways to compare the scenes and experiences of each other’s past and present toward clarifying our own states of mind or emotions to each other.

I still called on John to help me if my basement flooded or if my lawn needed a rescue raking or mowing. He and Jack, now known as ‘Cubby’, would come over with their machines and I would offer comradeship and conversation to my officially labeled ‘Aspergian’ friend. John would listen long to my tales of depression and drugs, and later men and dating, and ask many direct and innocent questions to try to gain a clue about a world – a web of people and emotions - that mostly eluded him.

I suppose I may have entertained him.

Jack and my daughter Mariel also continued a casual friendship, especially when Cubby transferred into her school.

But the bond between John and I grew stronger as we both learned more about what made us ‘odd’, outsiders to society because our behavior did not fit the norm or the preferred. He saw me through many trials of medication that made me ill, nauseous, anxious, and even suicidal. Although he did not seem to have the capacity to really ‘feel’ what I might be experiencing, John was indeed concerned.

He’d call, “Are you zippy today…yet?”

One day I finally got a boost from some medication I was prescribed. I had been about to give up, worn down by the hit-and-miss practice of psychiatrists. They threw scripts at me, with a few warnings of side effects, and could only make tentative guesses at what was wrong based on other patients and standard case studies. They had little data about my particular body/mind make-up to guide them.

Though better than the ‘Santa Claus’ Augustan wrote about, my last doctor was as ineffective in bringing me back to normalcy as ‘Santa’ was with John’s mother. Luckily I was a bit less ‘crazy’. With a strong will and lots of research I persevered in my own healing. I was able to consider professional suggestions and had a few friends who stood by me, gave me perspective, solace, and helped me practically - especially John.

Still after a short hospital stay resulting from a suicidal state triggered by a trial of Paxil, I was at my wits end. A doctor there suggested electro-convulsive therapy- shock therapy or Effexor XR, a slow release form. The SSRIs like Paxil, Zoloft, and Prozac, made me ill to the point of nausea and dehydration from vomiting. I’d get overwhelmed with anxiety, and had intense thoughts that death would be a relief, though I would not take my own.

There was no way I wished to undergo ECT and perhaps lose the little memory I seemed to retain throughout the depression. I did not want to tamper with my brain or have my body restrained, shocked, exhausted any more than it already was.

I had been looking into the possibility of a brain scan to try to get a deeper picture of the neuro-chemical workings of my mind, which was suggested by my sister in California. I was preparing to fund my own trip to a clinic near her. Armed with this knowledge, the thought (and hope) was that we could more carefully target medication and minimize the long trials and severe side effects.

But I decided to give meds one last shot. I did my research and knew Effexor also worked on norepinephrine as well as serotonin receptors.

Finally, on Effexor XR, even with an as-yet-to be-adjusted dose, I was able to once again feel……yes, ‘Zippy’.

In fact at first I was so ‘Zippy’ I could not sleep much. My mind raced with creative thoughts. Yet I was able to focus and function, once again, without feeling that an underwater monster was pulling at my feet and trying to drown me – at every moment.

John was there when I began to smile and laugh again, almost 3 years since my descent into depression. He may not have gotten the humor which provoked the smile or laugh, but he noted it and accepted me still.

As more years passed, we still went to dinner, rode in his cars (Mariel particularly liked the Mini-Cooper), and hung with Jack.

I helped him now with decisions during the building and decorating of his new Amherst home and writing drafts of his book. I answered questions he had about relating to his wife and Jack (his ‘Subjects’) and others. Now that I understood his social challenges I felt more comfortable accepting his help with any of my own issues.

We have remained friends. One day when Mari, John, and I were dining at the Amherst Brewery, one of our favorite quick hangs, he told us about his Southern heritage. During a moment of reflection over some strange recollection he burst into a broad grin and sort of a laugh.

“Woof,” he said.

John often said “Woof” when he seemed to run out of words or did not know what to say, but it was the smile and laugh that we noticed.

I realized how unique this moment was. Smiling and laughing myself, I reveled in the fact that we both could express and feel ‘Zippy’.

My Trip to Portugal

Bom Dia,

I am finally recovering from jet lag from our return from Portugal on July 27. I know it is a long time time to take to recover, and maybe it is more that I am still lingering in the memories of one of the most amazing vacations of my life.

Carlos invited me to visit with him in his country, and though it was high season and I only had one week to spare, I jumped on the invitation ( and him ).

We left from Newark after a mad rush to see Ian and family at his opening in Chelsea. every moment was an adventure. I am working on recalling and recreating the exact itinerary.

As Carlos planned this from start to finish, I got to go along and just ENJOY! What a treat, and so special from the first day on. We briefly stopped in Lisbon to see his street of origin after driving under the amazing aqueduct, dropped off stuff in his parent's apt, and then headed up past Peniche to Baleal,a fishing village on the ocean. There were flowers waiting for me in the room in the quaint bed and breakfast he had booked with views of rocks, ocean, a Spanish style- well actually - an old Portuguese church, boats and beach.

Very romantic. We glowed probably as much as the sand, rocks, and homes in the bright coastal light of late afternoon.

From there we visited Peniche for seafood dinner and Obidos for a night of medieval festivities in a medieval walled town. Carlos had chosen my clothes to match his for this surprise trip. ( I knew nothing until we arrived). We had Ginjinha, a cherry liquor, in chocolate cups, and other treats with cappucinos for desert. Having had dinner we had to pass on the roasted grilled boar and rabbits that were prepared old style. Celtic music was played by period actors and musicians. Ghosts and ghouls jumped out to surprise us as we walked among the castle walls. We returned the next day to enjoy more streets, crafts, and colors of Obidos.

Then we headed to visit and stay with Carlos' parents in their beautiful well appointed home overlooking the ocean, in Praia Azul, closer to Lisbon. Carlos was so excited he jumped out of the car to run to the back patio and entrance to greet his folks. We had rushed to make it for 7 PM and dinner. I tried to stop him, to bring our bags and gifts in, but then followed and was immediately hugged and led by his mother, Carmina, to tour the home. From the upstairs bedroom I looked onto the street only to see Moises, Carlos' dad, gesturing and pointing. Where was the car? Carlos had forgotten to put the brake on! The standard cars had an unusual brake and not something Carlos was used to. I guess the excitement also played a part, and maybe I was a bit of a distraction....

The car had rolled into a neighbor's entrance wall and door with some damage to both the bumper and the wall. We cringed as we had not taken insurance, hoping the credit card would cover any accidents (which we hoped not to have). I was worried that this would become very costly for Carlos who was being so generous. Carlos' aunt and uncle were also over for dinner and all agreed that we should not let it interfere with what started out to be so beautiful. And so, after a shower in the beautiful tiled bathroom, we quickly put it aside over an amazing meal of grilled grouper and vegetables with special homemade deserts. We then enjoyed the sunset and a good sleep (or some sleep and lots of good). Breakfast the next day included Carlos' other aunt (both Moises' sisters) and his cousin, who had brought pastais de natas (little custard tarts)- so incredibly delicious. Here is a family portrait.

As the week unfolded we went to Tomar - another medieval town (History includes many more centuries than the four or so we focus on in the US. Here there are remnants from centuries of Moorish rule, the Jewish presence in the 1400s, the takeover by the Templars, and then the numerous Portuguese kings and Christian influences. The architecture reveals layers, Moorish, Manueline style (16th century), and including Roman influence as well.


We visited the towns and beach , Santa Rita, where Carlos spent time with his grandfather, we went to Sintra - another amazing medieval town with wonderful winding cobblestone streets and homes and with numerous palaces -both of the Moors and Medieval fantasy, quintas, and gardens.

To top that day off Carlos took me to a seaside restaurant in Azenhas, nestled in the cliffs and overlooking a wild and brilliant sea. 10 foot waves crashed against rocky cliffs. We dined with the finest smooth white wine of the Colares region perfectly accompanying our seafood and sunset. Need I say more?

Back in Lisbon on Thursday we then tried to find a tango dance in a building by the seaport. It seemed the place was closed and so we resorted to some food in a hip bar restaurant with a Brazilian waitress. The place was lively, one amongst the strip of clubs and hangs by the port. The lights of the bridges and boats (and even the Electric statue of Christ) added to the romance and picturesque evening, though we would have loved to dance too.

Finally we then headed South towards the Algarve, where the Atlantic meets the Mediteranean. We passed by typcial homes of the Alentejo region, ranches, Eucalyptus and cork, and windmills, and stopped in another fishing village for lunch with Octopus salad and steak - I think in Vila Nova De Milfontes. Then we went on past Aljezur and safari sites,to the town, Arrifana, where Carlos has land.

Coming up on on his property, Carlos mentioned that he feared the homes next door had dumped their debris on the land, and sure enough as we approached we saw tons of construction waste spread all over. There was a bulldozer and a man sleepily hanging in it. Carlos harshly approached to question him as to what he was doing on his land. The man called over a builder from the nearby apartment complex that was being put up and which would block some of the view. After some back and forth - this is my land / this is not your land - in Portuguese it became evident that indeed it was NOT Carlos' land! Laughing and relieved, we then scouted a few homes up the road and found his site. The view was unobstructed and the two lovely homes nearby were inspiring me to imagine one that could eventually be built. I fantasized that I might be one to help design and decorate it.

We then relaxed on the beautiful surfing beach below, Carlos diving like a dolphin in the waves. I too went in to be refreshed by the waters which were not quite warm, but wonderful. The views from a lookout up above the beach also were spectacular and the ecology, archeology of the area was explained.

Driving on to Lagos area, we arived at the Romantik Hotel at Porto do Mos. Ths was quite upscale with mostly Swiss German clientele and staff. Carlos, as a true native Portuguese, felt quite proud and privileged to be there and we proceeded to make oursleves at home, much more relaxed than the stiff and stuffy guests who mostly stayed by the pool and restaurant. The foliage was fantastic,as were the bathrooms, and views.

We immediately headed down to the beach to swim and spent a wonderful two days exploring the beaches, rocks,lagoons, at places like Ponte de Piedade. Lagos at night was also lively and Carlos met up with his friend doing tatoos on the cobblestone streets for tourists. He pointed us to a street with good restaurants and we again had an amazing meal- fish stew of some sort and good wine (of course).

In fact most of our meals were fabulous and it was good that we got to work them off during the day time walks, swims, and at night :).

Our final day we spent time doing video on the beach- my beach dance, and enjoying the rocks, sand, and half naked selves. Then we began traveling towards Faro, and took a ferry to the island of Armona for a lazy few hours on a soft and sandy beach with quieter and warmer waters. It would have been nice to stay a few days and just chill here in some small cozy beach cottage. Unfortunately we had to head back to Lisbon.

Finally, about to turn off the road to head north on the highway, Carlos suddenly asked if I could find his envelope with some Euros. After a few tense moments while I looked, we then panicked as Carlos realized he had left it in the safe of the hotel. Beginning to think I maybe had hooked up with a true absent minded professor, or that I was a way too distracting influence, I too had to breathe and then help think out the situation. It was yet another challenge to remain calm and caring. I had to ask Carlos to slow down as we headed back to the hotel, but we made it.

Luck was with us however and the envelope was there! We then had a drink on the veranda, taking in the view at dusk once more and laughed and laughed. Making it through the week with a few upsets and lots of humor, we were still liking and loving each other.

We made it back to Lisbon around 10:30 to quickly shower and then meet Carlos' friend to give him some computer equipment from the states (Apple). Better late than never- and set off to enjoy one more night in town. Climbing the cobblestone streets in a bohemian section, past tables of evening diners spread right across the street, turning down offers of various drugs by various ethnic visitors and residents, and past more young revelers, we made it to a restaurant to hear Fado music, at my request.

The food was not the best but the music was amazing, very soulful, with 2 male singers and one gypsy like female accompanied by acoustic string instruments, a Portuguese guitar, and even a bass. High on the green wine (verde) we shared, we then headed down the hill, past unique elevators that bring people up and down. Passing a group of men with instruments, dressed in black shirts with sashes, we asked where they were from. They said Salamanca, which is in Spain. Carlos then asked them to play for us and they did! . Serenaded with sweet sounds of these wandering minstrels, half high, and very happy, Carlos and I moved into a slow tango and close embrace. One commented- Ah tango, and then another said in Spanish that it was wonderful to celebrate such love.

Indeed it was. Straight out of a movie it all seemed. A perfectly magical way to end our trip.

And the bonus was, in the morning when we returned the car to the rental place, they missed seeing the dents which were all together hidden under the mud and bug splatter!

Blessed with this good fortune and each other we shopped a bit in the airport (with strange ceilings), boarded, and headed home exhausted after long lines passing through various levels of security and a 7 hour flight.

Home at last- and we still like each other, though I snipped at Carlos as we lost our way trying to get over the Hudson on Bear Mt Bridge (I did not want to take a ferry). Making it over, we did cool out and get to enjoy more views

Finally we landed up at Hunn's Lake to visit with Susan, Richard, and family, and avoid traveling through the thunderstorms.