on beauty, self, life, and discovery

a longtime pastime, the pursuit and appreciation of beauty in all its various and hard to reach forms has brought me to many wonderful places, and last night, though unbeknownst to me, it brought me to a pool hall in san mateo.

who expects to find beauty in a pool hall? not i, until now.

whilst enduring the worst imaginable abuses of "open mic night", my co-workers (three married, one engaged, and one perpetually single) and I variously observed, appreciated, and ogled a girl who turned out to be no younger than I, though I had estimated her much younger.

a while back, i mumbled something about not knowing yourself until you've put yourself into a situation where you're forced to make choices. hanging out with coworkers in pool halls is a relatively new experience for me. doing so when a pretty girl is present is entirely new.

i like the way i reacted. my reactions were very much in line with my ideal self-image.

you're familiar, i'm familiar, we're all familiar with the phrase "I'm married, I'm not dead," but the attitude of the evening seemed to go beyond that, though my inexperienced discriminators were unable to distinguish between sly jest and actual lecherous interest.

we played 7 games, so we were there for a while. she showed up around game #2, I think.

there was much debate -- though i kept out beyond a nod, smile, or shrug -- of whether her hips were too wide, her bewtocks too meaty, her face too pointy, her hair too... whatever. there was much debate, and amongst the married and engaged, everyone put forth an opinion on whether they'd do her. i was amazed by the narrow defenitions of beauty held by my friends -- though perhaps "fuckability" is closer to what they were judging.

and this is where i was pleased with myself. i'd not been in a situation like this before. yes, unusual for someone of my age, but hardly unusual for me.

i was content to note and appreciate her form, perhaps submit a shy smile. i wasn't going to talk to her. i wasn't going to debate whether her ass was too big or her face not good enough. i wasn't going to imagine doing the deed with her and describe the lascivious details. i'm not asking for a medal.

when, after a couple of hours, her uncle came over and asked which of us was going to take his neice out, I felt rather bad for all the staring my group had comitted. and when my coworkers -- married, engaged, and ogling -- suggested that i, as the unmarried one -- should ask her home (not out), i searched my feelings (as Obi-Wan suggested) and smiled.

I checked again.

And I smiled again.

I was quite simply not interested.

She posessed a unique and individual beauty, like a sunset. Like a well made vehicle. Like bruce lee. Like a guitar player. Like everyone. I appreciate these things and move on. Sometimes I take pictures of them. I don't bed them, or obsess about bedding them.

She had nothing to offer me that I don't already have.

Now, this tale may seem quite pedestrian to you, dear reader. "He went to a bar and didn't talk to a girl he had no chance with anyway. Big whoop," you may think. And that may be the end of it.

But the point you may have missed is this: unlike my married, engaged, and possibly drunken coworkers (though I was no less soused than they at this point), I could entertain no thoughts of sleeping with or even approaching the pretty girl in the bar. My love for W left no room for such thoughts.

it was a swell feeling. not a matter of "supressing my urges" or "staying faithful" or even "shyness". those phrases imply some sort of option. in my mind there was no option. no question of what to do. i know. i checked because i'd heard there was supposed to be one.

I assumed such randy, locker-room impulses were the natural birthright of manly-men such as we. But I checked and I double checked and not only did I not have them, I was a bit put off by the experience of them in my pals.

I explained to them that I was unmarried but certainly not single. I didn't think further elaboration would be fruitful with married and engaged guys behaving as they were.

Perhaps I'm less manly than they.

Perhaps I'm more.

Whichever it is, I'm happy with what I am, and even more happy with what I have.