The Cha Cha of Relationships

13 April 1994 and 19 May 1994
Lincoln, Nebraska

I came across a couple more letters that I wrote to Paula N. before I moved back to Illinois. They’re a matched pair of letters, with one referencing the other. At that time, I had been trying to get more social by going to a Unity church – which focused on quiet, meditative spiritual growth. They were kinda like the Unitarians but also like the Quakers. It wasn’t unusual for people in this group to discuss spiritual development and human relationships.

Anyway, a guy from the church who teaches stuff about human relationships, talked to me about “the cha cha of relationships,” in which one party approaches the other and the other party steps back in reaction and defense. Then, when the person who had reacted recovers from the other person’s perceived invasiveness, he or she approaches the other party and this time the other person reacts and draws back. It’s the CHA CHA OF RELATIONSHIPS. Get it? I have some more text I can use to write a little more – a bit more eloquent – but this is the basic back-and-forth dance.  . . .

"One person is attracted closer and closer to the other person until the first feels that he or she is starting to be absorbed into the other's personal sphere. Person #1 freaks out at the potential loss of his or her self-identity and then breaks off to recover sense of self. 

After some recovery, person #1 might then get interested in person #2 again and try to get close again, but person #2 might think, by this time, that he or she doesn't *want* to get close again and so may back off . . . etc. etc.

Thus, we dance the Cha Cha of Relationships.

Work?!

One time in the 90s I went to a publishing conference at which I met a couple who worked at the same publisher. They went on and on about how great their jobs were, and wasn't that what it was all about?

I thought, "These people are nuts!"

References:




https://markmanson.net/passion

Hands across the Decades

October 16, 2019
Bloomington, Illinois

I was working at the library today in a quiet area when a stealthy patron suddenly exclaimed, "Clarksdale! Doesn't get any more authentic than that!" It was a fellow traveler from the 60s and early 70s stopping to comment on my Ground Zero T-shirt. "Have you been there?" I asked the white-haired and -bearded geezer.

"No," he said, "but years ago I hitch-hiked through Mississippi and I know about the blues tradition around there."

"Through *Mississippi*?" I asked. "When was that?" "Oh, about 1974," says he. He was from Tulsa and he described hitching through Mississippi as a long-hair beardo, which was quite a surprise since at the same time I was hitching through Oklahoma and getting refused service at cafes and restaurants that forbid both long hair and beards.

He allowed that he'd had a few scares but no actual harm came to him, and I averred the same and threw in one touchy moment when several good old boys picked me up somewhere between Indiana and South Carolina. They assured me they would take me to my destination, but one feller, the loud-mouthed driver, said he had to go home first and pick up a "nigger whacker" - an axe handle. I became decidedly nervous after that, but I didn't see a way to back away from that particular peer group. I hoped to be rid of them soon enough, but for the time being I was stuck. We left the interstate and went to the guy's home, where he picked up the aforementioned axe handle. To show what a great weapon he had, the guy swung it and smacked it against a stout tree. Thereupon the handle broke and flew into a million pieces, which scattered everywhere and set off a round of raucous laughter from the guy's buddies. If only such a fate would befall the sons and grandsons of those same guys today.

Suzanne Nightmare

September 17, 1992
Streator, Illinois

Extremely disturbing dream that begins with a false start: Suzanne comes to see me in Streator, where there are only me, Pat, and Mike. She comes to see me in my room, and we go at each other intensely for a bit, then have to break it off because Pat is coming. Suzanne vanishes or goes to another room. I'm sitting there literally half-cocked: i.e., halfway through ejaculation. Pat assumes I've been beating off and makes some very frank reference to it, like "Think I'll go beat off myself."

Heavy and Cool

I relate a lot through music, and I wish I could upload a playlist to see if anyone relates in a similar way. For example, this one: https://youtu.be/zAVU3LNzsrw?list=RDzAVU3LNzsrw. My playlist includes The Traveling Wilburys, Bob Dylan, the San Francisco 60s groups, The Byrds, Tom Petty, and many others.

I am a bit of an entertainer and a hambone. I'm also relatively new to town after being under the radar for a couple of years and also being kind of stove up. (I was in a bad car crash about 50 years ago, and it caught up with me a couple of years ago.) I'm still pretty stove up, but I am looking to rebuild myself physically as well as spiritually. If our trips happened to coincide somehow, that would be great, but it certainly doesn't have to be heavy all the time - sometimes it can just be cool.

Some people say life is a highway, and I hope to be back driving down that highway soon. (I don't drive because of a problem with vertigo, but I'm hoping to get back to it soon, as the problem appears to have been a fluke.) I also don't relate to sports, so now I've really let it all out, like Neil Young in "I Believe in You."

I live in downtown Bloomington within walking distance of some nice places to eat and drink. I'm also into going to movies and am looking for a date with whom to see the latest really good movie or just have coffee or dinner or talk. I am a big talker and I like women who like conversation and who are smart and witty. A bonus is someone who knows what "heavy" means and also knows what it means to get your sh*t together (both back in the day and throughout your life). This is *not required,* but being able to get it together is always a great trait.

I love to talk with people and learn their life stories. But specifically I want to enjoy the company of a nice low-maintenance gal and learn all about her - where she's from, where she's gone in her life, what kind of experiences she's had.

Take care and Peace Out until we meet again.

Around Town in the Star City

Summer 1993, Lincoln, Nebraska

On my way to the library I passed a cute little Harley-Davidson sitting in someone's driveway. It was like a big Harley-Davidson but in miniature: very unusual. On the way back I saw a guy in bib overalls whom I took to be the owner of the bike, so I stopped and complimented him on the bike.

He got a kick out of my interest and proceeded to tell me how he had rebuilt the bike from a jumble of parts ("It came in a box," he said) over the past few years. He did a great job because the thing looked brand-new. I lost him on a few arcane details, but basically the bike - a Harley-Davidson Sprint - was built in Italy in or around 1967, at a time when Harley was trying to compete with the huge influx of small Japanese bikes and their ilk. The guy used the term "entry-level" to describe the general type of bike, but while other companies produced "step-through" scooters and whining 2-strokers, Harley simply produced a scaled-down version of a Hog.

The guy says his Sprint is the only one he's seen in Nebraska, and he plans to "take it up to Sturgis" and show it off.

AIN'T GOT NOTHIN' TO SAY

October 2, 2019 - Bloomington, Illinois

I was out on the street, looking good, etc.. when I saw a guy at the street corner holding up a sign. I figured he was asking for money or maybe going somewhere, but as I crossed the street and looked to read the sign, I couldn't make out anything.

So I asked the guy what his sign said, and he held up the sign - a piece of cardboard - to show it didn't have anything on it. I said, "How come your sign is blank?" He replied, "Because I AIN'T GOT NOTHIN' TO SAY."