Into Darkness

One time, I dated a girl that did something I find quite comical…she had a tattoo in white ink on the back of her neck.  Not that a tattoo on the back of the neck is a bad thing, but what it said eventually struck me as odd. We had been talking for a couple weeks and had gone on a date or two when she told me about her tattoos over a mid-day texting conversation. I asked her what her tattoo said, and she replied without explanation, “Dans Les Tenebres”.  I remembered back to my high school foreign language requirement and recognized it, of course, as French.  In an attempt to appear intelligent and impressive, I messaged Mrs. Powers, my old French teacher and told her about the tattoo, hoping to tell this pretty girl that I did, in fact, know exactly what her tattoo meant. Mrs. Powers, was concerned to say the least. She explained that the literal translation was “Into Darkness”, however, when the word “Tenebres” is used in that context, it refers to a shadowy, evil darkness – rather than a literal darkness, or a figurative unknown. I instantly feared her, and her potentially evil tattoo. On the other hand, she was really really pretty so I gave her the benefit of the doubt.

Turns out, she did mean it in the figurative, adventurous sense rather an evil manifestation of where she stored her broom and cauldron. However, because of her beauty, and my determination to not strike out in the first inning, I did not burst her bubble (but I did secretly hold it against her).

Her unintentionally evil misquote of a French phrase did actually get me thinking about the phrase itself, “Into Darkness”. I became intoxicated by this concept of a different realm, manifesting itself as different versions of ourselves.  That’s what I want to talk about today. So thank you, intentionally nameless girl who I didn’t end up with because you cannot build a relationship on attraction alone, thank you for giving me this week’s topic. I can start now.

Last week, my close friend Bryan Betz appeared as a guest writer on this blog. If you haven’t yet read his post, I encourage you to. In his post, Bryan pointed out something quite humorous: when you get married, you’re actually marrying upwards of six people: your blushing bride, and her whole family.  As I get older and date more, I start to notice that when I start dating a girl for any period of time, she’s dating ten people.  Ten versions of Ben.

As I mentioned multiple times in other posts, I’m a firm believer that people change when they are in any impactful relationship. We grow for the better or worse, shaped by our experiences and mistakes (usually more by our mistakes). Every time a mistake is made, or a feat is accomplished – you create a new layer of yourself, carefully piled on top of who you already were.  I guess the kids are calling it “baggage” these days. I fear that term does not do who we are justice.

Very few people think far enough ahead to do or not do something to the benefit of their future husband or wife – rather, we live impulsively. We create these new versions of ourselves, clothed in the mistakes of our past, living exclusively in darkness.

As soon as you reach your hopeful stopping point in the form of that pretty, sun-kissed, sun-dress draped, cowgirl boot-wearing bombshell, you date her. And she dates you…and all the versions of you.  All the versions created by your mistakes. Maybe not right away, but eventually she’ll have to deal with your long list of sexual partners and your emotionally stunted views of long-term relationships because of your inability to escape from a high school alpha-male mentality. She will have to deal with the drugs, the alcohol – and all the tales that stalk you from some shadowy place you hope to not return to.  

We all know it to be true. A virgin cannot date someone with 15+ sexual partners and not feel inferior, insecure, or inexperienced.

Someone who does not drink cannot date someone who struggles, or has had struggles with drugs or alcoholism and not feel a slight tinge of superiority. 

Your layers of personal shadows and tragedy lead to layers of darkness being placed jointly on the couple, eventually distorting the original layers of the things we love: the attraction, chemistry, and connections that define two people as compatible.

So what do we do? We all have these layers that we want to shed (people who think they aren’t defined by their past need to understand that they are, in their own words, essentially infants), but we cannot.  Does that mean we should quit and not trudge forward? It’s an easy solution, and not one that I necessarily condone, or condemn. If you feel like you bring too much worldly darkness to the table, maybe you should be alone, honestly.

On the other hand, some of us want the sun-kissed, dress-draped, boot-wearing bombshell, despite our layers. So I suggest you pick yourself up by your own bootstraps, and go get her…

Heh. If only it were that easy. Guess what? Virgins don’t have to date those who embrace promiscuity. Teetotalers do not have to date a person with problems with alcohol, and drugs, or even someone who has struggled at some point in history. If your bombshell is one of those people, then you might just  be out of luck.

I could be a sexual deviant. I could be a alcoholic, or addicted to narcotics. I could be emotionally stunted, horrible at commitment and loyalty. I could be abusive. I could be all of these things, and so could you.  You could carry around layers and layers of darkness, that lurk in the alleyways that you pass as walking hand in hand after your first date at the museum.  As one of these people defined by these haunting inequities, I want to share a dream with you. A dream of how I wish things were…

I dream that honesty actually transpired, often. I dream that vulnerability existed in both men, and women. I dream that once comfort is achieved, we could share our layers, share our demons. I dream that as we walk down the brightly lit street together, passing dark alleyways, we would walk back to back, vigilantly scanning the darkness for each other’s demons – never letting them approach.

I dream that we would follow each other, back to back, into darkness.