Computational failure. That's what it feels like.
Imagine observing an automobile unsuspectingly being driven along a nondescript street, and suddenly, it begins to fly. Soaring higher and higher into the sky as if by some unseen nonrational force that affects nothing else around it.
When I overheard the two guys from across the gym floor agree upon the statement that one had so confidently purported, just seconds prior, that's when the emotional laws of nature, for me, went all Calvin & Hobbes.
And I'm still feeling incredibly helpless whilst attempting to process that experience. Again, computational failure.
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Most Samson men are heterosexual. And that's because Samson Society serves as a microcosm of the world around us. It has been my privilege to effectively & efficiently befriend countless of these heterosexual guys, throughout the past almost ten years, via the Samson Society landscape.
What exactly is the Samson Society landscape?
It's the Neutral Zone to use a Star Trek term.
Essentially, a space where antagonism / posturing is neutralized because once inside, specific identities are dramatically downplayed therein. Think of it as the space between two separate realities / territories. A space that offers safety in spite of it being almost incomprehensible unless one's entered into it (by means of personal crisis).
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Throughout the many years I've strength trained at our local Y, there've been plentiful days when a lovely fellow (female) gymgoer has been on the floor too. I first remember seeing her working alongside a private trainer, but when that trainer relocated (years ago), this middle-aged goddess continued forward on her own, discipline intact.
The only words we've ever spoken to each other - through the years - have been formalities. Nonetheless, it's obvious there's a mutual respect / comfort-level there.
I suspect that she's single. Perhaps divorced. And overall, compared to most every other female that graces the space regularly, this woman is, hands down, one of the most physically / emotionally attractive. There's a certain youthful poise that radiates from her as she goes about her workouts confidently.
We'll call her Gina.
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Back in 2004, I had the good fortune to travel with a lighting (fixture) representative and his best friend (an electrical engineer) to San Francisco, CA. This was a combination perk / educational trip funded via the lighting rep. As an architect / specifier, I'd been on numerous trips like this one, though with neither of these two.
The night before we were slated to leave (to return to Jackson Metro, MS), the three of us went out for an early dinner. It was a beautiful California evening. In spite of this, it seemed to quickly morph into an awkward meal due to me being a teetotaler / uninterested in sports, etc. As such, the dialogue eventually waned before turning stale. It didn't help matters that we'd been together for +/-3 days straight (this was before the smartphone revolution) there in that idyllic California city.
As we eventually made our way back to the hotel for an early-to-bed closure to the evening / trip, I could sense more and more strain between myself and these two besties.
Why?
They both desperately wanted to conclude our trip via a redlight district, guys-night-out finale, yet they didn't feel at all confident confiding in weirdo Rob regarding.
Now, this was never voiced by either (married) man, but it was apparent (I'd known both of these work colleagues for many years). For they were red-blooded, hetero-masculine males (who were far from home). Plus, the night was young.
I found myself between a relational rock and a hard place. Was I behaving like a true friend / being true to myself or simply a redneck fuddy duddy?
Ultimately, it wasn't the thought of me being surrounded by naked women (strip clubs) that was off putting. Not at all. It was me being present, within said strip clubs, with my two, dear hetero-masculine Mississippi friends and having to computationally endure their reactions therein sans my brain exploding. The thought of having to endure that is what turned my stomach.
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Mid-week last week was when the aforementioned eavesdropping occurred. One of the two (male) gym-goers who was involved in the exchange was very familiar to me, and, just so you know, both had been mulling around the gym floor for a morning class to soon start.
What was said when they spotted Gina checking in at the front desk wasn't at all hetero-masculine unusual. The men both agreed wholeheartedly (with sly grins on their faces) at the declarative statement, immediately upon its release. Even I, as the overhearer, found it not at all out-of-line with my limited understanding of hetero-masculine reality.
Nonetheless, I'm still unable to process it completely. For seeing that car simply go from roadgoing to airborne continues to befuddle me. What the fuck just happened?
It's shocking to me how much I exist within my own reality. We all do really. Isn't that unnerving?
I'm hoping to lean on a dear (hetero-masculine, non-Samson) friend, later on this week, for assistance in understanding where I should go from here.
Ultimately, what naturally went down relative to this beautiful female's presence last week, there at the local Y, offered me a glimpse of something I'm so not familiar with.
I'm truly at a loss at this point. And, at the same time, so very grateful. For I want to understand that which doesn't come instinctual for Rob.
Why?
I have a deep respect for normalcy and hetero-masculine men in general. Thanks be to God that planet Earth isn't populated solely by Robs (it would be far less interesting).
