Marry Him?

After finishing her book, I googled "Lori Gottlieb" to find more material on her, and I discovered that she wrote a book ten years ago called Marry Him: The Case for Settling for Mr. Good Enough.

Uh-oh. 

It was based on an article she wrote for The Atlantic in 2008: 

My advice is this: Settle! That’s right. Don’t worry about passion or intense connection. Don’t nix a guy based on his annoying habit of yelling “Bravo!” in movie theaters. Overlook his halitosis or abysmal sense of aesthetics. Because if you want to have the infrastructure in place to have a family, settling is the way to go. Based on my observations, in fact, settling will probably make you happier in the long run, since many of those who marry with great expectations become more disillusioned with each passing year. (It’s hard to maintain that level of zing when the conversation morphs into discussions about who’s changing the diapers or balancing the checkbook.)

Et tu, Lori? 

Reading on, I realized the issue is based on what "settling" actually means. I can't quite relate to this, because I'm actually a very boring person who just wanted to set up house and I was on the search for someone to set up the house with. Note, it was easier said than done. 

She's making the claim that a steady, reliable guy who will be a hands-on father and care about your feelings are a dime a dozen, and women primarily search for the sweep-me-off-my-feet dashing cool dudes who will only divorce them for younger models. Generalization much?

I came across this article in Jezebel magazine from earlier this year rehashing Gottlieb's book. The author, Tracy Clark-Flory, is annoyed how women are broadly painted with the "unrealistic expectations" brush, "Meanwhile, men come under no meaningful critique for superficiality or entitlement in the realm of sex and romance. They are largely the sane observers of women’s irrational whims." 

Gottlieb considers herself guilty of "unrealistic expectations." She ended up becoming a mother via sperm donor as she had no man on the horizon. Spoiler, her most recent book, published nearly a decade later, opens with her boyfriend breaking up with her when she thought he was "The One." It makes me wonder if she believed that if she was willing to try hard enough then a relationship would work. But it takes two to tango, and don't we know that. 

However, Clark-Flory does note that the publishers insisted on this eye-catching title, while Gottlieb's point was more about prioritizing character in a life partner as opposed to his looks. 

Clark-Flory had broken up with her lovely boyfriend when she was 26 because she wasn't ready for a forever commitment. She had fretted if she had made the right decision, and did end up marrying later on. But she concludes: 

Now that we’re here, many of us have realized, if we hadn’t long ago, that marriage isn’t a guarantee of happiness, it doesn’t automatically secure an equal partnership in parenting, and it’s often only a temporary state.

More to the point: no predictive storyline emerged around pickiness or settling, because there are no rules to this game. An individual woman’s marital status at any point in time is often chiefly representative of the unpredictable lives many of us are now allowed to live.

THERE ARE NO RULES! I really thought I was not being picky about dating (even though people said I was). I went out with guys who did not fit my criteria. And it didn't go anywhere until Han came along, who, I might add, had also been accused of being "picky."

I was not looking for Brad Pitt. Other single women I know of were/are not looking for Brad Pitt. But they still had a tough time. Because finding the right partner is not always easy, nothing to do with "settling." 

A woman may find her Brad Pitt immediately, and happily spend the rest of her life gazing at his pretty face. A man may be "searching for a heart of gold," but he's "growing old." Finding the right person, for anyone, no matter what the criteria might be, is not always a simple matter "reasonable criteria." Sometimes it doesn't work, no matter how much compromise is on the table.

"It is Kindness I Desire"

It once happened that Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai was leaving Jerusalem with Rabbi Joshua, and they witnessed the destruction of the Temple. Rabbi Joshua said, “Woe to us, for the place where the sins of Israel were atoned for has been destroyed.” Rabbi Yohanan ben Zakkai said, “Do not be bitter, my son, for we have another form of atonement which is as great, and this is gemilut hasadim; as the verse states, “for it is kindness I desire and not burnt offerings” [Hos. 6:6].

I looked up this story after hearing it on one of the Tisha B'Av shiurim, surprised that it isn't part of the standard curriculum (Kamtza and Bar Kamtza, a very confusing story that is hard to translate usually gets the glory, for some reason). 

Hashem says that He wants us to be kind. That's it. To atone for our sins, all we gotta do is be nice. 

Isn't that awesome?

Indian Shidduchim

I don't usually binge tv. I pride myself that I don't binge tv. 

Then I binged (to the best of my mothering ability) the end of Season 3 of "Offspring" (so much suspense!). Last week I clicked on "Indian Matchmaking" (pretty lame title, I know) and plowed through 8 episodes in 2 days. 

It's supposedly a reality show, but we all know reality shows aren't really "reality." Content is carefully edited for maximum impact. Drama is often cultivated to keep things interesting. 

There also begs the question as to what sort of person wants their lives broadcasted on international screens. 

The show centers around Sima, who claims to be "the top matchmaker in Mumbai" (can that be verified?) and her travels around the world to meet various clients. 

A common complaint by Sima is how her clients expect too much, they want the perfect person that doesn't exist, that they must be more flexible and willing to compromise. Take Aparna, who is located in the US. 

Aparna, initially, doesn't come off as very likable. She's not a cheerful sort of person. Sima notes her "negative vibes." Aparna tells Sima what she's looking for, and frankly, I didn't think she was being unreasonable. She even says what she doesn't need—funny. 

Sima then sets her up with someone who barely meets her criteria—probably another way to generate some drama. No surprise, Aparna is not interested in him. 

As the show goes on, Aparna becomes less grim, more smiley, but no less specific about what she needs. Why should she be? She actually knows herself.

Then there's the India-based Akshay. He makes it quite clear that he's not interested in marriage yet, but his mother wants him wed. Akshay is obviously dragging his feet while his mother is pulling the ol' Jewish guilt about her blood pressure. 

It's kind of painful to watch Akshay in action, as he is not a natural in front of the camera. Listening to him attempt to make conversation with a girl is torturous ("So, do you like dogs?").

Then Nadia. Nadia's "issue" is that while she's ethnically Indian, her family has been living in Guyana for generations (they are now in the US). Some Indian men find that off-putting. But she's definitely who everyone (the audience) has a crush on—she's  gorgeous (those highlights!), bright, and bubbly (but definitely not flaky as she is an event planner). She's totally the opposite of Aparna. Yet Sima sets them both up with the same guy, Shekar. In fact, the same three American based candidates keep popping up. It makes you wonder how many singles Sima actually knows in the US. 

So here's the kicker: none of the people featured on the show actually ends up with a relationship. The one engagement, which is loftily proclaimed, was called off yet that detail was not included in the show (thank you Internet, for the rebuttal). 

Han was wondering why they call it "arranged marriages" when it's really not anymore. It's like us, shidduch dating, which connotes a matchmaker. Akshay had a hundred girls suggested to him, but he rejected them for nebulous reasons (because he doesn't want to get married yet! He said so!) 

It was an easy, relatable watch, but the end point is the same for us: a matchmaker is not a miracle worker. She is not an all-knowing being who can magically select one's soulmate from the mass of humanity. She flings spaghetti against the wall to see what sticks. 

So so familiar . . . 

Physician, Heal Thyself

I finished "Maybe You Should Talk to Someone" by Lori Gottlieb, a therapist who finds she needs therapy. 

She brings sagas of her own patients (with details carefully changed, she makes a point to say), along with the story of why and how she became a therapist. 

So Lori has a life event that she finds herself unable to recover from. She is so unmoored that while she gives wise guidance to her patients' crises, she is otherwise lost. She decides to go into therapy. 

What I found fascinating about this is that if a patient came to her with the same issue, chances are she would have been able to help. But she was helpless when it happened to her, requiring an outside perspective to get her over the rut. 

If a therapist, who has been trained for this, is unable to guide herself, how much more blind are we? 

It takes so much to be self-aware. Ma would say that we have to be able to look at ourselves in the mirror, but from the side, using peripheral vision. We can't be expected to handle ourselves head on. It's too much. 

Oscar Wilde said, "To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance." Only the most obvious narcissists can manage to do that, I think. But coming to know oneself is a nobler enterprise, as self-improvement is a lifelong project.

To Be

Shabbos was drawing to a close. I had coaxed Ben to eat his supper, belting out zemiros to keep him content. I changed him into the new pajamas I had managed to snatch in the madhouse that was Costco, the beautiful shade of blue contrasting with his tanned feet.

The day had been warm and humid, but a pleasant breeze had begun to whisper through the trees, the sun no longer glaring as it slid lower in the sky. I decided to give Ben his pre-bed bottle outside in the fresh air. (He would spend the whole day outdoors if he could.)

The moment was perfect. 

Ben removed the almost-empty bottle from his mouth and emitted an dainty burp. 

I smiled at him adoringly. 

Then there was geyser of white liquid shooting out of him. I was hit! It was followed by his dinner, Greek yogurt, compote, and chia seed pudding, all still very recognizable, but now smelling distinctly of vomit. 

He blinked innocently, while I remained frozen for a few seconds in shock. I was dripping in projectile. 

Han and I then stripped the poor stinking fellow, who seemed oddly unperturbed at losing all his stomach contents. It did not go well when I tried to force some Pedialyte down his throat; he is surprisingly strong for a baby.

I then bundled him into bed, worrying at his refusal to drink, and spent the night tiptoeing in repeatedly to check on his breathing. 

I wondered—it had been a perfect moment. But I couldn't keep that moment? Seriously? The moment had to be literally puked all over? 

I then remembered "Bikeish Yaakov leshev b'shalva." All Yaakov wanted was to live a life of peace. But that's not what this life is about. Peace is for the next world. Here, we must suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. 

Well, I suppose I could handle a stomach bug.

I called my sister in a panic on Motzei Shabbos; she poo-pooed my worries. And he was bright-eyed by morning, ready for another perfect moment.   

The Cruel and the Thoughtless

When the libraries are shut down, it can be a lifesaver to bump into a reader whilst out for a stroll. Then you can negotiate an exchange. I got my hands on Magpie Murders by Anthony Horowitz. 

I'm not usually into whodunit books (I prefer to watch them, courtesy of BBC via PBS). But Horowitz was the writer of Foyle's War, one of my favorite series (Foyle is a detective solving murders in England while World War II rages).  

Magpie Murders was quite gripping, to the point I shamelessly let Ben play with my phone (in airplane mode, so he can't call Luke's doctor friend) so I could finish it. 

There were two quotes in there I found intriguing. 

One: 

In fact, Fraser had often heard the detective remark that there was no such thing as a coincidence. There was a chapter in The Landscape of Criminal Investigation where he had expressed the belief that everything in life had a pattern and that a coincidence was simply the moment when that pattern became briefly visible.

The detective, I should note, is a Holocaust survivor who is a professed atheist. 

Two: 

OK, I don't have the actual quote, because I failed to memorize the correct page on Shabbos. I didn't have the energy to start rifling through a few hundred pages to locate it, and then my sister-in-law popped by and she desperately needs books the way I do, so I handed it off. 

So, as best as my memory can summon it: Cruelty and thoughtlessness have the same results. 

Or something like that.   

Han was telling over something he had read by a black Jewish woman. She is constantly hurt by people who make assumptions that this is her first time at a frum simcha, or that she is a guest as opposed to part of the family. She has gone home in tears more than once. 

But here's the thing: I'm FFB, and I've gone home in tears from people's comments as well. You don't have to be obviously different to suffer from stupid assumptions or unfiltered words. 

There are those who are malicious, and will tear others down, knowing what they are doing is mean. But most people are simply thoughtless. There is a direct line between their mental dialogue and their mouths. They don't intend to be hurtful. They may even think they are being considerate and sensitive. 

I've been guilty of that too. I recently made a friend (I know! Me! A friend! Call the papers!) and I have, in our last few meetings, consistently screwed up. I made assumptions, and said mindlessly hurtful things because of that, thinking all the while that I'm so nice. 

And I've been doing it over, and over, and over! Yes, I do have baby brain and about a year's worth of sleep debt, but even so, couldn't I use that filter thingie that I wish other people would use? 

I'm a card-carrying grudge-aholic. I still think about the time in high school a girl said to me, "You're tall," and I said, for lack of a better response, "Thank you," and she said, "I didn't mean it as a compliment." It was almost TWENTY YEARS AGO. Like, GET A LIFE, PRINCESS. 

I have to cut other people slack, because I wish they would cut me slack. It's hard to make a response in the socially acceptable time frame after properly thinking it through from every possible angle. I think, "Yup, sounds good!" and then as soon as I have uttered it, think, "OMG, did I do thaaaaat?"

Most people are clueless, not malicious. Most people are trying their best, and we really don't know what burdens other people have. 

So when this COVID mishagaas is over, and I finally socialize again, someone will say something to me that will upset me. If I am aware enough, I will remember that I am not perfect either, and may actually let it go.  

Getting Better

One of the basic tenets of Judaism is teshuva, repentance; that (nearly) all sins can be washed away if we truly regret our actions and work on becoming better. 

But cancel culture doesn't allow for redemption. If you make a mistake, you are a horrible person and deserve to be driven out of society. There is a desert island with your name on it, bub. 

According to this article by Ginia Bellafante, Abraham Foxman (the former director of the Anti-Defamation League) advocates the Jewish way. 

“Now what you’re seeing is one wrong picture, and you are finished for life,” Mr. Foxman told me recently. This is an outcome he finds regrettable. “All my life I was lucky enough to fight prejudice and anti-Semitism,” he said. “If you don’t believe you can change people’s hearts and minds, why bother? If you are not going to try and change hearts and minds, why are you in this business at all?”

For Mr. Foxman, the “business” to some degree involved fielding calls for help from lawyers and agents representing celebrities and other public figures who had incurred the world’s wrath with lapses in sensitivity — with dangerous remarks or derogatory caricatures about Jewish people. When those crisis managers sought an E-ZPass to exoneration — a perfunctory public apology, a donation made to the appropriate charity — Mr. Foxman was not eager to intervene. But when someone showed a willingness to do the hard work of self-interrogation, to delve into the history of oppression and marginalization, Mr. Foxman was there to take the lead on resurrection.

“You have to be able to restitute,” he said.

 I was thinking just the other day (before reading this article) what if someone held something against me for something I said when I was 5, when I was 10, when I was 15, when I was 20, when I was 25, when I was 30, I would be mortified. And sorry, so so sorry. I say stuff constantly that I regret, that came out wrong.

Some people are clueless. Some people are unexposed. Some people might say hurtful things from a place of hate, but as long as his pitchfork stays in his garage he shouldn't lose his job, nor should his children suffer for his words. One day, he could get better, as long as hate isn't visited upon him in return.

What I See

A few weeks ago, a frum periodical fielded a question—the writer's friend is "a bit much," and she finds her too draining. Can she withdraw? The magazine didn't really answer the question, I think. 

Two letters were printed in the following issue. One said that the writer should be honest, tell the friend her feelings, and the friend will totally understand (not likely, in my opinion). 

The other letter decried the modern mantra of "honesty" and "self-care" at the expense of hurting another, which she says is the antithesis of our faith (that's leaning more to my view). 

This example of how two people can look at a situation so differently has made me realize (yet again) how we cannot judge. People just see things from different perspectives. One viewpoint may be right—for that person. Another viewpoint might be wrong—for that person.  

For me, I have never learned properly how to keep a not-good friend at bay. I am not proud to say I may have resorted to ghosting for lack of better options. I could not be honest, because in essence I would be saying, "I do not enjoy your company, as there is something wrong with your personality." Sometimes two people just don't jive, like in shidduchim. 

Nowadays, perhaps I would try to make some boundaries. Pick up the phone when I feel like I can handle her, then say that I don't have much time to chat, ten minutes max. I thought it was amazing when I discovered I could say, "I'm sorry, I have to go," without giving any reason whatsoever.

Perhaps because it's the miserable time of year, but I've been thinking a lot about sinas chinam and whatnot. 

We all aren't the same. We all see the world differently. That's what happened by the Eitz HaDaas. Before, we could only see truth and falsehood, which are objective; now we see good and bad, which is subjective. My good is your bad; your good is my bad. 

It's not about honesty. It's about tolerance. It's about kindness.  

Gratitude in Covid

"So what are these for?" I ask over Ben's hysterical wailing. 

"This one is for meningitis, and this one is for pneumonia," she explains, applying a band-aid to the pinprick on his upper arm. "He's going to be crabby the next few days—you can give him Tylenol."  

I was awash in awe and gratitude, even though he was takka crabby that night and by the time I thought to give him the Tylenol, it was waaaaaay past my bedtime.

My niece was asking me about vaccinations—she didn't quite understand how they work, and I did a pretty clumsy job trying to explain, referencing cowpox and smallpox and Spanish flu and milder forms of flu that prepped the older population to withstand the onslaught. 

I was talking to Ta about Ben's shots, and his response was the same as mine. "It's amazing, when once 8 out of 10 children died," he said. 

"I know, isn't it?" 

I didn't want to terrorize my niece, but all those diseases we don't even process anymore—polio, smallpox, diptheria—they once killed so many.

Nowadays, it is understood a child will live. Then, they believed a child could die.

It is understood that there will be a vaccine developed for Covid; we won't be living in fear forever. We know how to overcome it. Once, they had no comprehension of basic hygiene (see "The Doomsday Book" by Connie Willis).   

Obviously, Ben cannot understand why masked demons are terrorizing him with my permission, and I can't help but recall its example as a mashal—sometimes we have times of pain, because Hashem says it's for our best.

Blessing vs. Control

"My friend married at 40," she was saying over the phone. "She says he was everything she could have wanted, he's her Mr. Perfect, and definitely worth the wait. But," she sighed, "she doesn't have children."

"But who's to say," I replied, "that if she married at 30, she would have had children?" 

The phone went silent. 

I try to think if I would have married "someone" just to have children. It sounds rather bleak. Especially as there are no guarantees that one can actually have children. 

Children are a blessing, the same way marriage is a blessing. While some insist marriage is a choice, my own experiences has made me believe that it is a blessing, meaning out of one's control.

Articles that shake their heads over the "crisis" talk about "the no" as though it is the end of everything. "She said no," they gasp, "and then he got engaged to someone else!" Well, yeah, that's bound to happen at some point. I don't think she expected him to stay single forever pining over her. 

But if he doesn't get engaged to someone else . . . I mean, we've all heard stories, right? Days later, weeks later, months later, years later, they marry. 

OK, so what's my point? It's not in our control. Not the spouse, not the kids. I've started to hate the word "hishtadlus," a term initially meant for parnassa that was applied willy-nilly to dating, because I CAN'T CONTROL WHO SHOWS UP. Suddenly everything is hishtadlus: research is hishtadlus, singles events are hishtadlus, dating online is hishtadlus. That doesn't make sense.

The joy of being religious is the belief that I am part of a greater plan. I am part of the story, not the storyteller.