"BF ISO Love Zombie"

So I promised I’d write Part 2 of the “Ikbal, Lieven, Josie and Madi Story." Wanna hear it? Here it goes.

I’ve been thinking about those two couples a lot since our marvelous dinner party last week. Not just because of the amazing meal, either. Although in a way, the issue of nourishment is relevant to this discussion. In fact, I always think of the words “nourish” and “nurture” when I’m around a couple in a sane, healthy relationship. I know they’re a team because you always get the feeling their energies are so complementary, so in synch, so mutually beneficial, that these two people must feel like they’ve just finished a terrific meal whenever they’re together.

They’re totally stuffed, completely satisfied, and in no need to rush off and do anything else….except maybe fall asleep together curled up in a ball.

I know that’s veering dangerously close into the realm of mushiness, which I vowed I would not do in this posting. So let me get back on track. The main theme of today’s epistle is “focus.” It’s a word I use a lot in each of my journalism workshops. It’s something I try to browbeat the journalists into understanding, that keeping a tight focus on the theme of a feature story is crucial. It keeps your interview questions on track. It keeps you organized when you’re going through your interview notes. It keeps your writing tight and relevant.

It keeps you on point. So when I heard the stories about how Ikbal and Lieven and Madi and Josie became husbands and wives, it made me take a good hard look at my own state of singledom.

You see, Lieven and Madi developed a laser-lock focus when it came to pursuing Ikbal and Josie. You know how they say that men are like taxis, and when it comes to marriage, their light has to be on to indicate they’re available? Otherwise, all the sex and love and money and cooking and great physical beauty, or anything else a woman has to offer, won’t do the trick. A man has to make the internal, deeply psychological, intention-fueled decision that he has met the woman he wants to marry, for whatever reasons, and he has to come to that decision on his own.

When Ikbal met Lieven in Addis, she says her first impression was, “That man is a racist.” He was this big, lumbering Belgian with hair down to his waist and a gruff expression, and though he offered Ikbal an administrative job in the Medecins San Frontieres office there, she almost declined.

Turns out Lieven wasn’t a racist, just kind of shy and quiet. They worked well together, and then the project closed. AS he was leaving, Lieven told Ikbal he might be coming back to Addis, and asked for her contact information. Ikbal was not having any of THAT. Though they had managed to work together without problems, she didn’t want to stay in touch. So Ikbal told Lieven, “Everybody in Addis knows me. My name is in the wind. That’s how you’ll find me.”

Girlfriend pretty much figured she’d gotten rid of Lieven, until he showed up in Addis and tracked her down. He’d visit every few months for a week or so, and she’d be polite and friendly, but there ws still no interest on her part. Then one day Lieven called while Ikbal was in the hospital having some routine tests done. Her mother told him she couldn’t talk because she was in the hospital, without explaining why.

Lieven was in Nairobi at the time. The next day and 3 circuitous flights later, Lieven was at the hospital looking for Ikbal. Ikbal’s sister said, “Now, that’s a good guy.”

Here’s the focus of their story: Lieven wanted Ikbal, and that was that. Lieven even converted to Islam, because he knew Ikbal’s traditional father would probably rather see her dead than to marry a white non-Muslim. Ikbal’s brother flew to Nairobi to check the guy out, almost positive that he wouldn’t like what he found. He came back to Addis and said, “I have no complaints. I like the guy.”

Twelve years later, they’re married with 3 children, and the vibe you get from Lieven is total nourishment. This man has what he set his sights on, and he’s quite satisfied.

Madi’s laser-lock on Josie was about as intense. They had actually both grown up in the same village in Sierra Leone, but Josie’s family moved to Indiana when she was 12. They crossed paths a few times during return visits, because Madi was the brother of one of Josie’s friends. But Josie remembers Madi as shy, quiet, and bookish, certainly not the kind of boy SHE’D find interesting, with her vivacious energy.

Josie and Madi reconnected years later, at a party in Washington, DC. She was working for Voice of America, and he was in school in New York. Josie says they recognized each other instantly, and spent the rest of the party talking. Madi was going to school in New York at the time, and at the end of the evening he announced, “I may be moving to DC soon, and I would like to have your number.” Josie was a bit skittish about giving out her phone number, so she managed to dodge him a while. They separated, and Josie thought she could slip home without giving up the 10 digits. But as she was headed to the car with her friend, Madi walked up, tapped her on the arm and said, “You still haven’t given me your number.”

Josie thought she was being slick by giving him her work number. It was a Saturday evening, and she figured she could at least keep him in check until Monday. But she made the mistake of going into work on Sunday afternoon to finish up a story. The phone rings, and she picks it up as usual, answering with her name. On the other end, Madi says, “So, you gave me your work number instead of home.”

Busted!

Anyway, eventually Madi did move to Virginia, and invited Josie to a barbecue at his apartment. He said his family would be there. Josie shows up at the appointed time, and ain’t no family there. Ain’t NOBODY there but Madi. Now, it wasn’t one of those sleazy scenarios, he just told her to come a few hours before the rest of the family showed up. They talked. And they talked some more.

They’ve been together ever since.

Okay, I share their stories because, as I said earlier, the two men in these scenarios created their own Vulcan mind meld with the women, whether the women knew it or not. Those two guys knew down to their toes that these were the women they wanted to marry, and they pursued it with all the energy, sincerity and creativity they possessed. For them, there was no other possible outcome.

Which brings me to the term “love zombie.” Granted, zombie is not the most flattering description, and in no way am I saying that Madi and Lieven are zombies. But you know how in the movies, zombies are all mesmerized, their arms straight out in front of them, heading straight at a cringing victim with relentless focus? Well, that’s kind of the way Lieven and Madi were with Josie and Ikbal! Not that they were all covered with gore, or missing an eye, or hell-bent on destruction. They just would not be distracted from their ultimate goal, that’s all I’m saying.

Their stories made me confront something very important about myself. AS I look back over my rather dysfunctional, barren relationship history, it all becomes crystal clear. At any given point, I was actually totally unfocused and ambivalent about the man I was with. As I tell people, I could have walked into a room filled with 100 men, and 99 of them could have been slobbering over themselves to get at me, and yet I would develop a laser-lock focus on the one man who totally ignored me.

What does that say, except that throughout my entire adult life I have had absolutely no intention of getting married, settling down, or sharing my life with someone? What does it say when I can recall several men through the years who were probably just as intensely focused about me as Lieven and Madi were their wives, and yet I KNOW I did everything humanly possible to rebuff, discourage and shut down their energy?

So what am I actually saying here? Basically, that I’ve been too damned satisfied to be by myself my entire life, and THAT’S why I’m not married. I’ve been too damned selfish to share my life with ANYONE…husband, boyfriend, booty call, baby---the whole nine. The beauty of getting older is that now, I can acknowledge that as the unvarnished truth, as opposed to 20 years ago, or 10 years ago, or even 5 years ago, when I interpreted all my pitiful attempts at dating as some sort of indictment of me and my worth.

God, I wish I had a dollar for every time I tortured myself for being not smart enough, not sexy enough, not nice enough, not pretty enough to get a man. It was always about me…I was alone because there was something wrong with ME. No man would EVER want me, because I was a loser. I was broken, I was damaged goods. I spent so much time despairing the fact that I would never be anybody’s wife, that I would never ever be able to say the words, “I’ll need to talk with my husband about this and get back to you.”

“My husband.” Two simple little words that seemed completely off limits to me.

But now I realize the real reason I was never be able to say “my husband” was because I just couldn’t be bothered. I was not about to have to order my life around somebody else’s needs or considerations. I was not about to have to ask some man for permission to waste my money on shoes and clothes. There was no way on God’s green Earth that I was EVER going to turn down a chance to travel, to take a last minute trip, to go off to Uganda for 8 months because some man didn’t want to go.

“Cool, stay your ass at home. I’m out.”

I guess this means I’ve been a self-centered loner my entire adult life. And I may continue
to be one. The reality is that, given my propensity for maximum freedom, fun and fulfillment,
I may never get married. But there’s also a chance that one day, I’ll meet someone who’s just as intensely focused on me as I am on him. Everybody keeps telling me that if (they say “when,” but I’m more of a realist) I meet the right man, it’ll hit me like a ton of bricks.

Or, in keeping with the title of this posting, it will turn me into a total “love zombie.” I’m actually kinda looking forward to it.