Month: November 2008

"…still my guitar gently weeps."

Contrary to popular belief, when I think back to my time spent at the University Whose Name Shall Never Be Said, my memories are primarily positive: the PFLAG skit with Little Amie, the road trips with Ms. Parker, downhill skiing in jeans and sweaters with True, etc. Included among the countless memories is the long-overdue day on which I mastered the world of irony. And in an ironic twist, this triumph occurred not in the classroom for which I was paying (and still am paying) for my education, but rather in the viewing of the film Reality Bites in which a character explains that irony happens when the actual result differs from the expected result. These thoughts were on my mind last night as I reached for the last rock of a rock-climbing route (the white one for the one of you keeping score at home) that had, in previous attempts, proven too difficult for my amateur (read: not-exactly-in-shape) skills. But since irony considers the sequence of events leading up to the result, first let me back up a bit.



When it comes to dating, I wouldn’t exactly place myself in the same league as a Casanova, but I have had my fair share of girlfriends and thanks to the wonderful Internet, most of them have had the pleasure (or pain) of finding their (nick)name in my blog’s print. For the most part, I’ve never considered this a bad thing. However, thanks to said wonderful Internet’s ability to archive everything, I worry that my past is going to start coming back to haunt me. I saw it when one girlfriend became jealous of the Ghosts of Girlfriends Past, and I saw it again when another future girlfriend questioned the sincerity of my words.

It’s an honest question: how sincere could a guy be when his written words from relationships long gone are similar to the words coming out of his mouth in the present? I’m sure you’ll agree when I say that things said in current relationships are almost always unintended carbon copies of past relationship sweet nothings (who can go 15 years of dating without repeating some feelings along the way?). But only the fools stupid enough to blog their feelings get caught duplicating love and heartache. The closed-off souls who don’t share their feelings never suffer this fate. (I suppose an alternative solution is to date someone who shows no interest in your blog whatsoever, but what fun is that?) My most recent relationship, built on a blogging foundation, had to deal with this question of sincerity in the beginning before grabbing the next rock and pulling itself up to bigger and more relevant topics (read: when life gets in the way and love becomes complicated).

It’s hard to imagine what life would have been like had I not walked down Church Street that fateful summer day, and some would argue that it’s not worth the time and energy spent wondering. You can’t change the past; you can only deal with its consequences, make the most of the present, and put yourself in a position to enjoy the future. So regardless of why it happened, what happened happened and, through a series of mostly-related (emphasis on related) events, led me to join a local rock climbing gym to go climbing with my new friend, Mr. Extracurricular. Two weeks ago, I nearly backed out of a planned climb but I didn’t and the rock climbing walls kicked my butt for it by letting me complete only one route. Last week, against my instincts to stay home and not exercise, I went back and completed two routes and vowed to come back to do better. Last night, I found inspiration in the unlikeliest of people and completed six routes and found myself halfway up a route set at the next level.

As is often the case, in between climbs while giving our arms (and for me, my fingers) a rest, Mr. Extracurricular and I talked about the different challenges we face while climbing. I always feel a little embarrassed having a discussion like this with someone whose challenges are tackled on routes that are 3 or 4 levels more difficult than the ones I attempt, but Mr. Extracurricular humors me nonetheless. Now that I’ve learned to use my lower body more and my upper body less, for me, aside from building up strength and endurance, my biggest challenge is simply staying on course. Because multiple colored routes are entwined together on the wall, I often find myself skipping a challenging handhold on my route and instead opting for an easier one not intended for me. And so, if/when I reach the top, I’ve inevitably taken an unintended route. With this in mind, as I grabbed that final white rock, I wondered if I was being ironic. (I think because the outcome and the expected outcome were the same, I wasn’t.)

Although there’s no irony to be found in the rock climbing walls, it could be argued that the last four months of my life have been ironic simply because the expected outcome was never realized. While climbing to the top, I stumbled, the rocks moved on me, I reached for the wrong holds, and now I find myself perched high on the wall on a different course, looking up at a final rock I can no longer see. But I know it’s there and I’m not going to quit climbing simply because my instincts tell me to let go.

It’s hard to imagine how my life will change because I chose to join the rock climbing gym, but as always, I look forward to the climb.

Ready or not…

The Benchly family likes to joke that I’m always the last one to know when something significant happens. For example, Mama Benchly told me once that one of my cousins had had a second child and I was surprised to hear that there had been a first one. And when Brother-in-Law #1 proposed to Sister #1 at a Thanksgiving with both of their families present, I was the only family member not in the room. It was for this reason that I made Sister #1 and Brother-in-Law #1 promise me that I would be the first family member to know if/when they got pregnant. And to this day, I still remember the giddy feeling I felt when my college roommate told me my sister had called and said it was imperative that I call her back that evening, which was eclipsed only by the giddy feeling I felt when she confirmed my theory: she was pregnant with Niece #1.

Ten years after finding out about the inevitable Niece #1, my nieces have multiplied by five, while the nephew count remains at zero, which, as far as I know, is where it will remain. (On a side note, I’ve always thought that if I was ever blessed with a family, that I’d only be able to bless my parents with more granddaughters. Of course, I also thought I was going to play for the Yankees so what do I know about my future?) Like Papa Benchly who has said he wouldn’t trade his granddaughters for all the grandsons in the world, I can’t imagine my life without my five nieces. Though the youngest is not yet two years old, each niece already has an established personality and I love to sit back and watch them learn their way through the world:

Niece #1 is a sensitive and curious leader who wants to love and be loved;

Niece #2 is determined and will make up her own mind about things thank-you-very-much;

Niece #3 is a tireless performer who probably loves to be tickled more than all the other nieces combined;

Niece #4 seems to have inherited traits of both of her sisters (#1 and #2) in that she wants to love and be loved but on her terms; and

I think it’s safe to say that Niece #5 will be running the family by the age of 4.

But as anyone with nieces or nephews will confirm, sitting back and watching is not an option. Aunts and uncles have important responsibilities and, ten years into my role as Uncle Benchly, I’m convinced that mine are to love unconditionally and to tirelessly entertain. The loving unconditionally part was easy: these girls were my first experience with instant unconditional love; they opened their eyes, I was in love. As for the entertaining part, my résumé includes helping Niece #1 learn how to play chess, taking Nieces #2 and #3 for a spin around the pool, watching Niece #4’s already obvious soccer talents, taking Niece #5 on my famous Uncle Benchly Airplane Express (complete with propeller sounds and arm wings), hundreds of board games, countless games of tag, and scavenger hunts, among many other activities including, I’m convinced, the most rewarding game of Hide-and-Go-Seek known to any niece or nephew in the world.

Whenever one or more nieces is gathered, it isn’t long before a game of Hide-and-Go-Seek is suggested. The rules are simple: everyone takes turns and we usually keep the hiding to one floor. So why is this game so rewarding for the girls? Simple. Because once a niece starts counting (hopefully to at least 20), despite my 6’2” Benchly frame, I squeeze myself into hiding spots in which no child would ever dream of fitting. And I stay there. I stay there despite the pain that, at times, has led me to tears; despite having to go to the bathroom; despite my nieces announcing that they’re giving up searching for me; and even despite the times when my nieces actually gave up searching for me. Occassionally, to keep their interest, I’ll wait until they’re in another room and I’ll shout out “I’m in here!” And if I feel that they’ve become more discouraged than a game for children should ever make a child feel, I’ll quietly leave my hiding spot and “hide” in plain view. After I’ve been discovered, I’ll convince the niece that I’ve been hiding there all along.

There have been times when my uncle tricks haven’t worked as well as I had planned (e.g., if Niece #4 or Niece #5 saw me hide and give away my hiding spot by staring at me and giggling), and there have been times when my nieces have shown that they’ve sadly lost some of their naïveté (e.g., when Niece #1 refuses to believe that I’ve been hiding in plain view the entire time), but for the most part, as long as I have enough time to hide, I have no trouble entertaining them with memorable hiding spots. Of course, how many children are capable of counting slowly when they’re overcome with excitement? And so, often times, they’re shouting “ready or not, here I come” when I’m obviously not ready. But as in life, when things happen before you’re ready for them, it’s in how you respond that determines your fate and so, with this in mind, I sprint and leap and shove myself into the best hiding spot available and hope that I don’t stub my toes along the way.

What do we do now?

A week after Election Day, the BBGE gathered at The Dean’s house to discuss Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, the fictional tale of a father and son trying to survive in a post-apocalyptic world. Some sort of event happened an unspecified amount of time prior to the events described in the book, and resulted in the father and son wandering along a road in a desolate world, desperately searching for their next meal. The story takes place over a few months, and through the book’s format, which is essentially one long chapter broken down into short, mostly-chronological anecdotes, the reader can’t help but feel as if he/she is walking on the road alongside the protagonists, living each day as if it might be the last. Through McCarthy’s borderline-monotonous-and-consequently-effective descriptions, it becomes extremely easy to empathize with the characters and the dire situation in which they find themselves. This book affected me by making me believe such a reality was possible, and by forcing me to wonder how I would handle such a dramatic life change. (We all know how much I love change.)

Considering that the recent presidential election was on the liberal minds of all BBGE members, it was surprising when no one wondered aloud who was running the country when this fictional apocalypse occurred. What was not surprising, however, was how quickly any of our conversations that night quickly transitioned into discussions on said election. As you probably imagined, like the majority of my fellow Vermonters, I celebrated Barack Obama’s victory on Election Night, and like quite a few of those same Vermonters, I stayed up late to hear his speech; a speech and a moment that nearly led me to tears. I discovered that among my fellow BBGE members, I was not alone. Obama was an historic candidate on so many different levels and his campaign slogan “Change we can believe in,” though awkwardly phrased, had inspired all of us nonetheless. And with 53% of the national vote, it could be argued that this country mandated that January 20, 2009 be a day of change. Whatever that vague change may be is still undecided.

While President-Elect Obama prepares to transition into the Oval Office of Change, we the voters return to our everyday lives with our everyday problems. The Professor remarked that, like so many others, she felt the symptoms of election withdrawal: the emptiness that can suffocate you when, after an 18-month election season, the need to check election polls and view SNL videos and discuss political gaffes has quickly vanished and been replaced by the realization that as historic as this moment was, none of your problems have disappeared. And it’s in this moment that I’m reminded of the underrated 1972 film The Candidate, starring Robert Redford as Bill McKay, a 30-something son of a California governor hand-picked to lose a Senate election against the popular Republican incumbent. After surviving and thriving in a primary, a debate, and a tiring election campaign, McKay surprisingly wins a close election and responds by asking his advisors, “what do we do now?” In one of my favorite movie endings, the film ends without McKay ever receiving an answer. And I imagine that that’s kind of how this country is feeling right now.

A NY Times critic said it felt as if The Candidate “had been put together by people who had given up hope.” I think it could be argued that Obama’s campaign was so successful because it was aimed at inspiring the very same kinds of people capable of making such a film. After living so many years desperate to believe in a candidate, voters were ecstatic when they finally found someone about whom they didn’t have to make excuses. Gone were the days of “he’s great, but,” and “I like what he says, but,” and “sure, he has the same values, but,” and in their place stood the realization that for the first time in their adult lives, they were face to face with someone in whom they could finally believe. Their Mr. Right, if you will. “He’s great,” without adding a “but.”

But “what do we do now?” When people get what they want, they often wind up wanting more. Who knows why really? Faced with an uphill struggle against two wars, a faltering economy, a record deficit, and hardly any national pride, my guess is no president could achieve instant results, no matter how Mr. Right he/she was, and so I’m curious to see how long the country gives Obama before they start giving up on him. And equally important is how Obama will respond if they do.

But I think that despite this country’s recent history of picking the wrong guy, she finally nabbed the right one this time. And I have hope that he will pass her tests with flying colors. I have to have hope. Because as great as Cormac McCarthy’s story was, no one wants to walk down a road alone.


Benchly’sleeve

As Papa Benchly’s and my checkbook will confirm, nine years ago, I purchased four years of education at the University Whose Name Shall Never Be Said. And though I was paying for the classes, I found most of my education outside the classroom. While a student there, I wrote a newspaper column that often critiqued the university, its people, its departments, and its policies. And though I admit that the column was borne out of contempt for the university, I gradually found myself writing words that I hoped would help positively change the university (while maintaining my often sarcastic tone, of course). In a sense, I was seeking change I could believe in. But as President-Elect Obama and his supporters know far too well, when you criticize something, even if it’s something you love, often times the response is essentially, “if you don’t like it here, leave,” and criticism is most certainly what I received, even in the form of threats (unless, of course, those five fraternity brothers who showed up at my apartment were telling the truth when they claimed they only wanted to talk).

It was in dealing with negative responses to my newspaper column that I learned a valuable lesson in journalism: a journalist should respond to criticism only when there’s a gross misstatement of fact, when questions have been asked of the publication, or when the criticism needs some sort of clarification, lest the journalist risk alienating his/her readers with a most-likely never-ending argument/contest of who can have the last word. Most importantly, the very same freedom of speech that allows journalists and bloggers the opportunity to speak their mind must provide the same blanket of protection and opportunity for those who raise their voice in disagreement. And so, nine years later, these are the thoughts that are on my mind as I sit here and contemplate what, if anything, to do about the recent feedback hand I’ve been dealt on this very blog.

As my reader(s) most likely know, my last blog entry had the honor of receiving not one, but three comments from my fans (just about doubling my fan base), two of which from “Anonymous” could be classified as “Constructive Feedback.” (The other, authored by Ms. Darling, I’ve filed under “Obligatory Adoration.”) For the technologically savvy (read: those who can operate a mouse), I’ve included a link to these comments so that Anonymous’s words can speak for themselves.

For the technologically challenged, I’ll briefly summarize them here: Anonymous was concerned that my written words might be harmful; that good communication required listening, which became difficult when communicating in writing; that if I wasn’t open to stepping out of my comfort zone to listen to what others had to say, it would be because I was afraid to hear criticism or I was simply self-centered; and that if I stopped hiding behind my words, I’d be better off for it. A few days later, Ms. Darling’s sweet (pun intended) blog entry about me received another Anonymous posting, which seemed to be related (pun not quite unintended): “Be kind, and remember that while a second or third life can be lived online, you are still left with the first.”

I have no way of knowing if the comments from Anonymous #1 and Anonymous #2 are related, but for the purpose of this blog, I’m going to pretend that they are. And though I have a hunch that Anonymous #1 wasn’t responding to my blog but rather to my actions and/or inactions in my “first life,” since she claimed to be “offering a response to some of [my] musings,” I’ll treat her comments as such. With that in mind, it seems to me that the argument being made here is that there is a time and a place for a blog, and that maybe Ms. Darling and I have crossed that fine line by speaking openly about our recent dating adventure/challenge, which has occurred fairly close (some would consider too close) in time to our previous relationships. I’m going to resist the temptation to debate who is right and who is wrong; with such an ever-changing technological world, I think even Emily Post would have trouble finding her social etiquette footing. What I will do instead is offer up for your consideration and clarification my brief (read: non-Benchly-like) philosophy on blogging:

When I first started blogging back at the obviously-trademark-infringed,-though-cleverly-named-nonetheless The Continuing Story of Bungalow Benchly, I had a discussion with Ms. Parker about how personal one’s blog entries should be. I don’t remember her opinion on the matter (I think she said if it was meant for your journal under your bed, it shouldn’t be in your blog), but I remember mine as it’s one I’ve tried to maintain to this day: I want to write only about what I would feel comfortable discussing face-to-face with anyone tomorrow. My aim has been to express the same respectful honesty in my happy-ever-after blogs as can be found in my heart-broken-again ones. And though, admittedly, a few of my blog tirades crossed a line (the snoring banishment episode comes to mind), I think for the most part I’ve done a great job. I may be a screenname as I post this, but as Anonymous #2 pointed out, I’m human first and foremost, and so it’s no surprise that I’ve made some blogging mistakes. At the very least, I can say that they’ve been genuine ones with honest intentions.

So to Anonymous #1 and Anonymous #2, thank you for your feedback. I appreciate that you’ve taken the time to read my blog and to consider all that I have to say. And I hope that you continue to do so. If you do, I promise you that what you will find is what you’ve always found: an honest, sensitive, and respectful portrayal of my feelings about my life and the world and people around me. Like my wet sleeves in my “first life,” I wear my emotions in my second life here on my blog. If I’m happy, if I’m sad, if I’m heartbroken, or if I’ve met an amazing woman and am hopeful that things will work out for us in the end, you can rest asssured that you’ll read it here, either boldly stated, or somewhere between the lines.