Monday, December 22, 2008
Lowered Expectations
The improv comedy show Mad TV used to have a running skit called Lowered Expectations. The funny part was not the bits that went with it, of the cast impersonating social “losers” talking into the camera for a video dating service. Rather the real funny was the opening visual of an overweight, badly dressed couple walking hand in hand along the beach, complete with stumbling in the sand, under the strains of the cheesy Low-ered Expect-a-ations.
They were supposed to be funny and you were supposed to laugh at their weight and their clothes and that awful hair, but the real funny part was that at some point in time, they were walking hand in hand on a beach at dusk while you were probably sitting in your house, probably alone, on a Saturday night watching that moment replay over and over again. The feeling of superiority nonetheless managed to keep me laughing while shoving microwave popcorn in my mouth and so I am here to try to redefine lowered expectations for myself and whoever is reading this.
My mother and aunt both taught mentally handicapped children for many years and my mother remembers one couple she knew, both who were of slightly diminished mental capacity, that seemed much happier to be together than anyone she had ever know. Considering the divorce or just plain ‘never get married’ rates in my family I am willing to believe this wholly unscientific hypothesis that true happiness might just be in direct relation to a persons mental capacity. Do not get me wrong, I am 1) not claiming that there aren’t “normal” people out there with happy, wonderful relationships, although I do not know them personally or even through rumor. 2) I am not claiming that all mentally disabled people are happy, how would I know that? 3) I am not claiming that I am a brain surgeon or even that much smarter than the average person on the street. I am fully aware that a lot of my intelligence comes from the fact that I am nosy and devour information almost constantly. In fact, at 28 years of age, I am content to believe that televisions and radios work because of magic, and I am not kidding about that.
I say all of this to say that sometimes I find myself wishing for slightly diminished capacity, the desire to find joy in the small things that the rest of us “clever” people overlook. In my head that translates into the ability to believe that every day can and will be new and exciting and I think that if I wasn’t this “sharp” or “intelligent” or really just “neurotically savage with my thoughts” that perhaps I too might have a better grasp on happiness. Maybe even the opportunity to stumble down a beach with someone who wants to hold my hand, rather than griping to my girlfriends about my perpetual state of singlehood.
There is something grand to be said about satisfaction in simplicity, about being comfortable with the world the way it is, not the way you want it to be. I am not romanticizing the mentally disabled, well, not right now I’m not. I am merely wondering if perhaps those who are more accepting of people in all of their capacities and more open to forming bonds might just have a leg up on my discerning, constantly evaluating self-aware self, who usually manages to evaluate herself into weekend nights in front of the TV, or in my case the laptop since I have no TV.
Digression aside, my life is not as bad as all of that, not when I am being optimistic and telling myself it isn’t. However, I will admit that true relationship where those involved want to spend time with each other without the usual distractions, of televisions, cell phones and the internet, is a thing of illusive wonder to me, a simple concept that floats just out of my self-actualized reach, disappointing and surprising me with that disappointment each time. So much so that the vision of two people walking alone together beside the grand expanse of ocean and sky, at dusk no less, even slovenly dressed and stumbling, seems to me like heaven. Frankly if I have to make the transition from quote-unquote normal to get that, then I am more than ready to lower my expectations.
They were supposed to be funny and you were supposed to laugh at their weight and their clothes and that awful hair, but the real funny part was that at some point in time, they were walking hand in hand on a beach at dusk while you were probably sitting in your house, probably alone, on a Saturday night watching that moment replay over and over again. The feeling of superiority nonetheless managed to keep me laughing while shoving microwave popcorn in my mouth and so I am here to try to redefine lowered expectations for myself and whoever is reading this.
My mother and aunt both taught mentally handicapped children for many years and my mother remembers one couple she knew, both who were of slightly diminished mental capacity, that seemed much happier to be together than anyone she had ever know. Considering the divorce or just plain ‘never get married’ rates in my family I am willing to believe this wholly unscientific hypothesis that true happiness might just be in direct relation to a persons mental capacity. Do not get me wrong, I am 1) not claiming that there aren’t “normal” people out there with happy, wonderful relationships, although I do not know them personally or even through rumor. 2) I am not claiming that all mentally disabled people are happy, how would I know that? 3) I am not claiming that I am a brain surgeon or even that much smarter than the average person on the street. I am fully aware that a lot of my intelligence comes from the fact that I am nosy and devour information almost constantly. In fact, at 28 years of age, I am content to believe that televisions and radios work because of magic, and I am not kidding about that.
I say all of this to say that sometimes I find myself wishing for slightly diminished capacity, the desire to find joy in the small things that the rest of us “clever” people overlook. In my head that translates into the ability to believe that every day can and will be new and exciting and I think that if I wasn’t this “sharp” or “intelligent” or really just “neurotically savage with my thoughts” that perhaps I too might have a better grasp on happiness. Maybe even the opportunity to stumble down a beach with someone who wants to hold my hand, rather than griping to my girlfriends about my perpetual state of singlehood.
There is something grand to be said about satisfaction in simplicity, about being comfortable with the world the way it is, not the way you want it to be. I am not romanticizing the mentally disabled, well, not right now I’m not. I am merely wondering if perhaps those who are more accepting of people in all of their capacities and more open to forming bonds might just have a leg up on my discerning, constantly evaluating self-aware self, who usually manages to evaluate herself into weekend nights in front of the TV, or in my case the laptop since I have no TV.
Digression aside, my life is not as bad as all of that, not when I am being optimistic and telling myself it isn’t. However, I will admit that true relationship where those involved want to spend time with each other without the usual distractions, of televisions, cell phones and the internet, is a thing of illusive wonder to me, a simple concept that floats just out of my self-actualized reach, disappointing and surprising me with that disappointment each time. So much so that the vision of two people walking alone together beside the grand expanse of ocean and sky, at dusk no less, even slovenly dressed and stumbling, seems to me like heaven. Frankly if I have to make the transition from quote-unquote normal to get that, then I am more than ready to lower my expectations.
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