Wrote a song for everyone, but I couldn't even talk to you

I’ve found that sometimes words can serve you well,
But sometimes words can go to hell
For all that they do
-Harry Chapin, “Story of a Life”

I’ve been thinking lately about that great Hollywood standby, the Super-Dramatic Heartfelt Speech that saves the day. Political junkies like me dream about such moments in real life, in which a leader throws caution and focus groups to the wind and says what’s really on his or her mind, i.e. Hugh Grant in Love Actually or Michael Douglas in The American President, or for that matter Ralph Wiggum as George Washington in my favorite Simpsons episode. (Remember The Mediocre Presidents? Just think of what the 23rd century’s Matt Groening will have to say about George W.M.D. Bush!). Did you ever notice, though, that they are always moved to their moment of eloquence only because they’ve lost the girl, or at least they think they have? Misery breeds creativity, it appears. Draw your own conclusions!

Yes, of course, I arrived at that rather obvious realization through rather unpleasant personal experiences that I am now going to whine about on the Internet. Hey, you know me.

Those job interviews I was so looking forward to in the last post? I nailed ‘em. Well, one of them didn’t go so well, but four out of five is nothing to be ashamed of. Yes, I picked up a fifth interview at the last minute – it was quite a week. Of the five, there was one in particular that was of more interest to me than the others, and that was perhaps the best of the bunch. (Friday morning, I got an e-mail from that company saying I passed the interview and will be considered for the next stage of the process!) Right to the bitter end, I wasn’t sure just how I was going to approach some of the subject matter at hand, much less how I was going to do it in French. But practice makes perfect, and sometimes so does agonizing about it down to the last moment, and sometimes so does a long weekend in Paris. But then again, what is a long weekend in Paris not going to fix? I’m not saying I expect to get offered every job for which I interviewed, but I do know when I botched an interview, and this time there wasn’t a complete dud in the bunch. I was hot.

Not so elsewhere. It’s funny how articulate you can be with something that is ultimately only mildly important (sure I care about how I’m going to pay next year’s rent, but a person should not be his or her job) and yet you can be perfectly hopeless at the very same time about the things that really matter in life. If I understood why, well, I wouldn’t have talked my way into Capitol Hill and Yale and teaching in Taiwan (without any experience in teaching English or speaking Chinese) and business school (with extremely little private sector experience)...and still be single at age 34.

Of course, part of my problem there is a rather naïve belief that romantic dilemmas can be solved through some clever oratory. That’s strictly for Hollywood. In real life, you feel love or you don’t, and all the eloquence in the world won’t help you with someone who is smitten with someone else. I’ve been in that position before, actually – where a truly nice gal had a crush on me, but I only had eyes for another, never mind that she couldn’t have cared less about me and was spoken for in any case. That was quite a while ago, but lately I’ve been recalling all too clearly how it didn’t matter how many wonderful things Barb said or wrote (and she did plenty of both) or how many nasty or selfish things Allison did to me (and she did plenty of both), love was blind.

It still is, as I have been very painfully aware in the past few weeks while playing the role of the nice guy. Hopeless romantic that I am, I held out for a happy ending quite a bit longer than I should have. But to no avail. That’s what happens when someone like me falls for another hopeless romantic, I suppose. Sensibility doesn’t stand a chance, and sometimes neither does integrity. One can pontificate to his or her heart’s desire about true love and caring and commitment and friends first and such, but there’s a reason why all those things are love song clichés. And baby, sometimes love just ain’t enough. But hey, it’s only words, and words are all I have, to...well, to console myself that I’ve been through worse before and this too shall pass.

At least now it’s all over. No more false hope, and no more distractions as I concentrate on where my life is going next. I always have put my career first in the past anyway, and this is no time to change that. Some of us really are just better off on our own in this world, and I’ve known for years that I’m one of them. For a few weeks there, I forgot that. Which means, as a very wise man once sang, it’s my own damn fault.