Confidence (2003)

It was always about confidence.

There are a lot of clichés that apply to my life in recent months, but the most appropriate one had to be the one about hindsight. You know the one I‘m talking about.

What I can see clearly now was how my lack of confidence had really kept me uninvolved in my own love life. How my (what bordered on) self loathing had kept me out of the game for years. It wasn’t my massive weight that kept me single all that time, though I’m sure it would have played a decent sized role if I had ever put forth any effort. It was my own awareness of and the insecurities about my weight that had done me in.

I remember once I had a boss who told me that, “Reality is ninety-eight percent perception. It‘s not what’s actually there … it‘s what you think is there.”

That’s probably the wisest thing a coworker has ever said to me. It didn’t matter weather or not my being overweight would have kept me single. Maybe it did. Or maybe it didn’t. But I always believed that it would … so I never even allowed myself the chance to find out. Never put myself out there because I was so sure I would be rejected.

By not putting myself out there and taking a chance I didn’t have to deal with the reality of why women weren’t interested in me. And more to the point - I wouldn’t have to deal with the reality of why I was so unhappy with myself. I could wallow around in my own false sense of contentment.

So instead I decided to play the part of being every girls “best friend.”

For all of these women I could be the comic relief. I would be the shoulder to cry on when their defective relationships with prettier (i.e.: thinner) boys weren‘t working out. I could bear the weight when these jerks didn’t come through in one way or another and I just happened to be available to pick up the pieces. I found myself always there for them when they needed me. Quick to joke that their problem was that, “they just hadn’t been dating me.” So sure that with my ability to cater to their every whim I would be sure to make them (and in turn myself) happy.

I hate to break it to you ladies, but weather you know it or not you’ve known a guy just like me at some point in your life. You know that super nice guy that always seemed to be around when you needed a friend. Let me clue you in on a little something. That guy really, really, really wanted to fuck you. I kid you not.

But in return for this friendship I would settle for a little harmless flirtation at work. And of course these women would manage to keep me just out of reach when it came to being anything more than friends. Always too busy to do anything for the few weeks they happened to be single. I was relegated to the status of “the best guy ever” and then they would go home to some jerk who was ten times worse than the guy before him.

But hey, he had a motorcycle. And … you know … he looked good in his truckers cap (or trendy chain wallet, skinny tie, polo shirt with a “popped” collar, low slung jeans, or wait … no … he was probably in a band. I swear to you they are almost always in a band.)

But I wasn’t bitter. Honest. I swear.

But the truth is that it wasn’t these women’s fault. It was nobody’s fault but my own. I allowed myself to be treated that way. My self esteem was so low that I figured it was better to be there for them. And I suppose that I always held out some misplaced hope that if I made myself always available for them that they might be able to see past my appearance to see the real me.

The flaw in my logic there being that the real me was in fact a doormat that allowed myself to be used by women on a daily basis. And I’ve learned in the most painful way there is that trying to do nothing but please someone is only going to inevitably drive them away. No matter how good your intentions are. What’s that cliché about killing them with kindness? You know I think I have a better understanding of why death is referenced there …

And of course we all know the old cliché about where nice guys finish.

Maybe I don’t need to be a nice guy. But I do know that I do need to be a good guy. A decent guy. I grew up a large part of my life exposed to guys who weren’t so decent all the time. I’ve seen firsthand the kind of emotional (and far too often) physical damage that these types of guys (not men) can inflict on women. I have stories that would make you ashamed to be a part of the same species as some of these “winners.”

But even with all that I still hold out hope that this cliché isn’t always so true. I know several (and by that I mean five or six) women who have somehow managed to avoid all of the garbage out there and settled down with truly decent men.

Maybe it’s just that women want to bone (all class aren’t I) the jerk … but they know he’s not who they’ll end up with. I have this crazy idea in my head that eventually these women figure out what’s important in a relationship. They come to realize that they don’t have to be treated like they (too often) allow themselves to be treated by so many of these losers.

But I digress.

I think another issue I had was that I saw things too often in black and white and not in the shades of gray that exist in real life.

I’ve spent a lot of time wrestling with being a nice guy. Worrying so much about being seen as an asshole that I would be too conservative. I had this thought that all women (by default) would assume that all men were (naturally) terrible people right off the bat. So I would overcompensate by being the nicest guy I could. Saying nothing offensive or being too opinionated so as not to be seen as anything other than the best guy ever. With this newfound twenty-twenty vision I know this almost certainly made me uninteresting and worse still … it probably made me pretty boring more times than not.

But the thing is that I like to think that I am a nice guy. I am coming to terms with the fact that I have to not allow myself to be such a doormat to the women I allow into my life. I am figuring out the fine line between being nice and being a sucker.

But in the end, for me, it comes full circle to this idea of self confidence. I’ve had to almost admonish myself for thinking I am anything less than handsome. I have turned my looks into a joke that only I laugh at. And after a time I notice I’m the only one laughing. So slowly I might start to think that maybe I am an alright looking guy. And that false confidence has slowly turned to real confidence. And now I sit back from time to time and wonder to myself, “Am I desirable because I look better than I did before? Or is it that I don’t doubt myself like I used to?”

And to tell you the truth … I don’t think I really care what the answer is anymore.