Virtual Romance, Emergent Life
A couple of months ago, after I updated some of my social media accounts to indicate that I am divorced, several people impersonating famous people contacted. Two of them contacted me through verified accounts on LinkedIn. One contacted me through an unverified account on Instagram.
I chatted with all three of them. The way I saw it, it was no different than chatting with someone on a dating app, although, admittedly, the fantasy of connecting with someone famous was alluring. They all three lavished me with praise. Reading the sweet words was like eating delicious confections without getting fat.
After a couple of weeks of charming flirtation, one of said he had sent me a gift, and he asked me to marry him. And then he asked me to give him money. I looked up the actual famous person he was impersonating—Keanu Reeves—and caught my Cyrano de Bergerac in a lie: Cyrano claimed to be in Hollywood filming a movie, but the real Keanu was in D.C. playing in Dogstar. I haven’t heard from my Cyrano since. I said I would like to stay in touch, that I had enjoyed our chats, and that nobody’s perfect. But the embarrassment must have been too great for my virtual lover.
Then, on Monday, I received the gift from Cyrano: a stuffed toy bear wearing a t-shirt printed with Valentine’s hearts. The package was from a mail-order gift company. The bill-to line was an address in Navarre, Ohio. I looked up the address online and saw a photo of a tiny mobile home on a postage stamp lot with a sparse lawn and no garden. I tried to picture the person who had been texting me from that grim hovel. Perhaps he or she is morbidly obese, horribly disfigured, or profoundly physically disabled. In contrast to those possibilities and that dismal house, my Cyrano had been charming and sweet. I thought of the self-loathing he or she must have felt sitting in that house and pretending to be a dashing Hollywood star meeting with movie crews. The bear with the Valentine’s hearts is an offering from my virtual partner’s inner child to mine.
I offer grace and look for the lessons. I’m attracting people who are not comfortable communicating with me just as themselves. So, . . . in what ways am I pretending to be someone I’m not?
Well, I’m applying for jobs as a technical writer, but I really see myself as a metaphysician. I’m registered with Yoga Alliance as a 200 hour yoga teacher, but I’m not currently teaching yoga. I spent hours preparing for and then giving a talk on Ayurveda at my local food co-op, but I didn’t promote the talk, and only three people showed. I could go on but . . . . oh, I see it. I’m not a fraud in the same way as the men—or women—pretending to be famous men. But I’m not really committing to a path forward. I set out in different directions with one foot on the brakes and one on the gas.
I do want a handsome, rich man to swoop in and sweep me off my feet. I’d love to spend my days living in love and just enjoying life. A friend of mine pointed out last night that maybe these faux rich and handsome men in my life are a sign that the Universe is preparing me for a real rich and handsome man. Wouldn’t that be lovely! But maybe that’s not the message. Maybe to manifest the man of my dreams, I need to first grow up and stand up for myself and make my contribution in the world. Maybe to manifest the man of my dreams, I need to first become the woman of my dreams. Maybe my soul realizes that the world needs me to be that woman.
Maybe. In the meantime, I’ll take support from wherever I can get it. I’m grateful for the sweet words and gifts from the pretenders.
Virtual romance is better than no romance at all.
“Well, it’s not like you’re one thing or the other, okay? There’s still a kid inside but you grow up when you decide to do right, okay, and not what’s right for you, what’s right for everybody, even when it hurts.”
A tangible gift from a virtual lover.