Shadow Boxing

During the early 90s I frequented a dance club downtown. It was one of the few cool places to go at the time. This morning I woke up remembering a particular guy who was also a regular there. I don't recall his name, but I could see him very vividly in my mind's eye. I was quite intrigued by him, and he was oh so mysterious. Tall, good-looking, great style, and was a great dancer. He did a style of dance -- shadow boxing -- that I'd only seen at the raves in London up to that point. No one else in Nashville was doing it. I was mesmerized.

One night I gathered the courage to talk to him, totally prepared to swoon. I told him I liked the way he danced. I'm not sure what I was expecting . . . but, when he opened his mouth, he COMPLETELY destroyed the illusion. I was devastated. And, much to my dismay, he was happy to talk to me! Between the thick southern drawl and his inability to actually make interesting conversation, I watched my cute little fantasy evaporate before my eyes.

It was just like a scene out of a movie. You know, the one where the Adonis emerges from the pool all shiny and muscular and luscious, he smiles as he saunters by and you are in heaven. Then he utters some kind of unholy squawking and it becomes clear the steroids shriveled some really important stuff. Or, the man at the end of the bar, who is so divinely coiffed, perfectly put together, seems like a successful professional. When he buys you a drink, you're elated, but a few minutes into chatting you up he reveals he's a bigoted pig who is living in his mother's basement. And, for all my male readers out there, it's the super model gliding through the crowd at a party. She chooses to land next to you and suddenly you feel you can conquer the world . . . until you discover that her vapid nonsense is sucking the air out of the room.

The thing is, there are certainly things that are universally appealing. We will daydream about them. We are sucked in by these fanciful images. We concoct a god-like entity as we elevate them higher and higher on a pedestal in our imaginations. We think beauty will permeate every cell of their being, and it usually doesn't. Our delusions tend to come with pesky, unexpected caveats, which are disappointing at best, earth-shattering at worst.

It's our ignis fatuus. The words themselves have an elusive, fantastic quality about them, don't they? It means: a deceptive goal or hope. Also described as "a light that sometimes appears in the night over marshy ground." Evokes a lovely, etherealness, doesn't it? BUT, here's the other part of that definition -- the one that shatters the illusion -- it's usually caused by gas emitted from decaying organic material. The ground farts and it makes pretty fumes. How's that for destroying the dream?

So, here's the message: The next time you catch yourself being overcome by the elusive chimera you long for from afar, remember it's a facade. And, the next time you find you've been comparing (and belittling) yourself, wondering why you can't achieve that impossible standard, make a closer inspection. There are cracks in that veneer.

We all idolize, fantasize, and idealize. It's natural. Just don't let it take away from your reality.