The first few moments after I decided it was a worthy exhibit I thought, "Hey, this is a decent place to bring my next date. It's a nice walking neighborhood, there are some good cafe's nearby, it's lesser-known as far as galleries go, and... yup, it's cheap." Not too formal of museum, either. Perfect place for my witty remarks coupled with meaningful insights and pensive yet distantly mysterious gazes. Check and mate.
But I've been down this road before. I've taken the girl to the symphony, the ballet, the Shakespeare production, the art exhibit. They always claim to like that kind of thing. And then they always get bored. So then the date deteriorates from there. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a voice starts telling her that I'm a dullard and I'm mildly annoyed because I want to spend more time with whatever piece of culture we're visiting. (I'm also a little resentful of her as the local representative of the pervasive attitude of the modern mind that sees "boredom" as a negative and seeks external stimuli with tenacity.)
This also happens with whatever friend I bring. Quick exemplary story: I, along with a small group of friends, went to a play a few months ago that another friend performed in. Afterwards, while everyone was offering their "interpretations" of the play, saying things like, "it was light-hearted" or "the acting was really good", I offered an existential interpretation and said it reminded me of Waiting for Godot (as un-pretenciously as I possibly could). Everyone looked at me like I had just said a non sequitur like, "Citizen Kane is the best movie ever." I slinked away.
Yes, I can hear you saying, "Bring a different girl" or "Get different friends." But that's not the problem. Our friends are who they are. My friends are my friends and the women I enjoy dating are the women I enjoy dating. Going to art museums is not my whole life. If it were, perhaps I would make different choices.
The point is this: some things in my life I simply enjoy greater than the people in my life enjoy them. Therefore, I must go alone if I'm to properly experience them. And therein lies the dilemma: which do I choose? A personal, moving experience with art or a personal, moving experience with romance / friendship? I keep learning over and over again that the two cannot be fully satisfied simultaneously. But to choose one leaves me wanting. Almost like a piece of my soul is forgotten.
So most likely, this weekend I will exercise, watch the NBA Playoffs with friends, and then quietly get in my car and go visit this gallery alone. If the fates are with me, I may find a lady up there who had a similar weekend, but I highly doubt it. Still, I can't help but shake the feeling I was left with at the end of Into the Wild when Emile Hirsch's character wrote the line below in his notebook. It haunts me and will haunt me no matter my choice - whether I sit in that gallery alone or if I walk though it with a woman while making a few wisecracks; I wouldn't be alone in the later case, but as we leave too early for my tastes, I know I will still be staring in the eyes of the photographs that tell me I should be staying.
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