Angus Tongue

Before I came to realize that online dating slow bleed drips life from me, I gave it a go with a few half interesting prospects. How else are single people supposed to meet in a big city? As a natural introvert, I still haven't satisfactorily answered that question for myself, but I have to believe there is something better than finding "interesting" people through an an impersonal platform where you can present yourself in any god-forsaken way. It's a medium ripe for abuse, many times over two-timing, and in a very real sense, grossly emblematic of a throw-away culture.

It's, 'ah well, on to the next! Plenty of other amazing people out there.' It's such a catch-22, for the truth of the matter is, most of us long for connection, but at the same time delude ourselves into thinking that quantity and variety of selection will give us an endless stream of dreamy potentials to entertain us. We have endless options, and most of us use, abuse, rinse and repeat.

And as an incredibly feeling four, I could use apps for save a short time until my insides hurt from loneliness, comparison, and a deep hopelessness that I would never ever be known for my genuine self.

All that said, however, by way of introduction, for I was on such an app procured date about a month or so ago.

The fella was perfectly fine. Clean cut, suit, nice smile, pleasant, intelligent, and in finance. Often the type you find on a dating app in New York City as most are unlikely to find dates through their workplace or their off-time, since insane work hours are often the norm. 

We chose a Japanese Sake Bar. A few awkward laughs and introductions are exchanged; a few commonalities found. I'm charming, of course. A glass of wine and hors d'oeuvres are chosen; a very pleasant standard first date so far.

The hors d'oeuvre arrives. It's angus tongue. We look at each other, grin and shrug. We're both down to trying something new.

I pull the chopsticks from their paper package, break, and rub them together to smooth the upper edges. I gently and firmly pick up a thin slice of tongue. It's generously and delicate browned. I look it over for a moment, surmising as to its taste. Based on the look and smell, I'm expecting beef. All my senses are pointing to and expecting beef.

It did not taste like beef.

At best, the first taste was, chewy. And the more I needed to chew, the more my mind caught up to how much this piece of thing was not what it was expecting, and in hurried consequence, every sensory receptor immediately reprocessed its initial impression.

It was not an enjoyable first bite. But there were still more pieces to go. I had to give it another try. So in to the gullet another piece went.

But this time, my senses were acclimated to the reality of what the tongue actually tasted like.

I chewed, tasting the chewiness, the brownness, the meat's unique flavor, the chives, the squeezed lemon. I was able to evaluate the thing itself, as it inherently was, on its own merits. Because, whether I liked the tongue or not, I could value it for what it was, and not what I thought it should be.

My initial taste was based on expectation. And although I was disappointed, it was only because I had expected that thing to be other than what it was.

But once I tasted the reality of its texture and flavor, the next bite was inextricably more enjoyable, because I was enjoying the thing as it was, not expecting it to be anything other than what it was. Angus tongue.

Expectation is tied to reality. Or rather, the disconnect from reality. It is arguing with reality and saying, you should be this. When in reality, reality simply is. 

And it is the is-ness of reality that is freeing. Because the ability to evaluate things as they are, and not as you would like them to be allows for a sense of honestly and enjoyment that otherwise might be allusive to a controlling, expecting mind.

In many moments when I feel as though I am chief among the pessimists, I was reminded by a dear friend that it is not pessimism, but rather realism that is my actual temper. And these thoughts thankfully bolster that opinion, for I do believe in hope, but hope that is grounded in reality and the stable yet often unglamorous nature of is-ness.

I hope to continue learning how to evaluate life based on its is-ness, rather than my expectations of its ought-ness. Because what life is, rather than our projected expectations of it, might likely surprise us.