When a man thinks he got away with something...

What does a man gain when he cops a feel? A moment of titillation, some self-satisfaction, a feeling of superiority over the "hapless" female?

Tell me, because yesterday when I was standing on the platform waiting to board BART, the San Francisco adventure ahead was all I had in mind. I was barely aware there was another human being just inside the doors, waiting to exit. I would not have registered whether that person was male or female if he hadn't grazed my right breast. Not enough to bruise, but enough to get my attention. And then he did a dramatic stop-and-look-back, waiting. Everything in me rose up to make sure I was NOT going to give him what he wanted.

What he wanted was a reaction. Oh, look, haha, I "accidentally" felt you up. Now you're all flustered and pink, and you're looking right at me, and I have your undivided attention. You will remember this; you will remember me.

Except I did no such thing. I didn't look back, I didn't let on I had felt anything. It did not embarrass me—why should it? I did nothing shameful. I exist, I am a woman, I have soft, feminine body parts. They are not for general consumption. They are for me to decide who has access to them. They are for intimacy, not objectification.

When I was a girl in the Philippines it was common knowledge that you had to look out for thigh gropers every time you took public transportation. In my "colegiala" uniform, rosary in hand, wedged in tight three to a bench seat built for two, I was a sitting duck for perverts. Thigh presses against mine, and then predictable as clockwork, hand invades my space. The adult in me wants to go back in time to say to those pathetic males, "Do you know me well enough to touch me like that?" And do you have any inclination at all how a woman gets turned on? It isn't with what you're doing. Go home. Review sex education.

I send this message now to that person on BART: There was plenty of space around us as we both walked through those doors. You were transparent in your desperation. I was not vulnerable. You did not diminish me. You took nothing from me. What you gave up was your own male dignity. You showed me you cannot sustain a loving relationship that gives you enough consensual intimacy.

My body is a temple. That doesn't mean I think of myself as a a minor goddess. It means I have dedicated body, mind and soul to my Creator. The same one who created you. Do not desecrate this temple. Do not desecrate yours. There is always an accounting, buddy. You have lost your humanity already.

On the sex drive, boundaries, and labeling women 'objects of temptation'

In my dream, I am about to get into a tub. Dream dictionary says it could symbolize purification of the soul. Except...the tub is filled with melted chocolate. One interpretation for chocolate is "good health, contentment, a pampered lifestyle." It would seem that purification is at odds with hedonism. But is it really?

The day before, I'd been thinking about the Huffington Post article on VP Mike Pence living the Billy Graham rule (no solo meals with a woman not his wife, and other potentially sticky situations.) One outraged response on Twitter cast Pence's decision as disrespectful to women, supposedly reducing us to objects of temptation rather than equally competent potential leaders of the country.

My thought had been, "Wait, what if Pence—and the others who see the wisdom of setting boundaries—are doing this because they know themselves through and through? This decision is about their acknowledging that the human heart, and, let's face it, the male libido, is like a roaring lion. Better not to wander into a compromising situation in the first place than have to expend so much energy trying to get out of it, justify it, hide it, deny it, etc.

So how does this relate to my dream?

I've long formed the opinion that sensuality and spirituality are entwined. They're not flipsides, they actually arise from the same source. One is not profane, which would make only the other thing holy. (This is the bedrock of my MindersMovers with Marie mission statement.) Imagine my delight when I came across a quote that said, "Sensuality is the fire in you. Spirituality is how you handle that fire." Bingo!

People with high leadership drive also have high testosterone, I read many years ago, in an article explaining why JFK and many prominent figures were philanderers.

So here's the thing: the sex drive is a revved-up engine, and willpower isn't always enough to apply the brakes. Now, if you argue that men and women ought to be evolved enough to be alone together without falling into bed, and that men and women can be platonic friends, you wouldn't be wrong.

But that doesn't nullify the need for boundaries. Some people need them, that's all. Let's not make them (me!) wrong for needing them. These people aren't morally weak or misogynistic. Just realistic, for themselves.

And here's where I tread on possibly offending somebody: Even if you, personally, can work with/be close to a person and not have sparks fly to the point where it becomes risky, other people have a lower threshold, shall we say. We're Just So Attracted. And attractive.

Women are objects of temptation? That's not an insult. Hahaha! I should hope so! Women are luscious as well as brilliant. That's what I teach in dance and yoga, you guys! Yes, DO build a hedge around your marriages. I'd be insulted if you proclaim that I do not appeal to anyone of any gender, that I'm SAFE, that you don't need to worry about me.

Be afraid, be very afraid.

So when men hit on me, I always say, "Sure, if my husband can come."

When being the Disturbed Hibernating Bear is a temporary departure from your constant Zen self

This being married thing is sometimes awfully tiresome, especially when you remember you signed up for a lifetime. Anyone in an intimate relationship lasting longer than five minutes knows this. Often the stress stems simply from the fact that you are a person apart from your so-called better half. There is no getting around this: you are two people with separate brains, each brain infused with muleheadedness. This, despite all the church talk about being one in God's eyes the moment you say your vows. Living with another person day in and day out is the litmus test for patience, altruism and self-awareness. How much does one put up with in the name of unconditional love? How much does one give up of one's preferences? Some days you cave just to keep the peace and some days you let the steam out and scream back. Boy, does that feel good. For about two minutes. The spouse is startled into the re-realization that you are quite capable of pushback.

You wonder how people stay married. You wonder why people even marry to begin with. Don't they know what it can be like? Do they think they're exempt? Are they convinced they're exceptional and able to float above the chaos? Didn't their mothers/girlfriends/sisters warn them? (And you acknowledge with some guilt that you are partly culpable in perpetuating the romantic myth of married bliss, due to those posts when you are at the moment quite adoring of your beloved, and those posts that never get written, a sin of omission if you will, when you are at the moment regretting having said "Yes" that many years ago.)

So let's talk about anniversaries—the announcements of such on social media, the resulting outpouring of congratulatory comments. Thirty years wed, you say? The higher the number, the more we are supposed to be impressed.  Some of us concede during these announcements that the journey hasn't been padded with rose petals. We are being kind, and that kindness comes out as vague references to bumps and snags. We like to think we are not sugarcoating or whitewashing, when in fact we are, but it is called not washing dirty linen in public. This is how we distinguish ourselves from the juveniles who trumpet every dissatisfaction and slight, and change their relationship status to "It's complicated" whenever the SO exhibits a pinprick of insensitivity.

Right about now you are looking for a redeeming factor amid the venting. Maybe if this were a post on Facebook you would be tempted to write "SMH." Maybe you want to, facetiously or sincerely, (either way, infuriatingly) suggest that one could use a glass of wine. And, if you are single, you might already, four paragraphs up, have concluded that you are better off.

I wrote all of the above about a month ago, when I was particularly peeved at the spouse about something I don't even recall now. I have long since simmered down, as I knew I would, and might have forgotten about the draft had I not come across Why You Will Marry the Wrong Person in The New York Times Sunday Review.

There can be no end to our sense of emptiness and incompleteness. But none of this is unusual or grounds for divorce. Choosing whom to commit ourselves to is merely a case of identifying which particular variety of suffering we would most like to sacrifice ourselves for.

In other words, you could be lonely as a singleton or despondent within marriage. Choose your poison. And doesn't that hold true in other areas of life? You could be exasperated as an employee or as an entrepreneur. You could be confused as a believer or as an atheist. You could be indignant as a conservative or as a liberal. You could be deprived of human rights as a citizen or as an undocumented immigrant. You could be exhausted as a dancer or as a couch potato.

The opposite is also true. You could be grateful for income as an employee or an entrepreneur. You could be devout as a believer or an atheist. You could be committed to justice no matter which party you vote for. And so on.

What have we learned here? What pithy summation can we formulate to put this post to bed? How about:

The circumstances may not have changed, but your perspective changes everything.


P.S. I'll paste my reply to Eugenie's comment, below, as I am unable to respond to it under her comment: Lovely seeing you here, Eugenie. Thank you for commenting. I felt so much better after getting all this down in writing and putting some distance between myself and my emotions. Yes, gratitude cancels out resentment.