Is enough ever enough?

I recently discovered the magic that is Mystic Tan – the spray-on tanning system. Years ago, I had tried it, but the experience of stepping into a phone booth and getting sprayed up and down while forced to hold my breath brought to mind images of concentration camps and torture devices.

Thinking it was a bit too traumatic to repeat often, I switched to tanning beds. Why I thought microwaving myself in a coffin was a better alternative, I’ll never quite understand. But, through time, I repeatedly was reminded of the realities of skin cancer and, even worse, increased aging effects that tanning beds caused. With the risk of looking my actual age, I decided to quit tanning altogether and embrace my white, Swedish skin.

This all worked fine and dandy until I was invited to a fancy event. Lambda Legal was holding its inaugural Landmark Dinner at the W Hotel. And not only was this an oo-la-la event at a hoity toity establishment, but as with all events where the majority of the attendees are gay, this one had a theme. All. White. This meant that I not only could not drink red wine at the event, but that I had to do something to distinguish my skin pigmentation from the clothes I would wear. I needed color, and I needed it now. Considering the lesser of two evils, I knew it was time to return to the Mystic Tanning torture chamber. This time, however, I have to say, not only did I brave the spray chamber and love the results, but I started going back for more.

Today, when I walked into the Palm Beach, no one was at the front counter. After a quick 30 second wait, the sales clerk on duty came around the corner, and immediately, I diverted my eyes. It was uncomfortable to look at him. He wasn’t deformed. He wasn’t scarred. He wasn’t missing a limb. He was drastically over tanned.

I realize any good retail establishment will encourage their employees to use and promote their product while on duty and in their everyday lives. That’s why the CEO created the employee discount. You go to the Gap, you’ll see the sales clerks wearing Gap clothes. You go to Taco Bell, you’ll see a few people working there who look like they eat it often. But, at this Palm Beach Tan with this sales clerk, it wasn’t just that he had stayed out in the sun too long or spent too much time in a bed. He tanned too often and too long. I thought his belt buckle should say “Samsonite.”

That’s when I realized I had to be careful. I liked Mysticing and the way it made the flab look toned, but if I grew to like it too much, I’m going to look like a carry on (I’m too short for a checked bag). Clearly, this guy, he didn’t stop. He thought he needed more. He looked in the mirror and although he saw his skin the darkest brown the crayon box could possibly offer, he thought, “I’m still too white.” None of his friends stopped him; there was no tanervention. He didn’t believe he was tan enough, and no one corrected him.

It’s not just him, and it’s not just tanning. I thought about other people and other areas of life… from tanning to travel, from swimming to sex, from eating to exercise. Do we know when to say when? Is enough ever enough?

Thinking about this guy and his tandiction is like me and sushi. Take me to a sushi restaurant, and I’ll clean them out of every roll. Roll after roll, I pick, I dip and I swallow. Every time, I admittedly reach a possible off ramp on the highway to Sushitown. I see a way to stop where I am. There’s a hint, a whisper of being full. Pleasantly pleased with what I had without a pressing need for more. But, then, something louder, overpowering and almost primal calls out for more! “More Yellowtail!” “More Salmon!” “More Spicy Tuna!” The brief moment of being satisfied has passed with the knowledge that there is MORE sushi out there to be had. I can’t possibly give up on my quest now when there is literally an ocean of fish out there ready to be served!

I have wonderful friends but rarely do they stop me. In the past, they have not intervened to remind me that while there are in fact oceans full of fish, I do not have to eat them all by myself… in one night… at one meal. More often than not, they allow me to over order and over indulge. I’m not sure if they merely are amused by my almost magical ability to make the sushi disappear or if they are counting down the days before I balloon up and they can start showing ‘before’ and ‘after’ pictures to the Guiness Book of World Records. (Do they still MAKE the Guiness Book of World Records or is that now more like the Guiness Website of World Records? With everything seemingly going paperless, I wonder…)

The over tanning and the over sushi-ing… these are all fine and dandy. I mean, sure, one can cause skin cancer while the other could quickly lead to morbid obesity. But what I’m wondering now, if we don’t know when enough is enough with tanning and sushi, do we know when it is with love? There are a lot of drugs out there, but none so intoxicating and none so addicting as love. Do we know when we’ve had enough? Do we know when we’ve been given just what we need? Or, are we going to always want more?

I ask for myself and I ask for others because as the famous lyrics of Joni Mitchell say (which I may not have quite understood until this moment), “I’ve been on both sides now.”

There have been times, rare as they may be, but there have been times when I’ve been given a choice—held the upperhand in the relationship. As we know, the upperhand in any relationship typically is the person that has the least to lose. The one who cares the least of the relationship’s outcome has the most power. Once every blue moon, that person has been me, and before me, available to me, has been a guy who was vying for my affections. And, since I’m typing these words at home alone on a Saturday night, clearly, I’ve passed on those opportunities.

For the most part, I stand by those decisions. Thinking of who those guys have been and what they were offering, I think the option of sitting at home alone on a Saturday night is a wiser choice. For the most part, that is… Tonight, I think of one, one of the ones that was at a period of time available to me, for me… right now, he and his boyfriend of three years are dining in a café with friends in Paris. I think of another who is out celebrating the birthday of a friend and is loved by many, successful in his career, creative, beautiful and fun.

For some reason, the ones I’m thinking of now, the ones that ‘got away’ were not enough for me at the time. And, while at the time, my line of thinking reasoned it out, at this exact moment, I can’t provide one good reason that I ever let either one of those guys go. Whatever didn’t seem right at the time seems perfect to me now. Sure, I can console myself now and say, ‘well, if it had been meant to be, I’m sure it would have happened, no matter what I did.” But, that’s a self-pacifying lie, like its okay to put on a little holiday weight because the winter clothes cover it up; just something to make me feel better. Hindsight is truly 20/20, and today I clearly see that I fucked up.

I know what I did because I see it from the flip side. Other guys (and I’m sure girls, for those that play on that team) make the same types of choices and decisions. They see someone and decide for whatever reason that they aren’t enough. Yes, everyone needs to have standards. Yes, everyone needs to have a checklist and ideas of what they want. But through marketing and movies and being forced fed how to define beauty and relationships, have we lost the ability to know when enough is enough? Am I subconsciously waiting to meet someone on the Empire State Building while a Harry Connick Jr. song places to a swell?

It’s hard to believe with a resume full of one after another of failed starts to relationships that I will ever have what I desire most. My track record is not good. While there have been the blue moon moments when I’ve been able to make the final call, 9 times out of 10, its the other guy who has the upperhand. So far, everyone has been consistent and passed on what I have to offer. Being that I am the common denominator in this scenario, it calls for some introspection for which I have a natural gift. I look and see what I’m bringing, and I scratch my head out of confusion, like a mathematical word problem on the SAT. I don’t get it.

Here I am: I’m in my thirties. I have a successful career. In my spare time, I do well using talents performing in theatre. And, in the meantime, I bought my own house, keep in pretty good shape, and managed not to develop any sort of chemical dependency that requires rehab. Sure, I realize I’m getting into my upper-thirties. No, I’m not the tallest person on the planet. Yes, that cowlick in the back of my head may be developing into a bald spot. No, my house isn’t completely furnished, and I can’t afford a maid or lawn service. But, all in all, I don’t find the package I have to present revolting.

Yet, for guy after guy, that’s not enough. Like me and sushi, the thought all the other fish in the sea is too overwhelming, and they want more. The truth is, I do it with sushi and men, so why shouldn’t they? It’s nothing I can judge. It’s just something I have to learn and deal with and rise above.

How wearing it can become as I try to remind myself everyday that what I have to offer (and what each person has to offer) is amazing—amazing in its uniqueness, in its rarity, in its imperfect perfection. How draining it can be to maintain hope that a man will truly sign up for the deal I’m offering… although almost every guy that I have ever gone out with since I jumped into the dating pool 8 years ago has found me in some way lacking.

Even more exhausting is when I focus on measuring up to others’ expectations, be they realistic or impossible. Like a kindergartner in a college class, eventually, in some way, I’d fail every time. Trying to be taller than I am, richer than I am, tanner than I am, stronger than I am, funnier than I am, smarter than I am, younger than I am… is impossible.

There is no more than what I am. And for someone, somewhere, someday, that is going to be more than enough.