Losing Yourself...

When I was a freshman in high school,  my best friend told a group of complete strangers that I was out on a day pass from a mental institution.  I had been loudly offering commentary on an invisible figure skating performance in the stands of a baseball stadium, and the strangers had become disturbed and were heading towards park security when Julia intercepted them and explained that I would be retuning to the sanitarium that evening.  Later that same year, I spent two weeks being mocked mercilessly by my friends and family for wearing a woolen glove on my right hand and refusing to take it off for anything, including bathing and writing exams. Then there was the week that I spent every available second transforming a Treasure Troll into an underdog boxer from Philadelphia....

You're probably starting to think that maybe I belonged in a sanitarium.  I could edit my past, and say that I had been presenting an ironic performance piece in the baseball stadium, or that I wore the glove because of a hideous rash or an illogical fear of germs, but the truth is that this strange behavior was all due to the ease with which I lost myself in the people and things that I loved.  The commentary, the glove, and the Treasure Troll were all outward expressions of my extreme devotion to Philippe Candeloro, a charismatic Frenchman who skated shirtless to the theme from Rocky.

As an isolated incident, the Philippe affair might have simply faded into the background of my adolescence to be chalked up to raging hormones or casual drug use.  The problem with that explanation is that I wasn't hopelessly devoted to only Philippe; there were countless others to whom I gave my undying love during my childhood and adolescence.  I was a dramatic, passionate, and high-strung kid, and most often those energies were channelled toward the current object of my affection.

In the service of full disclosure (and no doubt a few laughs at my expense), I present to you a chronological list of my most important exes (complete with YouTube links!):


1984: Boy George
1989: New Kids On The Block 
1993: Bon Jovi
1994: Philippe Candeloro
1995: The Who's Tommy
1998: Rent
2001: O-Town

And then I got a life. Or, rather, I got a boyfriend.  For the first time, losing myself wasn't a solo activity. He and I got lost in each other;  We were working together, sleeping together, and practically living together at times.  Being in love with a real someone was so calm and easy compared to loving the idea of something or someone.  The trick is that when things ended - as they inevitably did - it was also so much harder. Growing out of my love of the New Kids On The Block seemed like a natural progression, and I was free to return to them at will, knowing there would be no hard feelings, only nostalgia for the fun times. Losing my first love was nothing like that: To this day, when I think about Him, I run the risk of becoming caught up in a typhoon of memories that rarely fails to leave me exhausted, sad, and slightly tempted to drown my sorrows in fruity drinks while listening to ABBA.

I've been loved and in love since then, but never with the abandon of that first time.  I can't even count on the one-sided loves of my youth - I don't remember the last time an actor, sports figure, or entertainment product captured me as Tommy and O-Town did so many years ago.  And although the current New Kids On The Block reunion can make me giddy for minutes at a time (Joe still wears the fedora with the top cut out!), even that has failed to spark any serious, old school devotion in me.

Maybe part of growing up is learning not to lose yourself in anything. But that sounds awfully dull, even if it makes life less painful: there's something delicious in surrendering totally to a passion.  So maybe the trick is finding the right thing to lose yourself in.  I hope to find it some day soon...