Panus Envy

Dating stories of a thirty(now forty)-something mostly white guy in the Pacific Northwest that make me wish I were asexual, like a mushroom.

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From Pew Research. Being 42, my target demographic is the 30-49 range, or, the least likely population to be single.

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The Fifth Cycle: Exchange

Holden, a hometown friend from the church-volunteer days had also moved to Small Town with Big Tech Business , was over for a drink, and I was telling him about Emma. I remember saying to him that I really think this could be it. "The one". All the little symmetries and coincidences ascribed cosmic significance.

On facebook Emma has said something about me not being "dangerous" enough to attract a mate. I responded that I am rebuilding a muscle car and construct fireworks in my garage, and how much more dangerous should I need to be? She suggested, "maybe get a motorcycle or something"... I replied with an image of a Royal Enfield, "Like this?" to which William (my coworker and founder of the little dance society we were all a part of) replied, "You don't show her a picture of a motorcycle, you just show up one day on a motorcycle." Quite right.

March 2nd, 2011, I stay the night at her house. She casually mentions how, on previous occasions where she broke up with her romantic partners, she would make them a "customary baked good". At the time I thought it was an odd, but kind of sweet gesture. At that time.

March 4th there was a large swing dance at the Big City a couple hours away. We (William, Emma and myself) and many of our friends were going. It's one of those start dancing in the afternoon and go as long as you can well into the morning hours of the next day kind of affairs. I joined up in the early evening and we were all having a great time dancing with our friends. After midnight a blues dance room opened up and started playing some sultry music and Emma grabbed me for a dance there, I remember feeling a bit awkward as, once again, this kind of dance isn't my forte... I tend to do better when there's more structure (read into that what you will). We were closely embracing each other, cheek to cheek, and she, furtively (recall: none of our mutual friends knew we were kinda a thing) turned toward me and gently, and, then increasingly not-so-gently, bit my earlobe... and I nearly melted into the floor, orgasmically.

It was late and I was getting tired from all-night dancing, so I crashed out on the floor of William's room in the hotel just adjacent to the dance hall. Emma and I had our little secret, and we (William et al.) were all still having a great time.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=f1_lJ5PWPLU

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How do you mourn something you can't bury?

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She Gets It

I’m traveling the world at present. My good friend asked where I was and how I was doing and I told her all the places I went and plan to go, but that I’m lonely. 

I get lonely here, but... maybe less so than if I were at home, as there's always something new to figure out or discover... so... as a distraction technique I'd say it's working well.

I guess, what I'd say is that I'm "justifiably lonely"... foreign country, don't know anybody... being lonely here fits the mental model better than it would if I were at home and lonely (which was the case, before... say, through most of my 30s).

She said

I’m sorry for the loneliness. I remember well the feeling. It sits in your heart and goes with you on all your adventures. It doesn’t ruin them by any means but it’s always there and always a bit of sadness. 

Exactly right.

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The Fifth Cycle: Kismet

2/17/11 We have dinner at my house and talk about religion and faith a bit, a topic that will come back again and again.

Not related to the religious talk, but I remember her talking about a crazy game she would play at her uncle’s (or grandfather’s?) house. She said something about cards with bonkers questions on them and how she could never beat him. How she really liked playing. I probed a bit more and then it hit me.

J-bear (my best friend) would always accuse me of cheating. Granted I had heard some the questions before, but I never spent time reading the cards and trying to memorize the answers. I just like to think about puzzles, and really, that’s what this game is, just some puzzles.

I reach into my closet and took Mind Trap from the top shelf and showed Emma, “This game?” Indeed, that was the game she remembered. It is quite divisive, as you can see by the boardgamegeek.com rating. Love it or hate it type. We both loved it.

I, of course, took this to be another sign that we were meant to be together. 

She spoke to me about how she thinks she should not wear so many earth tones and start dressing with more color.

The 20th, I send her this email, which precipitates the following exchange:

Emma, Je tiens à vous prendre pour le dîner. Quand êtes-vous disponible? Cordialement, -[NAME REDACTED]

Emma,

I want to take you for dinner. When are you available?

Cordially, -[NAME REDACTED]

The 21st

[NAME REDACTED], я с удовольствием бы поужинать с вами. В этой недели я только свободна в среду и к сожалению я буду в Калифорнии на выходные для работи. с нетерпением жду вашего ответа, -Emma

I would love to have dinner with you. This week I am only free on Wednesday and unfortunately I will be in California for the weekend to work.

looking forward to your reply, -Emma

(I think I mentioned she’s fluent in Russian... I, on the other hand was just using Google Translate as my French is horriblé)

Chère Emma, Mercredi. Film à 17 heures. Dîner à 19 heures, oui? Bien à vous, -[NAME REDACTED]

Dear Emma,

Wednesday. Film at 5 p.m. Dinner at 7 p.m., yes?

Yours, [NAME REDACTED]

Дорогой [NAME REDACTED], Это было бы чудесно. увидимся, -Emma п.с. Что я должна носить?

Dear [NAME REDACTED],

It would be fantastic.

I'll see you, -Emma

ps What should i wear?

quelque chose de délicat

something delicate

A couple days later (the 23rd, the day of the date) she sent me a text with concerns about the date I had asked her on via mail. "So, to level with you here, it has been a while since I have been on a real date and I am a bit nervous. Can you tell me what you are wearing and give me specific guidelines on what I should wear, I don't want to end up feeling silly." I told her I'd be wearing a coat and tie, and jeans or cords (I would end up wearing the corduroy).

Somehow we (William, my coworker and mutual friend, recall) knew that Emma loved strawberry flavored Nerds candy. So armed with that knowledge, after work I went to the store to buy some strawberry Nerds, then to a flower shop to get a bouquet (of stargazer lilies, I’m sure... I like how they smell). The flower shop assistant and I tied the bow around the glass vase and slipped the candy in the bow as well. Dressed, ready, with flowers in vase in hand, I went to pick Emma up. She was not ready yet, so I stepped inside as she finished up. She would wear flats, tights, a short straight-cut skirt, with a nice lacy top and cardigan. I think, in retrospect, I didn’t encourage her enough... should have been more enthusiastic about how beautiful she looked (though I’m sure I told her I thought she looked nice, at the very least). She did look beautiful.

The evening was French-themed, hence the emails to her in French. We saw The Illusionist at a bijou theater, 5pm showing. I don’t remember much of the film, but I remember it was very pretty, and charming, and sad. And in that regard, at the time, it seemed less than ideal to watch as I was in the throes of newly blossoming love and was excited and nervous and happy and all of the things that happen to you when love starts to scramble your brain. It seemed less than ideal... at the time.

We sat next to each other in the back of the small dark theater to watch the film. She sat with her arms crossed, and me with my arm on the rest next to her. Again, I was nervous to be on a date with Emma even though we made out a couple of times already in my bed, but I wanted to hold her hand, and she wasn’t budging from her crossed arm position, so about 20 minutes or so into the film I gently tugged on the sleeve of her cardigan to try and loosen self-entwinement, and offered my hand palm up for her to hold. Which she did. I also remember, days or weeks later, she would make fun of me for the way I asked for her hand... I never understood what that was about. I just wanted to hold her hand. But, I’m getting ahead of myself.

After the film we went to a French restaurant in our small town, I believe at the time, it was the only French restaurant, but... it was nine years ago... hard to remember all the details. I recall the food being good but not so good it quite justified the price, but I didn’t care. We then drive to my house.

She sat on the couch, reclined, with her legs up, and I sat on the floor in front of her, head leaning back onto her thigh. I remember feeling content. Like I was exactly where I should be. I’m pretty quiet by nature, and I think she mistook my tranquil silence as boredom. She asked that I take her home. Not one to force a woman to do anything she doesn’t want to do we got in my car and started the short drive to her house. Halfway there I pull over and explicitly tell her I had a great time (I had been working on conveying my emotions more clearly) and then I kissed her and said I’d really like it if she could stay at my house. She agreed and I turned the car around and we drove back to my house. This time guiding her straight to my bedroom where we kissed passionately and I removed her clothes... except for her tights. She prefaced with “There’s really no sexy way to do this” and clumsily took them off and we fell into bed.

Later in the evening I recall her being thirsty and walking to my kitchen, me following behind and her opening the refrigerator door, dans le nude, and the light silhouetting her figure in stark contrast the light and the dark, and me thinking I was the luckiest man. I also recall voicing my concern that the neighbors might see her through the kitchen window that faced the backyard, though with the high fence I think it was unlikely, and she said she was not at all concerned.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=90Fpjwctqlw

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My Loneliness

I was recently talking to a new therapist/coach. She said when I was discussing my life I didn’t mention being lonely. “Not to say that you aren’t, you just didn’t mention it.”

So, here is what my loneliness is like:

It’s like an old friend. Someone you can always count on. Someone with you through thick and thin, so much so that you never doubt they are right there with you every step of the way.

It’s like sorrow. When I go to sleep at night my stomach feels like a pit of swirling blackness. Where pieces of myself are drowned in the dark maelstrom.

It’s like a drug. When I want to distract myself from myself I think of the women I’ve loved in some way. School crushes, or intense desires. I dwell on them and try to remember how they made me feel, if just to feel something else for a moment.

It’s like poverty. There are places I cannot afford to go. Nice restaurants. Fancy new years eve parties with champagne and black ties. Beach get-aways. I have the money to do these things, it just seems that the act of doing them alone would cause more emotional harm than whatever enjoyment I’d get out of it. I can’t afford to do those things.

This is my loneliness.

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No one argues with their own pain.

https://youtu.be/I8Xc2_FtpHI?t=5433

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Reverie: An Apology for The Fifth Cycle

You’ll have to forgive me here if all of this is coming across as too auto-biographical and not “storyish” enough. There are ways in which I could have trimmed a lot of the telling of my failed relationship with Emma but have failed to do so for entirely selfish reasons. Namely, that detailing, as best I can (by consulting text exchange, Facebook chat logs, Gmail chat records with close friends about my budding/wilting relationship, old calendar appointments, etc.) the day-to-day events allows me to kind of re-live the experience in ways that I have hitherto been emotionally, or economically (in that I needed to spend a great deal of time doing the “data-forensics” work, and time is money), unwilling to undertake.

Telling the “story” this way will also allow future-me to re-read and re-remember (even the mundane parts of) this relationship, such as it was, with a little more depth and concision due to not having to consult all of the aforementioned sources to help reconstruct the memories of the relationship.

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The Fifth Cycle: My Funny Valentine

Feb 14, 2011. Valentine’s day. 

A mutual friend* of ours had planned a “singles awareness dinner” at her place. Small soiree of about six people. We were invited.

During the fondue-themed event I sat next to Emma’s roommate and was flirting with her in the kind of half-joking manner that acts as a smokescreen to hide the object of your real amorous intentions (in this case: Emma). And flirting with someone for whom you have no romantic intentions is sometimes a good way to get your genuine love-interest to pay greater attention to you by way of proving your “market worth”, as it were.

Aside 1: Can you tell I’ve recently come to terms with many and varied ways we humans use flirting in day-to-day life?

Aside 2: I remember having brought a bottle of wine to the party that I purchased in Napa Valley on my first (and to-date, last) trip there (the circumstances of which are a kind of amusing story I won’t get into here). I think our Petite Sirah was a 2004, but I’d be confident of any vintage from Vincent Arroyo. If you get the chance, take the short drive off the main drag there to visit them. Best vineyard experience I’ve ever had, and an excellent bottle of wine.

After the party, Emma mounted her bike and pedaled away, her head looking overlarge from the massively unfashionable bike helmet. Not that any bike helmets are particularly fashionable, but, in this case, you could see Emma made absolutely no concessions to form over function (as was her M.O.).

I caught up to her at a stoplight and rolled down the window of my (sensible and reliable) 2003 Civic and asked her if she wanted to come by my place after I picked up some beer.

We entered my home with scant few moments of Valentine’s day left and Emma proceeded to select some music from our favorite (now defunct[?]) music streaming service on which we exchanged playlists. While espousing the virtues of Nina Simone she started to play “My Funny Valentine”. My heart quickened. She looked up at me and stood up from the sofa from which she was DJing the evening and, eyes locked to mine, walking smolderingly toward me, started to sing “your looks are laughable, unphotographable, yet you’re my favorite work of art”, taking my hand and pulling me away from the living room wall I was leaning against.

I, however, was in a kind of trance. Not quite in shock, though, in retrospect, I think I should have been. Because: what she had just done was a capital “S” Sign From God. At least, that’s exactly what I believed at the time.

Because, since my breakup with first Real Girlfriend some ten years before this I had prayed (on and off, but certainly more than four times a year) “God, please help me. I’m constantly fucking up this whole relationship thing. I just need a sign. Would You show me The One I Should Be With by this one and only sign: she will sing My Funny Valentine to me on Valentine’s day.”**

Here she was. Signing My Funny Valentine. On Valentine’s day... to me... while we were dancing. And what was strange to me then, and is strange to me now for a completely different reason, was that I recall not being in love with her at that time. What I was was kind of stunned.

I had been fasting the two previous days, which kind of kills ones libido. That coupled with my (what I had hoped was) blood pressure med induced impotence meant that sexual relations were not a viable option, but she stayed the night. She said we should go on a real date. And we kept joking with each other about sex, about each other. Laughing so hard. It was refreshing to make light of the sexual stuff for once.

The next morning I made her breakfast: eggs over medium, fried potato rounds with cayenne, sliced tomatoes (if there was anything else I’ve long forgotten). I thought, “She is so into me.”

* This friend was the kind of opposite-sex friend that hangs around a bit too long by your side at the dance, in a you-think-because-they-think kind of way their proximity will either cause you to ask them to dance or prevent others from asking you to dance and therefore drive up the possibility of the former happening. Our relationship was complicated. I think I can say that.

** Let us bracket the discussion about “tempting the Lord’s power” or the obvious comparisons of signs shown to biblical giants and your humble author: I know I am no Gideon nor Abraham.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KqjKOalcI10

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The Fifth Cycle: A Warning Sign

The next morning, 13 Feb. A ring from the doorbell. No one in sight, but a pan of freshly baked apple crumble sat on my welcome mat with attached note:

13 Feb 2011

[NAME REDACTED],

Not quite a casserole, but I think it qualifies as a belated house warming food-item.

In the spirit of your spirit of full disclosure I feel I should let you know that I am not looking for a serious relationship. You were right to be wary: a woman just out of a long-term relationship is a dangerous thing.

It baffles me that one dance changed the intrinsic nature of our relationship, but it did.

I found myself simultaneously intrigued by the idea of being physically intimate with you, and knowing that making advances was wrong, given my current mental & emotional state. It was not fair to you. But, the flesh is weak...

I ask you to proceed in what manner you choose, keeping your well-being at the forefront.

With Peace & Warm Regards Emma

Narrator voice: He did not keep his well-being at the forefront.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xAPmHKzWvIs

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The Fifth Cycle: Ready, Set, Reset

February 5, Saturday, 2011, day after the party. We had plans to begin construction of our first firework project on Sunday. However, I message her:

Postpone

Emma, I believe we should put off the fireworks making for two reasons: a) The gun shop, whose website says they are open on Saturday, was not open on Saturday.  Thus, we have no black powder that is required for the first project. b) The euphemism is too strong, and I've met my quota for sexual tension this weekend. Cheers, -[NAME REDACTED]

Her reply:

[NAME REDACTED], I would have to agree, and not just because I am perpetually looking for reasons to put off participating in potentially life-threatening activities. Indeed, fireworks are dangerous. We'll just have to put things on hold until you procure black powder, and I remember how to behave as a responsible adult. Happy cloudy Saturday, Emma

And besides, I was also packing for an upcoming trip to Vegas with my brother. However, I had been intrigued enough about the potential relationship that I decided to mail Emma a letter (on custom stationary that Pythia and Leonidas had given to me as a gift). The letter read:

2/7/2011 Re: Lending Dignity to the Tension Dear Emma, I write to ask the pleasure of your company for dinner and dancing. Would you accompany me on the night of Feb. 11th at 6:30pm to [FANCY FRENCH RESTAURANT] followed by the [COLLEGE NAME] Blues dance? Please respond via electronic medium as I will be traveling for the bulk of the week. Fondly, -[NAME REDACTED]

With that letter in the mail I left for a few days to Vegas (a despicable place). Upon my return, Thursday, I had no substantive communique from Emma. I was unaware that she was on a field expedition to collect data for her masters degree (water resource management, if memory serves). She had been diving in a river in Northern California while I was in Vegas. 

Then, a post on the Blues Dance page from Emma, “So, looks like the river is going to stay high through next week, which means I might be coming back on Friday early enough to make the [COLLEGE NAME] Blues dance, weeee!” She would be at the dance I had invited her to in my letter.

Friday Feb. 11th, 6:30pm, no word from her. 8pm, I go to the dance. 10pm Emma shows up. We dance. I overhear her say she’s “almost delirious from being in the field since Monday, and she hasn't been home yet.” Hence, no mention of the letter. She hadn’t seen it.

We (William, Emma, myself, and someone else... maybe Emma’s roommate, I forgot who it was) leave the dance for a bit to eat and then I go home.

1:30am, a text

Technically there is 30 minutes of bar time left…

I send one back to her saying if she comes over I’ll mix her a drink. She says she’ll have to change out of her PJ’s but “ok done”.

2am she comes over, I mix her a drink. I put on music and we dance some. She started to talk about going home so I kissed her. She stayed the night.

At the time I had recently been put on medication for high blood pressure due to a chronic problem I have concerning my kidneys. And, so, she is in my bed and asking if I want to have sex with her and if she thinks it will ruin our friendship, meanwhile I’m fumbling for a condom and realizing that I am not able to... perform.

I think it had something to do with the meds, I mean, its function is largely determined by the pressure of the blood, is it not? Instead of being honest with her and saying I could not attend, I feigned reconsideration and said something like, “Maybe this would effect our friendship.” And retreated to just cuddling.

Without getting too lurid, her body was magnificently soft and she kept making jokes that cracked us up. Spending time with her in this vulnerable state was really enchanting.

The next morning, still heavy with doubts about what we’re doing and its impact on our friend group and that she revealed that she was nervous about me not being “into her” I said I would keep things discreet and see where what happened with us. We kissed and she left.

Later that same day, via text:

I just checked the mail. That is definitely the best way I have ever been asked out.

I am sorry that things happened backwards, and in a rather undignified manner.

I said the dating ritual helps mitigate all of that, which is why it's important to me. She “motion[ed] for a reset.”

https://youtu.be/UOgxeuqsadk

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Never ask the prey what to use for bait.

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The Fifth Cycle: Strange Attractor

Sometime in January I remember asking her if the suit-buying guide I had written up for her to use while buying a suit for her boyfriend had worked, she told me that it wasn’t necessary as:

Altering altercations betwixt the man and myself put that type of investment on hold, as well as drove me to bitter reflections on the state of male-female relations for a time. My apologies for subjecting one and all to the latter.   However, peace has more or less returned to the jungle...

At this point in our friendship we had also decided to begin the process of making fireworks. I had bought a kit from Skylighter and we were chatting back and forth about starting the first project. But before we were to do that there were manuals to read and safety procedures to have in place etc. etc. All of that preliminary work was happening via email throughout January, which was also when I became aware that she had split up with her boyfriend... and shortly after she started to send me musical excerpts from The Magnetic Fields (mostly from 69 Love Songs).

I used to throw monthly parties. Themed parties. I had the speakers and lights from my wedding DJ days and liked having my friends over and getting a little drunk. February fourth of 2011 the theme was Salsa & Salsa. We were playing salsa music, dancing salsa and eating... well you get it.

Emma was one of the first to arrive, if not the first (I mean, it’s been, like, 8 years, my memory isn’t that great). Wearing a simple black tank top and jeans. She helped set up some of the party accouterment. By eleven we had a proper party happening. During the evening, while I was playing host (mixing drinks, or refilling chip bowls etc.) Emma would come over to me and say something in Russian (she could speak Russian fluently) which I assume was “come dance with me” and we’d dance.

By the end of the night everyone but she had left. I was pretty exhausted and had slumped down on the sofa we had earlier moved into the kitchen to make room for the dancing in the living room. Emma was cleaning up after the party for me, telling me to relax and espousing midwestern domestic wisdom, wringing out a damp towel, “Water works just as well as any of those expensive chemicals you buy at the store... at least that’s what momma says,” but water does apparently require a bit more elbow grease than maybe those chemicals do.

I was hoping she’d come and sit down next to me and we would have one of those arm-around-shoulder cum (that’s the latin version, pervert) embrace-lying-on-the-sofa cum (latin again) full-on make out sesh. This did not happen. What it felt like was that she was busying herself in my kitchen so that she would not... “succumb” is the wrong word as that places too much merit in my ability to seduce women, but, I think you get it.

She finished up and left my house after 2am. Shortly after I get this message “Did I leave anything at your house... like the opportunity to make a bad decision?”

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lzYSwNvB8Yk&t=54s

[panusenvy]

Cold Streak

Number of weddings I’ve been to in a row with no eligible women:

Six.

[panusenvy]

Gender equality: good, tick, long way to go. But one of the byproducts of that, with assortative mating, is increased household income inequality and possibly less intergenerational mobility. And so, as will all of these things, there's always a tradeoff there's always costs and benefits.

https://soundcloud.com/bloomberg-business/32-your-sex-drive-is-widening-the-income-inequality-gap 18:33

[panusenvy]

The Fifth Cycle: Acute Limerence

At this point (late 2010) the Swing Club in the Small Town with Big Tech Business had started doing monthly dances. In a show of solidarity with another dance group in town we split the night into two sections: east-coast swing and lindy hop for the first half of the dance, and blues dancing for the second half.

Now, I wasn’t familiar with “blues dancing” before we swing dancers started sharing a night with the blues dancers. It’s a rather unstructured dance that blends influences from many, many different dance traditions. Basically it’s like modern interpretive dance but with a partner, and less crawling around on the ground. Every blues dancer dances differently depending on their dance background. There’s no “wrong way” to do it, but, like sex, you can have good partners and bad, or... well-matched partners or not... might be a better way to say it.

I don’t remember much of that particular evening, January the 2nd, 2011. What I recall is that near the end of the second half of the night, the blues half of the night, I asked Emma for a dance. We started slowly getting a feel for how each of us, novices at blues dancing, were starting to move, and then with characteristic goofiness Emma started stretching her limbs into these hyperbolic dramatic poses. We circled each other and turning away sharply, only to faux-longingly look back to each other with our best soap-opera mugging. Intermittently cracking each other up the dance concluded with us laughing at our own complete inability to take it seriously.

Thinking we had had our laughs I thanked her and started to turn to walk back to the edge of the dance floor, or maybe step outside for a sip from the whiskey flask I’d bring to blues dances. Before I could she grabbed my arm and pulled me close and we wordlessly consented to a second and more serious attempt.

Our exaggerated poses now contracted to an intimate rhythmic caress. Our caricatured looks of longing dissolving to soul-searching penetrating stares. Her body moved against mine exactly how I guided her and the scant air between our lips and our cheeks burned and crackled silently to the soft smokey music.

The last phrase of the song drawing out like the last long puff of a cigarette, I dipped her deeply bearing nearly her entire frame across my forearms and left knee. Blue-grey eyes smoldering in the dim light of the dance floor, imperceptibly pursed lips, and slightly raising her pointed chin elongating her already swanlike fair neck. The moment, wet with anticipation and begging for some kind of climax, I helped her back to her feet and we both shuffled off the floor, the promise of the dance completely unfulfilled.

I remember taking a call from my brother after the dance, but not being able to focus on anything he said. Still reeling, struck dumb, from the last dance... a coil of lust and desire spiraling involute on itself in an endless burning roil.

Still believing she and her Midwest Man were together, I’d fruitless try to squash the feeling deeper inside. Push the churning desire from my chest down to my stomach hoping to digest the lingering embers.

The core of the dance organizers for that evening ended up at my house after the show for an impromptu cocktail hour. Emma somehow started talking about her inability to accept religious statements of faith. She then espoused the virtues of science due to the fact that any time she heard some religious creed she’d try to think about it but then reject it with a terse “NOPE”. I replied, “Can you design an experiment that would disprove the empiricism your science is based on?” To make my point, that science also requires a kind of faith, more cutting and to highlight her hypocrisy I added, “Death to all extremists!”

I believe this is the moment where, in her mind, I went from a curiosity to... something more. Love is a great mystery, for sure, but even its cousins: Lust, Desire, Intrigue are strange things. It’s been said that to remain in a relationship you need more than five good experiences with a partner for every bad one... and, it’s also true that to remain in a relationship you need less than eleven good experiences for every bad one. Which is to say, people need to be challenged, and they need novelty (unpredictability).

Did what I say make her think I could provide those things?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6_KXCupJDBA

[panusenvy]

There is a cost associated with having hope.

Hope is not free.