Disposable You

I remember reading a story about Lewis and Clark, where the writer said that their names were so commonly put together that they should be spelled Lewisandclark. You can’t think of one without the other.

The other day I was over at friend’s place, and he and his wife are like that. Steveandjanet is their name, and I like to think of them that way. There is something special about it. In the modern era of Disposable You, it is nice to have touchstone people in your life, where you can think of them as an example for the rest of us. Steveandjanet would probably hate that idea if they thought about it long enough, because in the end they would realise that I see them as quaint. They’d be right. And no one wants to be quaint. It’s not sexy. But it is to me.

Disposable You began back when divorce became the norm. Henry VIII started the ball rolling (not to mention the heads) on that account, but it took the 20th Century to turn divorce into the relationship crematorium that is has become.

Divorce did not increase because it became more ‘acceptable.’ Acceptable is an effect, not a cause of divorce. Anyone who has been through a bad break-up of any kind will tell you that they felt like a failure, and that it was probably the worst thing that ever happened in their life. Just because something is acceptable to society does not mean that is acceptable to the heart or the soul.

No, divorce became prevalent, and acceptable, because the reasons for divorce went up. After all, people don’t wake up one morning and decide on a whim that this is the day they are going to dump their husband or wife. There needs to be a reason behind that decision. And the 20th Century was more than happy to oblige.

The leading cause of divorce was the women's liberation movement. Now hang on, before you reach for the gun and come looking for me, hear me out. This isn't a rant against women. Far from it. It's more a discussion of demographics.

Giving women the right to choose their own destiny did just that: it allowed them to make more choices than they ever had before. The right to vote could not have been very far from the question, “Well, if I am voting, why should I not run? And if I can run for office, what can I not do?”

The answer over the years was: nothing. There is nothing you cannot do. And so women set out to do it.

It gave women a glimpse at what life would be like without a husband. Women never had careers before, but now that they did, the word career was at least as important as the word married, and perhaps more so.

With careers comes cheating. This shouldn’t be a surprise. In the past, most women were at home during the day. The chances of them running into a man to cheat with were quite slim (there’s a reason the mailman cliché is such a cliché: he was virtually the only man that women saw between the hours of 9-5).

But not anymore. Entering the workforce gave women a chance to meet a vast number of men, whether they be single or otherwise. It gave them a chance to fall for each other. At meetings, at conferences, at luncheons, by the water cooler, beside the coffee machine, on the subway, so forth. Further to that, this gave men and women a chance to meet people that had similar qualities, dreams, aspirations, and goals to theirs. Stock brokers with stock brokers, educators with educators, tradesmen with tradeswomen. And further to that, people generally look good when they are at work, or at least attempt to. Men shave, wear cologne, put on suits, women do their hair, wear perfume, and apply lipstick. In short, women at work gave both sexes a chance to meet people that they saw as both mentally and physically attractive. Five days a week.

If one were to surf the internet dating sites, you would see that women place an extreme importance on what they call ‘chemistry’ and having ‘something in common.’ So now you must ask yourself where women would find men like that, and it’s pretty plain that they would find them at work. If a woman is married to a plumber, she may love him to death. But if she’s a stock broker, there is a good chance that she would enjoy spending time with other stock brokers. And if one of those other stock brokers happens to be handsome and (the ultimate deal-clincher in women’s eyes) funny, then the plumber could be in for some bad news.

Too simple?

I don’t think so. First, let me say straight off that I think infidelity is a two-way street. I don’t think all women are harlots, nor do I think all men are cads. But it is ludicrous to argue that women in the workforce has nothing to do with the rate of break-ups in our society. Women in the workforce is a wonderful thing for empowering women, giving their life meaning and value, and giving them money. With money comes more empowerment, and more choice over their own destiny. But with that package comes a rising chance of bumping into a man that they can develop romantic feelings towards, and vice versa. To argue otherwise is silly.

I feel for the people that make the following statement: “I love my career, and my life is great, but I want someone to share it with.”

Alarm bells should be ringing all over the place when you hear that. Because the person isn’t thinking clearly. Let’s dissect it for a moment.

“I love my career.”

Why? Why do you love your career?

There is a very good chance that the person loves their career because they built it. They struggled, they learned, they overcame. They have realized a dream, and it is of their making. The key word being ‘their.’

Now they wish to share it? Nothing could be further from the truth. They had to cut throats, dodge bullets, avoid backstabbers, put up with backbiting, break the glass ceiling, get cut off at the knees, put out fires, and beat out the competition. There’s a reason why the language of workplace politics is loaded with violence: it’s rough business. A tough game. And to get to the top of that, to get past the gopher stage and reach the plateau of loving your career, you have to be unsharing. And now you want to share it?

Love itself is work. A partner is not someone to be brought in to share something. Love is a second career, to be worked on just as hard as the other one. If not, it’s doomed.

Doom, of course, means a break-up. But have you noticed how the age of instant gratification has now become the age of Disposable You? Have you noticed how easy it is to throw something away?

No? Really. All right, when is the last time you heard about a divorce and were ashamed of one of the people involved? I mean truly ashamed, like you would never speak to the other person ever again, not even to say hello in the street?

Disposable You is the new headline of our generation because we have so many choices. Careers take up our time, and there’s always a new job to apply for, a new promotion to get. It’s been years since I heard a friend worry about work. There’s tons of jobs out there, all of them a mouse click away.

The variety of people we meet subliminally convinces us that people are not inherently special. ‘There’s more fish in the sea.’ There sure are. Look at them all: at work, at the clubs, on the internet, on the beach in Cancun. Whether you have a spouse or not, logging into Hotmail or Yahoo will show you ads for dating sites. MSN and Yahoo run their own services. They announce how many thousands of people are online at that very moment. You can’t turn the ads off, and they are always there. If you’ve had a fight with the wife or boyfriend, how tempted would you be to click on it? A little tempted? Just one little click, if only for the hell of it? And if you did, would you tell your spouse? And so the lying begins.

The world got small in a hurry. The days of meeting a girl at the town church and thinking that she is the only one for you are history. Perhaps that is what frightens me most. The idea that deep down, we are all being trained to think of everything, from jobs to spouses, as easily replaceable. Disposable.

Here’s a question for the men and ladies both. When is the last time you were out with friends, and you saw a spoken-for girlfriend of yours flirt with another man? I’ll bet it was recently. And when someone said, “Oh, it’s harmless, she’s just a flirt,” what did you do? My money’s on nothing. I’ll bet you didn’t do or say anything to the girlfriend in order to make her feel shame.

Shame is one thing that is slipping ever further away from us. Without shame, we lose its powerful partner: guilt. No one bats an eye at divorce anymore. In fact, it’s become a running joke. Hearing about a man or a woman’s fourth marriage may draw exclamations of surprise, or head shakes of embarrassment, but it certainly doesn’t seem to reflect upon a person’s character the way it used to. More often than not, people talk about the amount of alimony the crazy bastard must be paying, rather than the hearts he stepped on along the way. (Incidentally, I call the man a ‘crazy bastard,’ because like you, I would think he’s crazy for getting re-married; funny how none of us immediately think he’s crazy for dumping three wives, hmm?)

Without shame, society loses its most potent weapon. Without that weapon pointed at us, we feel free to do as we please with the limitless choices placed on our plate. Blend that with the increased chances of meeting someone to do those things with, and it should be no wonder that marriages and relationships fall apart with such regularity.

By the by, my life is fine. In case you think I’ve just gone through some break-up and I’m bitter about it, rest easy. Not the case. I was simply thinking about Lewisandclark, and Steveandjanet. You can think about your own version, if you have one.

If not, well, that’s a shame.