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How to make a man fall in love with you

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. From my own travels around the world through various cultures and times let me propose this common path to love has missed a bit low: it’s really through his ears.

I was waiting for a friend one day outside a library so I decided to sit down and take out my guitar. Some volunteer friends and I are in a band that performs Kyrgyz music and we had a show coming up so I figured this was a good chance to practice in public to see how my nerves would stand up. Just as I got to the part where the song goes, “I love you, truly from my heart…” a man happened by, stopped, turned, crouched down, put a hand on my knee, and gave me the biggest love-struck smile I’ve ever seen. For a moment my voice faltered and then I thought, “No! The show must go on!” and completed my love ballad to this swooning stranger.

He was so happy. I was more happy to turn my guitar over to him.

I think he’s winking at me

I’ve never really liked music. Sure, I have thousands of songs on iTunes playlists ranging from 90s alt to mash-ups to Mozart. I was even in a ska band in high school. But I think music has been more of a cursory enjoyment than an integral part of my life. I’m not that person who lists all the live shows he’s been to on his “about me” section of Facebook. The list wouldn’t be more than a line long anyway. I do enjoy music, but compared to a lot of other people it might seem I don’t like it at all.

This may be why it’s taken me so long to find the secret to making men fall in love with me. As a straight dude, this is a lesson I could have gone a lifetime without learning. I suppose this lesson could also apply to making women fall in love with me, but so far this hasn’t shown out through experience. I have much more luck with the guys.

Our little Peace Corps band has played at several shows around the country, and was even showcased on one of the national TV channel’s New Year’s Eve program. I’ve been struck and humbled by all the people who are attracted to our music, women and men alike. And though people are impressed by the fact Americans are learning their language, I believe it’s the universal language of music that’s the biggest draw. You don’t even need to speak it well to communicate great volumes. Show up to a party with a refrain and a verse of almost anything and for a moment you will captivate a soul, tying a cord between yours and his, the song’s vibration dancing along this string, igniting desires and emotions within. Why else would they say it tugs on the heart strings?

This lesson learned may not be the best help in my own quest for love. But who knows, maybe you’ll be more lucky. Choose a song that you’ve fallen in love with and sing it out with all your heart. You might just make someone fall in love with you.

I am America

If you’ve done a little bit of digging into becoming a Peace Corps Volunteer you’ve likely come across the Ten Core Expectations. Think the Ten Commandments but rendered much less memorable through the government’s uncanny ability to make simple communication incomprehensible.

It’s the kind of stuff that seems profound and important, but for the life of you, the moment you’ve set the list down, you can’t recall a single expectation in any detail. You know there’s something in there about being a good person and serving well, so thinking that’s enough you put it aside until you’re told to read it again. Unfortunately this usually doesn’t come until a warranted prompting from persons somehow aware of what you may or may not have been doing the other week when you thought no one was watching. And then you’re like, “Hmm…maybe I should have paid more attention to that bit in #5 about being responsible 24/7…”

Since we’re talking about slaps-on-the-forehead, let me now recall Core Expectation #9: Recognize that you will be perceived, in your host country and community, as a representative of the people, cultures, values, and traditions of the United States of America.

Note the polysyllable, representative. It’s nice to think that people will see me as a delegate, a passageway so to speak, through which American culture and values freely flow allowing perceptive considerations and weighing of differences through acute perspective. But in reality, my relationship with America is much more intimate. I am America. For many people in my village I’m the only American they have ever interacted with, and every little quirk about me gets laid on every other American like a kind of itchy, stereotyped blanket. “Why are all Americans a bit pudgy about the middle? Why don’t Americans iron their shirts? And why do they look so funny riding horses?”

My only redemption lies in the fact that the good things can settle too. Maybe I am a bit weird. Maybe we all are. But if after I’m gone people think, “Americans aren’t so bad. In fact, despite their inability to slaughter sheep properly, they are kind of nice and helpful,” I’ll consider my Core Expectations fulfilled.

imageWear them proud

I am very selfish

They say it takes getting married to realize what a terrible person you are. It’s not that you were a great person while single; you were terrible then too. You just didn’t have anyone close enough to point it out.

Like it was your fault. Everything about singlehood prompts us to be selfish and inwardly focused. From an early age we’re given individual desks and lockers at school and told to be self-achievers. When we hit that mystic age of adulthood at 18-years-young we’re told to pursue our own studies, concentrating day and night on how to improve ourselves individually. And then upon graduating we enter the work force, sacrificing family and relationships on the altar of career advancement.

We tell everyone it’s for the common good. That our striving for personal improvement is so we can best serve the world. But can the world be best served from the inside of a cubicle? Does our hand reach those on the other side of our selfish isolation? Will a workaholic lifestyle help our elderly neighbor with her spring cleaning?

All this I process as I slip into my room, latching the door behind me. I’m escaping the noise, I tell myself. I need “me” time. I’ve got work to do. But really I’m avoiding the work out there – the rounds of tea and kymyz, the dishes, the entertainment of guests. How did I get to be so selfish? Ah – I’ve always been here.

So I learn to share and give and bend as the Kyrgyz do so well. If a kid shows up to school with an apple, he ends up eating a paper-thin slice. If a neighbor asks for a sheep, it’s provided and the money comes later. Even cheating on exams isn’t seen as an affront but rather encouraged as helping lesser abled classmates.

imageGod bless the man who shared his underwear as a paint rag

I show up to school in my work pants and dirty T-shirt. I end up spackled in paint, a nose full of dust and a week to the next bath. But you know what – a hard day of work for others makes me sleep better at night and the camaraderie makes me enjoy the experience all the more.

I’m not married, so I probably haven’t yet fully explored the abyss of my total depravity. But I do live in close relationships and it’s enough to teach me a valuable lesson – if I focus on others and work hard, the selfishness ebbs to reveal what was hidden: community.

Now doesn’t necessarily mean now

In Kyrgyz there’s this simple, small word whose translation is completely meaningless. If you ask for a translation, and worse yet, believe what you’re told, you are in for a world of hurt. But, since I’m now too far down the rabbit trail, I’ll let you in on what’s been tumbling past me in wonderland: the word in English means now.

In Kyrgyz, however, now could mean now; later; in a little bit; later this afternoon; tomorrow; this summer; sometime in the next few years; or some other indefinite and indefinable future date.

I was at a conference hosted at a hotel several months ago. Since we had computer equipment stored in a meeting room, one of the organizers asked me to tell the front desk to please lock the door after we left. Noticing the door was still unlocked, I notified the person at the desk asking in Kyrgyz, “Could you please lock the door now?” She smiled, said yes, and returned to the magazine she was reading. I waited a few moments and asked again, “Ah, could you please lock the door now? We’re leaving.” She smiled, nodded her head and struck up a conversation with her co-worker. I guess I should have included the definition of now I was after: “Could you please lock the door at 6:02pm and 39 seconds? Oh – would you look at the time.” But instead I just motioned for her to follow me. I was headed to the door, and she was coming, now.

This little word lends itself to all kinds of frustrations, and even more so when it comes as a response. “When is the concert starting?” “Now.” “So…should I hang around or go take a quick vacation and then come back?” Hours spent standing around just waiting for things to happen makes a volunteer go crazy.

As frustrating as it is to hear “Now,” when asking when such-and-such is going to begin, the word can be quite useful when wielded to one’s advantage. Like with this little project my vice-principal’s been asking me to do. I think I’ll start now.

Laugh. Pretty much always.

I was walking down the street and saw this Lexus with initials embossed into the seats and I thought, “That’s pretentious.” (You have to spit a little on the first “T.”) Being in a dismal mood I was ready to write anything off as ridiculous, preposterous or just plain stupid. But then I was pulled back to the days when I lived in America and drove a car with plates that had the initials LAF. My initials.

I had gotten those letters embossed on my plates because I always wanted to be reminded to. My parents gave me a gift, or God maybe, and that was to see the laughter each time I agreed to the regulations for a driver’s license or finished an arcade game.

I thought about those days, driving that car to the disc golf course in Rapid City, or across vast stretches of Dakota land, or spinning in an empty parking lot after a shift at the restaurant. I got lost in these thoughts for a while, reminiscing about happy times.

I must have looked actually lost because I was suddenly pulled back by a man asking me if I was looking for something. “Happiness,” I replied, with a wistful look. “Ha, that’s good!” he said, and laughing again, “That’s a good answer!”

And I thought back over those last few moments – the sweetest girl, with a smile to match answering my question in the local language, a poster in Japanese advertising the sukuri matsuri, or summer festival, and now this man, a beam of light in answer to an off-handed remark.

And then it hit me – I had completely missed it. Completely missed the joy that was inherently present in each interaction, in each sign, in each moment, waiting to be drawn out. My own pretentions had covered them all like a blanket, smothering the spark of happiness that would ignite into a warm flame if I would only whisper a breath of hope.

Sometimes pretentions aren’t pretentious. Sometimes they’re just joy without worry or hope without fear. I hope you search for that joy wherever you are and in whatever you do. If that means initials on your leather seats, then heck – enjoy it!

imageThe least pretentious family you’ll ever meet – and the most joyful