The Lament of an Unremarkable Lover

In life, choice is typically about the illusion of having one. A true choice can be found operating in AIs, not humans. Choice in homo sapiens is a factor most often limited by ability and ambition.

Whereas the AI is given full control to choose between two options and it will calculate to arrive at the correct choice based on its programming (notwithstanding that it itself is pre-limited to just those two options), the infidel human will second guess himself and oftentimes pick the choice which is conducive to the preservation of its way of life.

The willingness to risk it all for something is the trait of a gambler, and few men, and even less women can profess to have it.

We are, as we know, biologically programmed to choose the best spouse for further propagation of the dynasty. The question to ask here is then why has every single one of us not chosen the women men generally agree to being the best and most aesthetic of their species?

And why have the women of this planet uncharacteristically refrained from doing the same in their own personal choices? It is in the examination of this problem we stumble across the reality that choice is simply an allegory to what might have been.

For it is my understanding, that had we been allowed to, we would have chosen the pantheon of Valkyries every time we would be asked to select a life partner. As it so happens, the Valkyries do not share the same opinion.

Therefore, choice for an average person, is to choose only another average person, because they both in their minds believe that they are crippled by their lack of ability to attract the highly desirable and thus play the game of conning themselves into holding that what they are getting is the best they will ever get, and it is simply not worth risking failure in chasing the pipe dream that Monica Bellucci would someday consider him her paramour.

Acceptance of that opinion is so damning that they begin to believe the partner they have is the perfect match for them, and there can be no better, id est love is blind. The plainest woman on earth could begin to look like the world, and the most bottom feeder of men could look like the prince she had been waiting for all her life.

This notion can be easily overcome by reconnoitering further, but alas, it becomes a game of blackjack at that point, where after two winning hands you decide that it is not apropos to play another and risk surrendering what you already have.

In society, there are always deviants who would do exactly that and much to their misfortune end up being the cautionary tale all wise men warned about. The King, in his inimitable baritone laments that he knows only fools rush to find love, but he can’t help that he falls in love, much as the river slowly but surely flows into the sea, it becomes a matter of certainty that the hopeless idiot would devolve into a human being with the kind of choice that reminds me of a story where a goldfish was asked whether he’d like to sing or dance.

The irony here of course, is tragically funny in the fact that the fish neither has a voice, nor legs. The caricature of choice in matters of interpersonal relationships then, is up to this extent obvious.

Quite frankly, if you look at the problem from the other side, it does not take a particularly sharp mind to see this is the primary reason for infidelity, cheating, polyamory et cetera. When the limitations of your so-called choices raid your cognizance, it makes you susceptible to try and break out of it, but with safe, baby steps regardless.

You begin to poke and prod at other possible partners all the while maintaining your own. The deft get caught a little slower than the gauche, but the end result is always the same. In a society which looks down on that sort of thing, these explorers are villainized and perhaps rightfully so, because it displays a base selfishness we all know the humans are capable of, and yet is unfashionable in this epoch to display openly.

In that world, where we find men and women willing to transgress their societal limitations, we encounter a rare sight of a bird who wills and owes it to itself to fly but is leaden by the burden that is the safety of the ground its feet are perched on.

After all, how many albatrosses choose to brave the storm to save an old mariner? And what fate befalls the champion that does? Love is not a game for the timid, don’t play if you’re not ready to burn in ignem amoris!



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