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A re-wilding story: Praise for pushing back against "good-girl programming"

It’s noon, I’m laying on his floor in his Venice apartment, my head propped up on an elbow. He’s sitting far enough away where I can feel the distance, like he’s intentionally cooling the space between us. I’m waiting to ask for an answer to my unspoken question, to see if our time spent together at the festival is going to lead to anything more.

I have good reason to believe it might.

A few days prior, while on festival grounds, he invites me to his place for dinner. He wants to make me a special dish he doesn’t make for ‘just anyone’. It feels like a warm invitation for something next.

Great, I’m not just anyone.

Days later I take him up on it and drop by.

I’m delayed by a flat tire and manage to park just in time to eat before I have to head out and facilitate the Feels. He gives me a tour of his apartment. He spreads out a stark white comforter across the floor for us to sit on. This man places candelabras on either side.

You don’t set this kind of a mood for just anyone.

And I can feel it. The care, the intention, the thoughtfulness.

I help him make the kitachari, he asks me to make it with a clear mind, to hold a good intention in my heart. We sit, warm kitchari in hand.

“Wait,” he says, and turns around to reach for a book.

He pulls out the Bhagavad Gita and leads us in a prayer.

Meet LA dude. A sober, 33 yr old yogi who surfs, runs a podcast and is financially secure. He is doing the work.

I can’t help but smile, half in earnest, half wondering, “Where did this one come from?”

A quieter voice, beneath the part that’s curious, that’s been talking to me all weekend raises an eyebrow and asks, “can you trust this?”

Because my system has been subtlety *pinging* all weekend, and I don’t totally want to admit it, but I am hesitant.

The whole situation is teetering dangerously close to the land ruled by the spiritual f*ck boy.

But I diligently ignore my deeper intuition in favor of gathering more information.

Let’s just see.

---

Let me lay out some context…

The world of festivaling isn’t one I enter with the expectation of finding what I’m looking for in my dating life.

Committed, co-created partnership.

But, I’m open to things finding me and once they finally show up, looking different than expected.

I am not casually hooking-up anymore. I don’t have the energy for it and it doesn’t leave me feeling satisfied or good about myself. I don’t know if it ever really did. Regardless of how I engaged or thought of sex in the past, it is crystal clear to me now, casual sex is not neutral territory for me. And I communicate this as early as I can with anyone I feel a connection with.

A note: I’ll offer more thoughts on the problems and prevalence of the woke narcissism that colludes and manipulates, alongside some dating advice that’s helped me navigate the reality of this energetic signature, in my next newsletter. I know there are some of you out there who have encountered the spiritual f*ck boy—I’ve talked to you across marble counter tops and hot cups of coffee about it. My guess is in encountering this kind of energy, some of you have seen it for what it is, some of you have doubted yourself in the face of it.

More on that later, let me speak for LA Dude for a moment.

I don’t think everyone who exhibits the behavior of a spiritual f*ck boy is a narcissist, or is perpetuating this behavior on purpose. My hottest take is that these types, this expression is largely unconscious.

These are boys who have yet to become men.

Also the environment is an influencing factor shaping expectations and behavior. There is a cultural precedent at festivals of free love and ephemeral experience that contribute to hook up culture, not to mention a wide range of altered states and a spectrum of familiarity with those states for folks moving in and out of them.

Festival culture creates a landscape where it can be easily assumed there is a “natural” closeness that exists between you and me…one that may be used to justify physical intimacy, but is fundamentally performing emotional intimacy, something that takes time to develop. Something you can’t establish in its fullness at a music festival. All to say, on festival grounds it’s a different ballgame with different rules.

And, there are outliers. I know people who meet on Playa and find something substantial that lasts beyond the burn, debauchery and bass.

But let me get back to this here edition to get clear on what I was holding skepticism around:

The spiritual f*ck boy is a certain brand of cultish ego that I’ve got a strong intolerance for, because of the kind of vulnerability it preys on. But let me be clear, not every f*ck boy is running around with secret dreams of becoming the next OSHO. I think some are just plain old confused, lost, going along with the crowd.

For those who are unfamiliar with the archetype, let’s take a closer look.

SFB is the someone who uses spiritual language or practices to get into your pants, avoid accountability and justify whatever’s happening as meant to be, the implications are that the person in control is higher than, somewhere else. It’s posturing—its the performance of emotional intimacy while being granted access to what emotional intimacy provides without engaging in the real effort it takes to create it, sustain it and care for the other person on the other side of it.

Shiva-in-the-streets, avoidant-in-the-sheets.

They are out there.

This is me, reminding me.

And sometimes it’s really hard to tell.

I’m sharing this story because if you’re like me, learning where to hold your boundaries has been a life long journey of trial and error. And learning to finally value what your boundaries are protecting has sometimes been a case of too little, too late.

This is a story about learning to trust the subtlety of one’s inner knowing, one’s direct sense perception and the persistence of the mind that needs to “know” as if there is some greater knowing or value in being able to articulate what my entire being makes contact with and communicates to me.

Back to the story.

Knowing spiritual f*ck boys abound, I make a practice of sharing my intentions and what I want as directly as I can with LA dude, while on festival grounds.

And I’m present to the fact this man is signaling his interest in a way that lands as ‘more than casual’ in my system. And continues to do so even after we talk about what we’re looking for in our dating lives, what we’re not open to, what sex means to us, after I very clearly communicate my intentions around long term partnership, and that I am not engaging intimately with anyone who I don’t see myself developing a deeper connection with.

I’m being honest, what I feel alongside my skepticism is him, making an effort to see me, get to know me, and develop the intimacy between us. And it felt, earnest.

If anything the effort made felt like he had gone above and beyond to show up for whatever this was, especially considering the circumstances.

So it was safe to assume when we did engage intimately, because we did, that he knew, because I told him, what that would mean to me. That he would take care to remember what my ‘yes’ meant

Back in La…

I scoot after dinner and am invited back to his the next day, which is where you find me, propped up, elbow firmly planted, head resting in my hand.

We both agreed we wanted to debrief the time we’d just spent together at the music festival—green flag.

The one where I twisted my ankle landing me in a medical tent, where he’d carried me all the way back to my camp—green flag.

The one where he’d been respectful, open, where we’d spent sober, thoughtful, playful time getting to know each other, and made plans to do so beyond the weekend—green flag!

There are some things that aren’t so black and white about dating, which is also why I’m sharing this story. To show that a lot of what we navigate in the dating world is about learning how to dance with imperfection. My dating experience has been awkward and confusing at times. We hurt each other, we feel disappointment, we cross our own boundaries, we do our best. That too, is part of the experience.

Because what happened next was proof of that.

I finally find my window in our conversation to ask, “so what’s the rest of your weekend looking like, and do you want to make a plan to have a bit more intentional time together?”

The next thing out of his mouth hits me like a big ole freight train…

“I’m not really prioritizing relationships right now. You know, on a list of things that are most important to me, relationships and sex are probably fifth on that list, they don’t really matter all that much. After my practice, and my relationship with God…. you know…it’s just too tempting, I lose myself. It’s especially true when it comes to girls like you…”

“Oh…”

I feel whiplash in my head. But also something drop like a stone in my gut. I feel, like I just left the reality I was in and time traveled to a parallel one. Was I missing something?

“I mean, I’m not saying…this whole weekend we just had—I could’ve been fine with it not happening.”

I freeze on some subtle level, I feel it in my tissues alongside the anger.

I feel myself go into deep analysis and begin to parse over the whole weekend, this miscommunication, my confusion, our attachment styles, how our wounds are attracting each other…

I don’t vocalize any of this, instead I ask him a few simple questions to get clear around his intentions.

I listen, understanding in an instant that sometimes our own expectations of ourselves are not the ones we are living up to. I have empathy for that. I don’t share or reflect this back either, the contradiction, the hypocrisy, the disrespect I feel.

The feeling that comes up after he shares is all the information I need to know what to do next.

I smile, close my eyes and stand up, and in a swift string of gestures, I gather my things from the kitchen, the living room and start to head towards the door.

He looks confused.

“Oh wow, you’re going?”

“Yes I say. I don’t see the point in staying.”

“This is abrupt. We can be friends right?”

Past me would have stayed to talk it out and assure him there are no hard feelings.

Past me would have run a whole diagnostics on the scenario to figure out where wires were crossed, how I potentially misrepresented myself, where the communication broke down and shared that with him, taking the opportunity to educate as a way to deal with my own hurt.

Past me would have stayed and explained all of it to LA Dude, that he was exhibiting bonding behavior beyond the category of friendship. That he was sending mixed messages.

Past me would have even denied my ‘deeper than friends’ feelings that were already present, and said yes, of course let’s be friends!!

Past me would have done everything in her power to make him comfortable, softened the blow for him, shape-shifted to fit his expectations and contorted myself to accept what was available, smaller, less than what I was looking for.

This is my good-girl programming.

But I’ve been steady working to fortify a different kind of program, or deprogram all together, and return to a wilder, less well behaved version of myself.

The wild woman part who knows better. Who sniffed this truth out before it even started. Who knew to remain skeptical because something was tugging at her awareness saying, careful…

The part led by the wisdom of my deep inner knowing, the part that no longer denies the pit falling to the bottom of my stomach, that knows without needing to articulate it beyond “no”, that I am a no to staying to explain myself, negotiating with the truth when it has clearly been revealed, to just being friends after far surpassing the boundary of friendship.

So I decide to leave, without any further discussion.

Not because I wanted to punish him, or thought he was a bad guy, but because enough had been shown to me to know I would not be able to continue without having to compromise myself. And I didn’t need him to understand that in order for it to be a choice I made.

I leave because I don’t have the energy for it.

I chose to trust what I had been actively practicing. It is actually ok, once I get the proof I need, to decide swiftly and simply answer, “no.”

Sometimes things are that black and white.

And so I show up for myself in a way that is brand new.

With “we can still be friends, right?” still hanging in the air, my hand on the doorknob—

I answer quite honestly, “after the spit exchanged (LA dude), I think we’re a little too far beyond just friends…”

Because just before that, the truth comes through with piercing clarity and zero hesitation.

What I want is actually unavailable, and I do not need to waste another ounce of life force on convincing myself otherwise, or convincing him I’m worth it.

And for a life time of people pleasing, for the one who historically overextends and enables and accommodates, I know I’m saying yes to what is meant for me by saying no, even though I can’t quite see it yet.

In some ways I can. It’s the feeling that isn’t here, that I’m holding space for.

And often that’s the more powerful, albeit harder choice to make.

In the face of what is trying to convince you out of your certainty, sometimes your own damn mind, choose to trust the subtlety, the *ping*, and remember the information coming through your direct perception is enough proof of what you know to be true, and requires no further explanation.

I’m with you, in remembering how to occupy the wild within.

Thanks for being here.

x

Z