There is a very famous scene in Marcel Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past, in which the main character, consistent with the title and theme of the nine volume series, runs through a stream of memories associated with his childhood. Various memories are invoked. He speaks of loneliness at night in his bed after his mother tucks him away to sleep before returning to her social guests downstairs. The rustle of her dresses, the touch of her lips on the boyhood cheeks – all of these small things are noted. However, the most celebrated memory that the narrator makes no small mention of his recollections of the taste and smell, particularly of the biscuits and marmalade [rather tough cookies and tea to us Yanks]. I’ve been thinking about this part of the book a lot lately, and if that conceited French gentleman were still around, I would engage in a bit of friendly verbal sparring.

Proust stresses the issue of sensory stimulation and its relation to memory. Where I would like to see some departure, however, is that obsessing on the past to an extreme gets one absolutely nowhere. Just like Mikey from Swingers, the narrator can’t improve until he lets go of the past. This is not meant in total disagreement of the pervasiveness of smell from one’s childhood into memory – I quite recall the smell of those Wonder Woman Underoos that I wore to run around the living room as Johnny Carson gave his opening monologue. Those Underoos were such a fire hazard, and come to think of it, the smell of those was quite petroleum based. Also I remember the buttery cookies that my mother used to make, which I regret never getting the recipe for, as no one has ever been able to duplicate the lightness and sheer giddiness that they give the tastebuds. These memories of smell and taste are always carefree ones. Memories of past romantic relationships, however, seldom bring us such positive remembrances.

It is easy to get lost in one’s own thoughts, as I can well attest. This of course, is something that is inherently female. It is good though, to not stay in one’s own mind for too long, and instead pull away on a regular basis for that proverbial reality check. This can be done by taking a cue that is typically male, and this cue can in fact help us avoid the assholes and go for the nice guys.

A girl is less likely to put up with the Trents (as opposed to the Mikeys of the world) if she has better things to do – that is, she has interests outside of men and marriage, 2.5 kids, a dog, and a minivan. Perhaps this is because if you love life, yourself, and your own enthusiasms, it is far too much trouble to put up with crap from an asshole. These interests should be consuming passions, or at the very least, continuous sources of amusement that are not dependent on others participation or approval. As Charles Baudelaire, another Frenchie who freely gave himself over to experiencing life rather than dwelling on the past, “Be drunken, always. That is the point; nothing else matters.” Let us be clear that this is not a plug for alcoholism – read on – “Drunken with what? With wine, with poetry or with virtue, as you please. But be drunken.” My interpretation of these words, other than the fellow’s poor taste in poetry, is that it is far more important to have your own mutually exclusive interests than to depend on your man or anyone else for them.

This all came to mind while watching High Fidelity with that beautiful loser, John Cusack, playing the character of Rob. Rob is at a crossroads in life, which is a threshold that most of us face on a consistent basis. This is the forced choice whether to be young and funky forever, or making the decision to make something of one’s life. And Rob doesn’t get this way merely by mulling his dilemma repeatedly in his mind. Rob does not focus on trying to get laid or how to find that perfect relationship. Nope. He is passionate about something other than his own neuroses or beastial urges. Music is the vessel into which Rob lays down his desperation. His passion of enjoying music is something that cannot be touched or affected by others. This unconditional enthusiasm gives him the strength to make his difficult decision and climb out of that rut.

So let this be a lesson to females from something that many males already know. Don’t obsess over the opposite sex. Have other interests besides finding the perfect man to save you. Learn how to wipe your own tears and blow your own nose. Stand on your own and be brilliant, an entity not to be shaken by your interactions with men. It doesn’t have to be music, but find yourself a passion that is for you, and only you. And as someone reminded me recently, it is important to surround oneself only with people and things that are good for you in some way.