What Turns You On?

A recent story about a male stripper performing at a nursing home made me smile, then pause.

Am I the only one whose excitement emanates more from within? I'm no "poker face." When I'm enthralled and engaged, it is blatantly obvious: My energy level is high and I feel intoxicated without taking alcohol or any substance. This is usually because those around me lift me up by their pure energy, love and respect. Some refer to this as being "empathic," and I am hard-pressed to disagree.

For the most part, I abhor the concept of strippers—male or female. To me, it is nether stimulating, nor enticing. I find myself way too embarrassed for the performer to enjoy their efforts. I know he's not turned on by me, we are unlikely to end up in the sack, and everything he does is part of his act—his way of making a living. Therefore I pass on such displays whenever possible.

I have never completely understood the "stripper thing" overall. Of course, I understand that men in particular tend to be visual beings more scintillated by a woman throwing herself on him, gyrating accordingly. It apparently makes him feel special. The fantasy removes him from his often mundane routine. Except he's paying quite the premium for the display. (Some, far higher prices than they—or those they love—could ever have imagined.)

How little one must think of himself to believe he has nothing to attract a woman except money in his pocket. Money he can often ill-afford—and the dancer is very eager to collect.

I don't believe I'm repressed or reluctant to let loose. In my younger days I spent many hours on the dance floor, letting my freak flag fly, letting each beat of the music filter through my body in movement and rhythm. To me, that is freedom; that is exciting. 

Maybe it's just another sign that I'm more of a "doer" than a "watcher."

Overload

One of the downsides of having an empathic nature is that even TV shows and the trials and tribulations of their characters can leave me feeling for another's loss or pain. 

Then there's Flight MH370, the Seattle mudslide, recent fires in NJ (Pt Pleasant motel & Edison elementary school--both supposedly caused by a discarded cigarette), and the "little pockets of pain" all over the world that devastate families and communities. 

Sometimes being totally media aware can be draining. 

All we can do is pray, offer strength and hope, and thank God for every moment we have a semblance of peace in our lives.

And turn off the flow of information rushing at us--at least a few seconds.

All this being said, I still don't believe Joss is really dead.