Well the danger on the rocks is surely past
Still I remain tied to the mast
Could it be that I have found my home at last
Home at last
Steely Dan, “Home at Last”
I don’t generally follow gossip, tabloids and the like, but when clients who are equally unlikely to be talking about tabloid headlines start mentioning something, be it Michael Jackson or Tiger Woods, I tend to pay attention in terms of what it could mean for us as a culture—and how it might related to the collective consciousness… and unconsciousness.
Although many a man (and woman) would say that men cheat because they are dogs, I disagree. I think men cheat to the extent that they suffer narcissistic wounds—unclear about who they are, what they want, how to heal their wounds and how to suffer productively when suffering (or at least a modicum of frustration) is inescapable. Men who know themselves, and then find themselves in a relationship that for whatever reason truly does not work, are at least more inclined to leave honestly than to betray.
Yet men also cheat because often they really don’t know better. There was a famous seducer of women who, after a life of liaisons rivaling Don Giovanni, confided his well-earned conclusion: The f-ing you get is not worth the f-ing you get.