I’m in love with a memory

Dear Reader,

I’m doing it again. I’m going long. In the past, in my blessed twelve years writing the advice column five days a week for Salon.com, the most commonly remarked-upon flaw in my work was my tendency to overwrite, to write long, to repeat myself, to go off on tangents (see what I mean?). My friend and mentor David Talbot, bless his soul, never gave me much trouble about it, perhaps seeing how fragile I am, how resistant to criticism, how easily wounded, but the one passing remark he made, while giving me this unheard-of freedom to write as I please, was, um, it could be shorter.

Now that David has asked me to contribute an upcoming essay to his new site, www.TheDavidTalbotShow.com, I must acknowledge a lifelong friendship and a lifelong debt to the man who created Salon.com, thus giving a platform to so many talented writers who have gone on to illustrious careers. And the man who, like me, has survived medical catastrophe and knows whereof he speaks when talking about the American medical system, both its brilliance and its flaws. So look for my new essay on recovering from Covid-19, soon on TheDavidTalbotShow.com!

Yes, the essay I am about to send to David probably could be shorter! Yes indeed. But do I have to? No, he never said I had to, and when my immediate editor, Karen Croft, or Ruth Henrich, or King Kaufman, or any of the other perspicacious and capable editorial folks on Salon.com saved me from myself by gently excising or suggesting I excise laborious, incomprehensible, malicious, potentially libelous, misplaced, hallucinogenic or otherwise editorially unfit chunks of my work, they did it with the utmost tact.

Other folks went understandably nuts about it from time to time I’m sure, those who had to endure the malicious but hilarious attacks from places like Gawker.com and, well, cruel if accurate critics on all sides. So here again, I’m doing the column, I’m not getting paid, I have no fear of being fired, and editing my own work is a chore, not a delight.

Writing it is a delight. Shortening it is a bore. Enjoy the energy. I’m going long again!–ct

Dear Cary,

I’ve loved the same boy since I was a teenager, knowing that for lots of reasons we would never end up together. Our love has endured and we’ve had decades of meaningful time together for its own sake, without the pressure of everyday partnership. The pandemic has brought us far closer to one another, but, in doing so, has led me to a painful realization: I never let go of my teenage hopes for him.

He’s taken an unconventional life path while mine has been very conventional and successful, both according to outside measures and my own. As teenagers we had an intense, passionate connection that was partly fueled by this dynamic: me as the ambitious, social rising star and him as the alternative-lifestyle skeptic who liked my shine. He liked my take-charge attitude and I liked bossing him around and telling him I knew better. That spark between us never died. But, unfortunately, neither did that fun-but-unbalanced dynamic.

He’s grown up, gotten involved with a community that strikes many outsiders (including me!) as cultish, and chosen a nontraditional career. And I’ve kept him stuck as that teenager with so much potential in my mind: that creativity, that contrarian streak, all inevitably leading him towards self-discovery and being a unique, free-thinking leader! He probably thinks he’s achieved that, but those of us who knew him back then see how narrowed his life has become by his chosen group’s dogma and his limited social exposure.

Last fall he went through a life-changing experience when that old version of him came suddenly roaring back, and I felt joyfully vindicated – it’s finally happening! He’s awakened! There was so much self-reflection and epiphanies about the complicated messiness that is life. But, that moment has passed, and he’s doubled down on his adult choices. And I’m left here, with our even deeper shared love but the painful realization that my fantasy-fueled perception of him has to go, before I just feel bitter and mean towards the person he is now.

I’m used to finding common ground and pride myself on having friendships that have bridged even these tumultuous political times! But this feels so much deeper – about one’s day-to-day values, interests, and energy. Do I have an ego problem for still wanting his life to look more like mine and thinking that he’s a little bit brainwashed? Or am I trying to love someone who simply no longer exists? He’s always going to be part of my life, and doesn’t ever have to be my partner, yet I feel so vexed by feelings of judgment, anger, and confusion towards someone who shows me such full love.

How can I appreciate and reciprocate this wonderful love without letting my critical eye poison it?

Gratefully,
Stuck in the Past

Dear Stuck,

What looked like idealism at 18 may look like foolishness at 40, but consider his plight, what he might stand to lose personally, if he should give up on his ideals.

He made a promise to himself long ago that he would never sell out, that he would never join the crowd. Maybe he doesn’t even realize he made that promise. But clearly, he made some commitments that came from a deep place. They’ve probably sustained him more than is evident. But now they’ve gotten him into trouble, partly because of his own failure to make practical plans, and partly because of what our society rewards and what it punishes. It is punishing him. It will probably keep on punishing him as long as he refuses to knuckle under and live by its rules.

He’s in a tough spot.  I know. I share some traits with this man–his preference for the nontraditional, his attraction to cultish groups, his failure to adequately plan, his determination to hold onto his ideals. I have sympathy for this guy. But, like you, I could also get a little exasperated with him. Like, really? Still? The same battles? The same issues? The same results?

So I get where you are coming from. You see him through the lens of your own history, your own expectations, and it’s kind of devastating. You may have shared his unrealistic hopes way back when. You see him through that lens, but also the lens of today. So I ask myself, what other lens is there through which to see him? Is there a lens that would show what is otherwise invisible, the deep importance to him of  keeping to his ideals, the way they summon his energies? Perhaps his apparent recklessness produces something needful to his soul, something needful that we cannot see. Perhaps what appears to be failure is actually food for his spirit? Perhaps behind all this chaos and failure is something vital to his survival.

As to thinking that he’s a little brainwashed, he probably is. So what if it’s “judgmental” to say that? What’s wrong with being judgmental–i.e. making observations and reaching a conclusion? And wanting his life to look more like yours: what’s wrong with that? We want what we want.

I’d say your perceptions are accurate, accurate to the point of cutting. You are seeing the situation as it actually is, and seeing it accurately is painful. If you’ve imagined a future that will never be, and have allowed yourself to imagine that future and luxuriate in it, then you have allowed yourself to be seduced, and you must let go of that beautiful future, and that’s hard and painful. But you have to realize: It never existed in the first place. Your imagined future was never real.

You can’t change him. That’s a law of nature. You do know that, right? That you can’t argue him out of being who he is?

And yes, I do think of it as an ego problem. But what are you going to do, get rid of the ego? People say the heart wants what it wants. Well, the ego wants what it wants, too. You just have to recognize when the ego is pushing for something that is impossible. Like changing this guy into who you think he’s supposed to be.

As to your question, “Am I trying to love someone who simply no longer exists?” Well, yeah, this does sound like what you’re doing. The guy you’re trying to love is not before you in the moment. He’s back there in high school.

What is real is the present, this guy, you, what you have together and what you don’t have together. So why not try to love the guy who is before you in the moment, this flawed, exasperating character? His failure to live up to your expectations is not his problem. It’s yours. But maybe you don’t actually love this guy who is before you in the moment. Maybe that is the pain.

You further say, “I feel so vexed by feelings of judgment, anger, and confusion towards someone who shows me such full love. How can I appreciate and reciprocate this wonderful love without letting my critical eye poison it?” How do you avoid letting your critical eye poison it? Through kindness and restraint of tongue. You don’t have to tell him every flaw you see in his choices. You don’t have to tell him what he says sounds hollow. You don’t have to tell him he seems brainwashed. You don’t have to hash all this out like you might have in high school.

Ah, high school! Geezus, high school! You could believe crazy stuff no problem. Everybody did. Oh, the hell of maturity! All that letting go of crazy notions, stuff that would never happen no way but we didn’t know that then!

At my age, I now believe that people are not as strong, or resilient, or reasonable, as we thought they were. People are more frail, more needful of reassuring untruths, more needful of direction and authority, than we realized.

We humans are just not all we’re cracked up to be is the plain truth of it. So try lowering your expectations. Or just replacing them with acceptance. Wherever he fails to meet your expectations, try just accepting it. You see the situation clearly. So just try accepting it.

And how, exactly, do you do that? you may ask. It is simple. Yet it is difficult. In its essence is this: You just do it.

Good luck.