26 - not in mid-life crisis

I find myself saying briefly and prosaically that it is much more important to be oneself than anything else.

   —# 538, David Shields, Reality Hunger…

~~~

I am suffering. It’s the curse of Conrad, “…to make you hear, to make you feel—it is, before all, to make you see.” He succeeded, and I am bubble off plumb, so, so unsettled by what I’ve heard and felt, what I am seeing. The depth and breadth of individual pain and suffering, the yearning and longing, the praying, the truth, the lies, the self-conceits, battling and warring nations and tribes, cultures at odds, the want of something other than what we have, believing in something other than what exists, the attempts at making lasting changes, ceaseless failure, destruction and death the end all….

Camille hasn’t returned my calls, email messages or texts. I am steeling my spine, manning up, don’t feel good about this. Am not so fearless and courageous at the moment, feeling damaged, and old, nearly used up,… not quite, not quite, damn it! Can hear Patricia Barber’s rendition of the Bill Withers’ tune, Use Me. Yes!

“I wanna spread the news
that if it feels this good getting used
just keep on using me
until you use me up.”

Truth: this body ravaged by cancer, torturous therapies, never again to be rehabilitated and repaired, no going back, though I’ve joined the La Jolla YMCA intent on regaining strength and endurance, maybe do some Zumba, find pleasure in it, no matter, it’s all a forward movement, as the river finds the sea, can’t avoid it, it’s sinking in, am aging, diseased, and this thing with Camille, a woman half my age, what the hell?

At work they realize I’m not going to die anytime soon, nor leave voluntarily. I’ve a hardy spirit, resilient I am, wacked. I think they finally get it, that I am not and have never been someone who wanted to “grow,” have a career, assume some leadership position; “just a guy loving the simple tasks at hand, providing support and assistance to the REACH community,” at play, getting it done. They’ve renamed my position. I am now the “Senior” Customer Services Specialist; providing a little “senior servicing.” You have to laugh.

And I am laughing, the crazed laughter of someone outside, not normal, not on the rails, NOT in mid-life crisis. In order to be in mid-life crisis you have to be someone who has lived life in typical stages: teenager who can’t wait to be grown up, attentive student wanting to be a success, developing and maturing adult, seeking spouse and family, home and hearth, focused and goal-oriented careerist, going along, purchasing of insurance, going along, married or divorced with kids, grandkids, moving ever so predictably to the final act, proper funeral planning, the family plot, the final resting place. RIP.

The crisis ignites when some particular thing happens, the individual is stirred awake and realizes they’ve been in a death-sleep, they see that much of what they’ve done, accomplished and lived came as result of putting their nose to the grindstone, often on the rails, duty-bound and obliged—habituated. Those in the mid-life crisis want to fire things up. And those around them, so used to the predictable, reliable and dependable person, now see someone wayward, capricious and out of control.

I am NOT that person.

Maya and I were certainly susceptible to habituation, as I’ve said, we grew accustomed, the power and effects of the long-term, the settling in, mystery and romance at some midpoint went the way of the moon, full and robust, and slowly, imperceptibly, the waning gibbous emerges, and a further movement into darkness, light diminishing, joy disappearing.

It’s weird, it’s like she needed an atypical presence to provide a supporting ground for her success. I certainly gave it to her, always dancing the jig, chasing her around, keeping things lively, a kind of entertainment, while she worked and worked, keeping herself busy, always with cocked eyebrow, the looking askance, the slapping my hand away, and she grew conservative, and our relationship simply and slowly faded into its final soullessness.

So very odd to witness it, as if an anthropologist, a participant observer.

She hits 40 and it’s like she really does want to play house. The cats died, and she starts talking about getting a dog, imagines comfy-cozy strolls in the neighborhood, and hanging out with the neighbors, and then declares she will never rent again, that it’s time to buy the home, and she rejects my offer to pay her rent, she wants me to buy with her, we fight about this, and it’s like she forgot who I was, how I live, that property and possession don’t mean jack to me, that “settling in/down” was never something I imagined, all of this, as if we were conventional, it’s as if she wants to rewind, pretend that we’ve been married all along, after a decade and a half of living differently (and full-on she doesn’t really want to be married), and I’m thinking why the hell do you want me to be on your loan document? It’s a contract, some illusion, some perceived barrier to departure, a fantasy guarantee, and of course all of this, so much bullcorn… Jesus H Christ~!

And here’s the kicker, I mean seriously, you can’t make this shit up, in one early conversation with Camille, this 33 year-old woman on her way to med school after nearly a decade in nursing, looking to the future, dreaming, imagining, she talks of owning a home, that she’s still not sure about having kids, the bio-clock running, undecided she is, and I’m all supportive, listening, and in my head, so gaga, so lost in love with her, I’m thinking, “I’d buy a home with you, I’d risk dying, going off Lupron to bring back the boys with squiggly tails, fuck it, I’d marry you, just give the word.” Camille, can you hear me?

And I’m shaking my head, how does it work, how is it that we can instantaneously redefine ourselves, think of being and doing and living in a different way?

It’s the person opposite, it’s the conditions at play, it’s the moment you’re in, and if you’ve decided that this is all there is, that you’re malleable, changeable, and willing to imagine yourself anew, well, in the end, you’ll do anything for love.

... it’s life, it's blue sky, it’s clouds rolling in and the mist, the rain, and the gulls all ornery.

Comments

[Rosemary]

Wow! I SOOOOO see myself in each person/relationship described here.....same thoughts, same strivings......YIKES, my friend - you have illuminated my path yet again!

[Rozzi]

Such a hear-rendering, gut-wrenching post, so full of truisms and opposites,being lost at the same time as you are looking in the mirror. Excellent writing, my friend!!

[Maxwell Kinney]

R & R:

I like it. Max the mirror. Not sure about illuminating paths. More about feeling liberated in the attempt to make meaning, to make sense of, to share the travail and exhilaration of being alive. It is so very good to be alive and in love.

"Hear-rendering"? At first this blew me away, to render what we've heard, grand writers, someone like Beckett, allude to the sensation, in silence, and it's broken with a murmur, a voice, voices, a hearing, and you got me to thinking.... Then I realized you were writing presto-pronto, that you mistyped it, that you meant "heart-rending"... something else entirely.

Thanks to you both for visiting, for reading, for taking the time to respond.