This post was originally written on January 13, 2013.
They asked me to write what I feel.
A lot of people think that human beings tend to not want what they have. They assume that people are perpetually dissatisfied with the status quo. Some people even believe that this is the very reason for human progress; that discontent breeds innovation, and that if people weren't always dissatisfied with the way things are, they would never want to change anything, and there would be no new inventions to improve the lives of others. The idea is that once a person has something, he’ll no longer want it.
That's not the way the world is.
I don't mean to say that people are content with their lives. No, that isn't what I mean at all. In fact, the idea that humans are perpetually dissatisfied is pretty on-the-mark, as a general thing. The problem that I have with the idea is that almost everybody who thinks this assumes that human beings don't want things because they have them. That's the part that I disagree with. You see, it's not that people don't want things because they have them – it’s because they don't want things that they're able to get them. It's not that people want what they can't have; it's that they can't have it because they want it.
How many times have you seen someone demand respect? Someone who wants people to respect him so much that he rants and raves about how he doesn't get the respect he deserves, and as he rages on, loses even more of the very respect that he's demanding. Those people are a dime a dozen. They spend their whole lives wanting to be respected, and work their way into a position that normally warrants respect, only to find that it was never about their status – it was about them. They still don't have the respect that they worked so hard for, because they still care about it too much.
How many lovesick fools have you met? Ones so infatuated with someone that they don't pay any attention to anyone else. How many times have you seen someone pine over the one that got away, or the one that they could never have, convinced that that person was the only one? How many times did they get what they wanted? The way I look at it, there are three outcomes to a situation like that: they fail, they succeed, or they succeed only to find that their object of desire could never live up to their expectations. Let's take a look at all three instances.
First, the failure. When someone knows his love is unrequited, and it becomes obvious that he has no chance, what does he do? He tries to move on. No matter how hard he tries, though, he just can't seem to break free of whatever spell has been cast over him. He'll struggle for a while; maybe try to forget his true desire by dating someone else. It's easy to get someone else, when you don't want her. Eventually, though, anyone in a situation like that will discover that no matter how hard he tries, no matter how much he wants to stop caring about her, he never can. And he gives up. He resigns himself to being stuck loving someone who doesn't love him back. He sees a poignancy in it; thinks he's being romantic. He starts to see the beauty in his tragedy, and embraces it. Then, just as he starts to see the twisted appeal of his situation, and just as he stops wanting to escape his unrequited love, he finally starts to let go.
Now let's look at the person who succeeds only to find that their newly found love couldn't live up to his expectations. That one's pretty simple, really. The lovesick person idealizes his object of desire, and when he finally gets her, she doesn't seem quite as perfect as she had before. She was never what he really wanted – he wanted the perfect love. Now that he has her, not only is he in a relationship with someone who he doesn't truly love, but he also no longer has that belief that he used to cling to – that his woman was ideal. He'd give anything to have that back, but he never will. The broken mirror that was his naiveté can't be pieced back together.
And what about the one who succeeds? He who pursues his love diligently and persistently, and is finally rewarded for his efforts, and somehow, against all odds, the object of his desire does live up to his expectations. Well, let's take a look at what he wanted. He wanted her to love him. After the first time she spurned him, he kept trying and trying, convinced that he would be able to win her over – that if she gave him a chance to show her how much he loved her, she would return his affection. So what happens when she finally says yes? When he finally gets his chance, was it really what he wanted? What he wanted was for her to say yes the first time. Why did she refuse him so many times, if she didn't find anything wrong with him? Whatever it was that had kept her from accepting him the first time was still there. That knowledge eats at him, and every time she tells him that she loves him, the doubt lingers in the back of his mind, and he can never truly enjoy his success.
In every relationship, one person settles and the other knows it. With Wanda, it was me who settled. We never talked about it, not at first, but we both knew. Sometimes I wonder if it would have ended differently, if I'd learned to appreciate her sooner. I don't think it would have, but I like to wonder sometimes anyway.
Wanda was a sweet girl, and she deserved better than me. We had a lot of the same interests, and she was nice. Nice doesn't sound like much of a compliment, does it? That's the impression that I had of her, though. She wasn't stunning, or vibrant, or sexy, but she was nice. The feelings that I had for her were as underwhelming as the word nice. I was fond of her, and I liked being around her, but I didn't love her. She loved me, though, and for a while, that kept everything together.
Deep down, I didn't want to marry her, but I couldn't see any reason not to. She was like a companion to me. Isn't that what I always used to think of as perfect love? Someone who you don't get tired of being around; someone you don't mind spending every moment with, like they're just an extension of yourself? That's what I always used to want, wasn't it? By the time I got it, though, I wanted something else.
I wanted to love her, I really did. Wanting didn't change anything. If anything, wanting to love her only made it more apparent to me that I didn't. But what could I do? I was married to a woman that I didn't love, but it's not like it was a horrible life. I liked her just fine, and we even had a kid on the way.
I think she could sense that something was wrong. In fact, I'm certain of it. The more I slipped away, the closer she tried to get to me. She lied to herself and hid from the truth that she knew deep down. She tried to comfort me and ask me what was wrong, and the more she tried to fix the problem, the worse it became. She'd come closer and I'd pull away, out of guilt, or shame, or I don't know what, but I couldn't stand to be around her, to look into her eyes and see the pain that I knew that I was causing.
As our child grew up – we only had one – I started to become bitter towards her. I felt like I had somehow been robbed of something, like if I hadn't gotten married and had a kid that I'd be rich and famous, or traveling the world, or anywhere other than the middle management hell that I was stuck in. I'd go out with my coworkers after work and get drinks – not because I enjoyed their company, or even felt like one of them, but because I didn't want to go home. What kind of father would rather get shitfaced and black out every night instead of tucking his daughter into bed?
I might have gone on like that for much longer, maybe even the rest of my life, if I hadn't been hit in a car accident. Strangely, I was sober the day it happened, and the accident was another man's fault. It was a bad accident, and I had to be put in the intensive care unit. Somehow, I made it out with no permanent damage, but I did have to spend a lot of time in the hospital. It gave me a lot of time to think.
Sitting in that bed, I realized what a fool I'd been. I had had a loving wife and a beautiful four year old, and I was spending every day at the bottom of a bottle, and for what? So that I wouldn't have to go home to my family? I remembered what it was like before I was bitter, back when I enjoyed just being around Wanda, even if what I felt for her didn't fit my definition of love. Who was to say that I couldn't go back to that? I could learn to appreciate her, and be happy around her again. The only thing stopping me was myself, wasn't it? I knew that when I got out of that hospital, I was going to turn things around. I was going to be the husband and father that Wanda and Amy had never had, but always deserved. I was going to appreciate them, and I was going to be happy again.
When you start wanting happiness, though, the universe always finds a way to take that away from you. Wanting something makes it impossible to have. My stay in the hospital gave Wanda some time to think, too, and while I was in there thinking about how I was going to turn my life around, she was at home, thinking the same thing. She was taking care of Amy all by herself, which really wasn't much different than when I was there, except for the fact that there wasn't a drunk reminder of the man she once loved stumbling in every night. She realized that she didn't need me, and she was right. It's funny, but the day that I was finally ready to start loving her, she didn't want my love anymore.
The divorce ruined me. I don't mean financially, but I guess there was that, too. What got me was the knowledge that I had had every reason to be happy, but I was too stupid to see it. I looked back on the life that I'd had and hated, and missed every second of it. I would have given anything to have it back.
There was this incense that Wanda used to like to light when we would have sex, back before it all went to shit. Sandalwood. She said that it set the mood. I never really thought much of it at the time, but after I really started letting myself go, it was what I would cling to to remember what it was like to be by her side. I would light a few sticks while I'd drug myself into oblivion, and for a second, the smell would take me through space and time, and I wouldn't be leaning against the wall of an alley with a needle in my arm. I'd be there, in bed with her. I could feel the sheets against my skin and I'd look over and watch her breathe. The nipples on her flat chest would be swollen from the attention that I'd given them, and the sweat made us sticky, but we didn't care. And I'd start crying, and before she could ask me what was wrong, she'd disappear, and I'd be back in the alley by myself.
Even the incense didn't last forever. Eventually, I stopped associating the smell with my memories of Wanda and I started associating it with my memories of missing her. I'd lost what I had left of her and I couldn't find it no matter how many straws or needles I looked in.
I had lost everything that had ever mattered to me, and I couldn't take it. All that I had left was my life, and I'd be damned if I was going to let fate take that from me, too. It was the one thing I still had control over, and I wanted to take it from myself before I was robbed of the chance.
I still remember my last thoughts. I wouldn't say that I was happy, but I was at peace. It was a relief, knowing that I was leaving my misery behind. I didn't leave a note, but maybe Wanda would hear the news and know I was sorry. It was a lonely death, but I had no problem with that. I was free, and that was all that mattered.
And then I woke up. I should have known.
They asked me to write what I feel.
A lot of people think that human beings tend to not want what they have. They assume that people are perpetually dissatisfied with the status quo. Some people even believe that this is the very reason for human progress; that discontent breeds innovation, and that if people weren't always dissatisfied with the way things are, they would never want to change anything, and there would be no new inventions to improve the lives of others. The idea is that once a person has something, he’ll no longer want it.
That's not the way the world is.
I don't mean to say that people are content with their lives. No, that isn't what I mean at all. In fact, the idea that humans are perpetually dissatisfied is pretty on-the-mark, as a general thing. The problem that I have with the idea is that almost everybody who thinks this assumes that human beings don't want things because they have them. That's the part that I disagree with. You see, it's not that people don't want things because they have them – it’s because they don't want things that they're able to get them. It's not that people want what they can't have; it's that they can't have it because they want it.
How many times have you seen someone demand respect? Someone who wants people to respect him so much that he rants and raves about how he doesn't get the respect he deserves, and as he rages on, loses even more of the very respect that he's demanding. Those people are a dime a dozen. They spend their whole lives wanting to be respected, and work their way into a position that normally warrants respect, only to find that it was never about their status – it was about them. They still don't have the respect that they worked so hard for, because they still care about it too much.
How many lovesick fools have you met? Ones so infatuated with someone that they don't pay any attention to anyone else. How many times have you seen someone pine over the one that got away, or the one that they could never have, convinced that that person was the only one? How many times did they get what they wanted? The way I look at it, there are three outcomes to a situation like that: they fail, they succeed, or they succeed only to find that their object of desire could never live up to their expectations. Let's take a look at all three instances.
First, the failure. When someone knows his love is unrequited, and it becomes obvious that he has no chance, what does he do? He tries to move on. No matter how hard he tries, though, he just can't seem to break free of whatever spell has been cast over him. He'll struggle for a while; maybe try to forget his true desire by dating someone else. It's easy to get someone else, when you don't want her. Eventually, though, anyone in a situation like that will discover that no matter how hard he tries, no matter how much he wants to stop caring about her, he never can. And he gives up. He resigns himself to being stuck loving someone who doesn't love him back. He sees a poignancy in it; thinks he's being romantic. He starts to see the beauty in his tragedy, and embraces it. Then, just as he starts to see the twisted appeal of his situation, and just as he stops wanting to escape his unrequited love, he finally starts to let go.
Now let's look at the person who succeeds only to find that their newly found love couldn't live up to his expectations. That one's pretty simple, really. The lovesick person idealizes his object of desire, and when he finally gets her, she doesn't seem quite as perfect as she had before. She was never what he really wanted – he wanted the perfect love. Now that he has her, not only is he in a relationship with someone who he doesn't truly love, but he also no longer has that belief that he used to cling to – that his woman was ideal. He'd give anything to have that back, but he never will. The broken mirror that was his naiveté can't be pieced back together.
And what about the one who succeeds? He who pursues his love diligently and persistently, and is finally rewarded for his efforts, and somehow, against all odds, the object of his desire does live up to his expectations. Well, let's take a look at what he wanted. He wanted her to love him. After the first time she spurned him, he kept trying and trying, convinced that he would be able to win her over – that if she gave him a chance to show her how much he loved her, she would return his affection. So what happens when she finally says yes? When he finally gets his chance, was it really what he wanted? What he wanted was for her to say yes the first time. Why did she refuse him so many times, if she didn't find anything wrong with him? Whatever it was that had kept her from accepting him the first time was still there. That knowledge eats at him, and every time she tells him that she loves him, the doubt lingers in the back of his mind, and he can never truly enjoy his success.
In every relationship, one person settles and the other knows it. With Wanda, it was me who settled. We never talked about it, not at first, but we both knew. Sometimes I wonder if it would have ended differently, if I'd learned to appreciate her sooner. I don't think it would have, but I like to wonder sometimes anyway.
Wanda was a sweet girl, and she deserved better than me. We had a lot of the same interests, and she was nice. Nice doesn't sound like much of a compliment, does it? That's the impression that I had of her, though. She wasn't stunning, or vibrant, or sexy, but she was nice. The feelings that I had for her were as underwhelming as the word nice. I was fond of her, and I liked being around her, but I didn't love her. She loved me, though, and for a while, that kept everything together.
Deep down, I didn't want to marry her, but I couldn't see any reason not to. She was like a companion to me. Isn't that what I always used to think of as perfect love? Someone who you don't get tired of being around; someone you don't mind spending every moment with, like they're just an extension of yourself? That's what I always used to want, wasn't it? By the time I got it, though, I wanted something else.
I wanted to love her, I really did. Wanting didn't change anything. If anything, wanting to love her only made it more apparent to me that I didn't. But what could I do? I was married to a woman that I didn't love, but it's not like it was a horrible life. I liked her just fine, and we even had a kid on the way.
I think she could sense that something was wrong. In fact, I'm certain of it. The more I slipped away, the closer she tried to get to me. She lied to herself and hid from the truth that she knew deep down. She tried to comfort me and ask me what was wrong, and the more she tried to fix the problem, the worse it became. She'd come closer and I'd pull away, out of guilt, or shame, or I don't know what, but I couldn't stand to be around her, to look into her eyes and see the pain that I knew that I was causing.
As our child grew up – we only had one – I started to become bitter towards her. I felt like I had somehow been robbed of something, like if I hadn't gotten married and had a kid that I'd be rich and famous, or traveling the world, or anywhere other than the middle management hell that I was stuck in. I'd go out with my coworkers after work and get drinks – not because I enjoyed their company, or even felt like one of them, but because I didn't want to go home. What kind of father would rather get shitfaced and black out every night instead of tucking his daughter into bed?
I might have gone on like that for much longer, maybe even the rest of my life, if I hadn't been hit in a car accident. Strangely, I was sober the day it happened, and the accident was another man's fault. It was a bad accident, and I had to be put in the intensive care unit. Somehow, I made it out with no permanent damage, but I did have to spend a lot of time in the hospital. It gave me a lot of time to think.
Sitting in that bed, I realized what a fool I'd been. I had had a loving wife and a beautiful four year old, and I was spending every day at the bottom of a bottle, and for what? So that I wouldn't have to go home to my family? I remembered what it was like before I was bitter, back when I enjoyed just being around Wanda, even if what I felt for her didn't fit my definition of love. Who was to say that I couldn't go back to that? I could learn to appreciate her, and be happy around her again. The only thing stopping me was myself, wasn't it? I knew that when I got out of that hospital, I was going to turn things around. I was going to be the husband and father that Wanda and Amy had never had, but always deserved. I was going to appreciate them, and I was going to be happy again.
When you start wanting happiness, though, the universe always finds a way to take that away from you. Wanting something makes it impossible to have. My stay in the hospital gave Wanda some time to think, too, and while I was in there thinking about how I was going to turn my life around, she was at home, thinking the same thing. She was taking care of Amy all by herself, which really wasn't much different than when I was there, except for the fact that there wasn't a drunk reminder of the man she once loved stumbling in every night. She realized that she didn't need me, and she was right. It's funny, but the day that I was finally ready to start loving her, she didn't want my love anymore.
The divorce ruined me. I don't mean financially, but I guess there was that, too. What got me was the knowledge that I had had every reason to be happy, but I was too stupid to see it. I looked back on the life that I'd had and hated, and missed every second of it. I would have given anything to have it back.
There was this incense that Wanda used to like to light when we would have sex, back before it all went to shit. Sandalwood. She said that it set the mood. I never really thought much of it at the time, but after I really started letting myself go, it was what I would cling to to remember what it was like to be by her side. I would light a few sticks while I'd drug myself into oblivion, and for a second, the smell would take me through space and time, and I wouldn't be leaning against the wall of an alley with a needle in my arm. I'd be there, in bed with her. I could feel the sheets against my skin and I'd look over and watch her breathe. The nipples on her flat chest would be swollen from the attention that I'd given them, and the sweat made us sticky, but we didn't care. And I'd start crying, and before she could ask me what was wrong, she'd disappear, and I'd be back in the alley by myself.
Even the incense didn't last forever. Eventually, I stopped associating the smell with my memories of Wanda and I started associating it with my memories of missing her. I'd lost what I had left of her and I couldn't find it no matter how many straws or needles I looked in.
I had lost everything that had ever mattered to me, and I couldn't take it. All that I had left was my life, and I'd be damned if I was going to let fate take that from me, too. It was the one thing I still had control over, and I wanted to take it from myself before I was robbed of the chance.
I still remember my last thoughts. I wouldn't say that I was happy, but I was at peace. It was a relief, knowing that I was leaving my misery behind. I didn't leave a note, but maybe Wanda would hear the news and know I was sorry. It was a lonely death, but I had no problem with that. I was free, and that was all that mattered.
And then I woke up. I should have known.
RSS Feed
