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Sunday, Nov 8, 2009
Dear Cary,
This may be one of the oddest questions that you receive, but how much credence do you put in fate? If I was to say that coincidence, in running into (not literally) the same person twice, is the rule of space and time, then what is the rule for three and more times? Analytical as I may be, or just anal, I can't see any pattern to the strange encounters. I am completely dumbfounded.
Perhaps a little background is in order ...
I am a young guy who met a lovely and somewhat mysterious girl some years ago. The dating -- if I can call it that -- was very brief. I can't recall how long (liar), but in general, it was about as long as the incubation period for mono -- though, thank God, that didn't happen. It was a strange, sometimes beautiful, sometimes angst-burdened relationship. Then it screeched to a halt and dissipated like a stick-drawn picture on the desert floor in a dust storm. Couldn't really tell you why ... but I was dizzy and confused for some time afterward.
Since then, there have been more than five instances of "close encounters" in many different places that made no sense on the surface (the world isn't that small). So, I now wonder about what forces are at work -- hopefully I haven't stepped over into the "dark side." We don't run in the same concentric circles in life -- that was apparent when we first met. So I find it quite odd, a little disconcerting and very confusing that we keep running into each other.
If you are going to ask if we talk when we meet, then the answer is an unqualified no. These are just small, and surreal, instances that don't seem to demand any exchange of words. Though I do go away from each one feeling a nagging sense that there is something not being said, that should be expressed. It is also obvious that we both recognize each other every time one of these encounters happens and move on as if not sure that this is actually taking place. And, no ... I don't take heavy drugs. I am a fairly balanced, sensitive and average guy -- basically as status quo as can be -- who can't seem to understand the fortune, or misfortune, these encounters may present themselves to be.
Marked in Limbo
Dear Marked in Limbo,
You have just described one of the sublime pleasures in life and art: the discovery of mysterious patterns that may or may not have a meaning but are intriguing simply as patterns. You are free to do with this pattern what you will; if you're superstitious, or crave the comfort of belief, you can say that it's evidence of some order in the world. You can say it's a sign. And you can play with it.
No doubt much went unsaid between you, which makes it uncomfortable for both of you. You may like her a great deal more than she realized. Or she may have realized how much you liked her and just wasn't ready for that kind of attention. So she may be uncomfortable when she sees you. But the wonderful thing about these chance encounters is that you can make of them anything you like. If you want to dispel the uneasy silence, just make a hearty acknowledgement of the phenomenon: "Well, it's you again!" Or simply say hello to her as if running into her were a normal thing. Or let the strange silent glances continue. It's up to you.
Since you are young, you may be experiencing this delicious phenomenon for the first time and thus not recognize it as simply a part of the world's mysterious forces -- and as one of the ingredients of art. You bump into a woman in a red dress on Athens Street in Cleveland and then you bump into the same woman in the same red dress on Cleveland Street in Athens. And that goes into the movie.
Play with it. Enjoy it. Define it as you wish. It's the world's strange gift to you.
Dear Cary,
My husband and I have been married eight years, together for 11. I could spend an hour listing all the things that make him remarkable. He's sincere, sexy, funny, thoughtful. He left his job to stay home to raise our two daughters after I returned to work. He calls me to tell me he loves me. He thinks I look sexy in my red fleece pajamas. He cooks, he shops, he hangs my delicates out to dry. I love him, I trust him, I want to grow old with him. He feels the same way. Perfection, right?
So what brings me to you? In our 11 years, I have never been able to get him to give an opinion on anything. Sure, there are tough questions, like what do you think happens when you die? Then there are the apparently tough questions like, what's your favorite rock band? What's your favorite color? Which do you like better, apples or oranges?
I am tired of being told "I don't know." Does he just not care about anything? Does he think I'll belittle his opinions? What? I yearn to talk with him over a glass of wine about things other than our kids or how cute I look in slippers. What will happen when our kids move out? I don't want to end up sitting silently next to him in our dotage with his-and-hers recliners, a TV and a cat. Do I need to change my expectations? Or dangle him from the roof until he can choose between apples and oranges?
Pro Choice
Dear Pro Choice,
My wife and I have this problem, too. It's not that I don't have opinions. But I believe that my opinions must be thought-out and informed. I do not like to have opinions about things I do not have an opinion about. I know this is a vexing and irritating trait for my wife. She thinks, why can't you have an opinion about life on Mars? So, expert husband that I am, I have learned to have opinions about things I have no opinion about. I think the haircut is good, very good. I think the dress is excellent. Occasionally, for the sake of authenticity, the dress is not so good and must be changed, in my opinion. Occasionally the haircutter's intentions must be questioned, but only mildly. In the end, to tell the truth, the haircut is always superb, and I could send you to her hairdresser myself, if you like.
Sometimes, because I am hoping she will find her keys and join me at the door, I do not have an opinion about the apple crumb cake or the new shoes. But I try to come up with something better than a grunt because I know this is not the beginner's hill, but the expert husband slope; it is always the finals, and I am being scored. And she will read this and will not be surprised; she will not think: Oh, my God, he has been lying to me all this time and really doesn't have an opinion! Because two things: 1) She knows I am an artist and create what I need as I go along, including opinions about stockings and 2) By pretending to have opinions, I actually have acquired some discernment, so by now, I do in fact have genuine informed and well-thought-out opinions about the sponge cake, the Kate Spade purse and the hideous shawl, which will not be worn under any circumstances.
So, enough about me, let's talk about your husband. Maybe he thinks since he does all this actual stuff that the opinions are optional. After all, for lots of us men, it's the doing, not the talking about it, that matters. Or maybe he is too tired. Maybe he is mad at you and will refuse to give you an opinion until you apologize.
My big breakthrough came when I realized that in terms of domestic bliss the effect of my words on my wife's subjective reality is far more important than the objectively verifiable validity of the words themselves. And that the ability to show interest in alien subjects is part of the key to lifelong happiness. And as to you, O opinionated wife, I would only caution you to avoid characterizing him as having no opinions. If you consider the world from his viewpoint, you might find he has diverse and unexpected opinions about utterly alien things.
