Highland Park, Illinois — December 16, 2004
During my week at home, only one thing happened that I thought interesting enough to write down. One night I had a powerful dream; here’s the little I remember:
I meet a beautiful little girl, at least several years younger than I am. Somehow we start talking and, I suppose, flirting. We hang out together talking and laughing. We go for walks holding hands. It makes me feel special. But because of her age I feel as if I have to hide her from my family. Then comes some occasion where we happen to be sitting at the same table with adults looking on. I try to ignore her to avoid getting caught. But she walks over to sit next to me. I get a little scared but she is unashamed. She smiles and then leans over to place her cheek next to mine and my whole body lights up with the sensation that this is so purely right.
So purely right.
So right.
Right.
And then I wake up.
Clearly, like the crush on TGIQ, this is another message from my body to stop waiting around. But I feel deeply ambivalent about the topic. On the one hand I agree that I should see one. It’s An Experience, an important part of life, a bit of happiness. But on the other hand it’s a lot of work and trouble and I lack anything other than intellectual motivation. I tell myself that maybe later it will get easier. And maybe it will.
I’ve spent a lot of time watching TV and movies, many of which naturally feature stories about love. Despite all this, only one love story has ever held any resonance for me. It is the story of Richard Feynman’s first wife. Feynman tells it at the beginning of What Do You Care What Other People Think? (it’s the title story). I remember exactly where I was when I finished it. I was on the sidewalk, walking home from the train station, blue skies and trees overhead. And I stopped walking and I put the book down and I just looked up at the sky as a chill ran through my body.
It’s such a perfect story.
I don’t want to ruin it, but there is one passage that strikes me:
[She] and I began to mold each other’s personality. She lived in a family that was very polite, and was very sensitive to other people’s feelings. She taught me to be more sensitive to those kinds of things, too. On the other hand, her family felt that “white lies” were okay.
I thought one should have the attitude of “What do you care what other people think!” I said, “We should listen to other people’s opinions and take them into account. Then, if they don’t make sense and we think they’re wrong then that’s that!”
[She] caught on to the idea right away. It was easy to talk her into thinking that in our relationship we must be very honest with each other and say everything with absolute frankness. It worked very well, and we became very much in love—a love like no other love that I know of.
I am sure this is silly and naive, but this is what I dream of. And whenever I see another couple in a show or a movie, always fraught with tension as the medium requires, I can’t help but think that their troubles would be over if they were simply honest with each other, instead of tiptoeing around each other’s feelings. But I suspect few have the capacity or inclination for such frankness.
posted February 13, 2005 10:25 PM (Education) (3 comments) #