I want to write about a guy I used to know. We sometimes ran into each other at one of the bars I frequented. We would talk or share stories. I wouldn’t say we were friends, but we were friendly. In fact, I think if we ever got to talking politics, I suspect we wouldn’t be friends. And it wasn’t just politics… he was (is) pretty much the opposite of me on a most issues. Yet somehow, over a beer or two, we seemed to get along – even sought each other out. Maybe, because we had such different approaches to life, we found each other mildly interesting. I sometimes wondered if he went home and said (to himself) similar things about me.
Our deeper conversations revolved around women and relationships and sometimes dogs. He is the stereotypical alpha male type. The master of his household. If you don’t like it, you can leave. He won’t ever show weakness or anything that might be perceived as weakness. Much of his power resides in his ability, and willingness, to walk away. He’s a man who holds all the cards. I don’t doubt that some of our conversational dynamic was because I saw him as a challenge to (and affirmation of) my own beliefs. People form the other side (not quite adversaries) allow us to feel good about digging in on our own perceptions. I also saw him as a challenge in which maybe I could suggest there’s a kinder, or at least different, way of being in the world.
He was involved with a women, maybe still is. They lived together. She usually came to the bar with him. When she wasn’t there he would share things about their relationship that would suggest he didn’t want to be with her. I don’t know that liked her all that much or that he respected her. He would call her clingy and needy. He would complain about her kids. He would complain about the time when they tried couples therapy. He rolled his eyes if I ever mentioned psychology or therapy. To this day, I find myself judging him and his views, and because I don’t want to be the judging type, I don’t like that. When I judge, I remind myself of what Big Al told us in a third-grade assembly: “Every time you point a finger at someone else, look at your hand and you’ll see three fingers pointing back at you….” To say I felt bad for him or her feels patronizing, and yet, that’s the feeling I had after our conversations. Though I mostly felt bad for her because I assume she has no idea.
At times he would talk about his failed marriage – he cheated, she cheated. There was anger there, but he’d say he didn’t care enough to be angry. He talked a few times about the one that got away – 30 some years ago. She still haunts him, probably more than he cared to admit. After that, he had his rough patch. He drank, did drugs, screwed women, and basically tried to kill himself through reckless behavior. Then, I suppose, he got married and lived a normally complicated adult life. Work, spouse, bills, kids, infidelity.
As we were talking one night, he asked about my one that got away or true love or whatever phrase he used. I shared because it’s how we reinforce our versions of the truth and claim our part of the story. I was trying to explain what made some relationships stand out compared to others. I was saying that in the best moments, I enjoyed just being around the other person, watching my partner move through the world. We could be doing something I really don’t care for (like shopping), and I would enjoy seeing her in her element. I was trying to explain that you start to really take the other person’s happiness seriously. Being even the slightest bit selfless begins to feel creative. He gave me a strange look and shook his head, “Nah, I’ve never really cared about the other person’s happiness like that.” He couldn’t imagine enjoying seeing someone else smile as they touched the fabrics in a clothing store or lost themselves in the moment. It made me wonder how he defined being in love or a relationship. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders, shake him ,and say, “man, you’re missing out…” or “there’s so much more to it.” I sometimes want to shake the world in the same way. Talking with him also made me wonder if in expecting to feel that way in whatever comes next, I’m setting the bar too high.
He wanted to know what was the final straw, how did things end? I shared some of that story with lots of caveats that it was only my version. I’m sure it’s been told differently by other people. I shared the less-than-kind things that were said to me at the end, and how with time, I’ve been able to see where they might have come from. He said there’s no forgiving personal attacks. It was a personal attack intended to hurt. I said he’s right, but only because forgiveness requires two people… I remember I tried to suggest to him that if we can understand that most personal attacks are defensive and reactionary in nature, they might sting a little less… but more importantly, I tried to explain that I might have learned something about the nature of the word unconditional – quite literally without conditions. I suspect a man who thinks he holds all the cards lives his life with nothing but conditions. For him, there are rules to the game. He is very much an actions have consequences type of man.
Sometimes when I’m out talking with strangers, I’m reminded of this man and the weird dynamic of oppositional camaraderie we shared. In those moments, I think of the title of David Foster Wallace’s collection of short stories, Brief Interviews with Hideous Men. Yesterday morning while on the back deck drinking coffee that was steaming in the morning air, I thought of a similarly titled collection that I might one day write: Casual Studies in the Closed-Off Hearts of Sometimes Callous Men. At the very least it could be the title of a collection of poems that I am forever struggling to write.