I recently read that getting angry makes you stupider. Temporarily, one would hope. Not hard at all to measure, turns out. Easy to test. So I believe it. It feels true, too.
So how come, when we are happy, and thus smarter, why don't we...look out? Avoid anger?
This is like asking why we marry our first wives. Which is usually done in slow motion, not in anger. We are charmed, which also makes us stupid. We charm ourselves, each other, and are each charmed by being charmed. Stupid biology, always causing trouble. And by jelly it just works: too-bright eyes, laughter behind a wet thumb, handfuls of wet fun, oodles of wet candles & plump wet smackety, in bed, the car, at the laundromat. The way they let you finish the joint, drive you home from the party, work extra shifts, let you be the Big Dope first husband. Like anger, crush-love makes you stupid.
Except this is not about first wives or husbands. It's really about my daughters, especially my youngest, the 14-year old natural born horsewoman, the 4-H officer who holds a full-time barn job and gets As.
If the crush she marries is like I was, struggles for decades to get it Right and True, OK, I guess, but better still, if they feel It, and reach that Point, he should ideally be the kind of guy who looks her right in the eye, at the special penultimate moment, before they Declare, as they squirm in that exquisite moment of love flourescing, and say:
"I have money."
And be a hard worker, and always gentle, and ready to shoulder responsibilities. In other words, I rule guys like Young Me out.
The things is, she has hundreds of blue, red, yellow, green pink and white ribbons, all over the place, trophies, one as big as her, everything says, sings: Horse! But is it Enough? She always chooses the big horse, the wilder one, the harder spirit to tame. Will the Barn Life of hard work and responsibility keep her wildness in check, when that cowboy who's a comin', his chaps a-flappin, makes her boots slip?
Will she be shrewd enough to push him off and say: "Turn your head, I want to see those eyes. Why can't you hold still so I can catch you in the full light? Whoa, hobo."
Do I curse my daughters with quieter bedrooms, nerdier husbands, safer lives, the drano and the snake, the cracked foundations and slow drips and clattering dishes that ensure the art-wrenching, joy-killing, soul-sucking, lust-clubbing metronome of death that is a successful marriage?
You betcha. Beats the tears, the street, the joint, or the morgue. Better than a trailer with an asshole, two kids and dirty pots. Yeah. As if I will truly have a say about it.
But maybe, oh baby, something like this will happen, These Two will careen into each other: My Eli the Rider, and some True Buckaroo, with an untamed heart and a solid pair of legs, funny and brave, worthy of her ribbons and colors, as brassy and tough and relentless and fierce as she is. With self-discipline. Gentle hands.
And money.
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Marilyn Sands
Linda Treiber
David McClain
koshersalaami
Patty Kane Horrigan
tg within
Salon.com
Comments
The problem with love is that it is (as someone described it) the intersection of two people's neuroses -- two persons looking to see the dark side of the moon, to find that which is missing from their own planet, and then discovering too late that it was missing from their own planet because they didn't like it very much in the first place -- and now they hate it -- but now they're expected to live with it FOREVER -- or at lest for the rest of their miserable lives -- whichever comes first -- which turns out to be only until they just can't take that shit anymore -- and life is short, and aren't I entitled to a little joy and hapiness in my life? -- except that most of the time there's kids involved, so you stick it out for the kids -- only the kids just end up being miserable because you're miserable -- so what IS the fucking point?
The problem with love is that it's preceded by romance, during which most of the time one person (or more) has something they don't like about themselves -- or which others have suggested many times before is not at all likable -- which gets carefully hidden from view to be revealed only when it's too late to do anything about it without going through a near-death experience -- and who in their right mind would welcome that? and so you continue on with the dregs of mere existence until you're so fucking out of your mind you will do anything, anything -- suffer any indignation, endure any pain, pay any lawyer -- anything to make it stop so that you can dig around in the refuse of all those wasted years for something, anything, that reminds me of who you use to be but not longer are and probably never will be again.
Does that help?
Tom: oh yeah, that helps. sunny. cheerful. encouraging!
You would be advised to keep these thoughts to yourself, as girls tend not to enjoy the idea of marrying Dad, or anyone Dad would like. When advised of the presence of a male in her life, keep reading the paper and say, "hmmmm. I see."
(This from a guy who literally chased the shitheads down the street with a baseball bat.)
Amazing. Heartbreaking and amazing and funny. Mostly amazing.
My mother used to tell me, "It's just as easy to marry a rich boy as a poor one." Well, I discovered she was simplifying it, but in fact it is true. Of course I married for love both times...just the second one was after I knew who I am, more important than anything in attracting a worthy man.
You sound like a wise man.
Seriously, I hope, like you do, for a safe and happy life for her. It is my fondest wish. So, money would be good, but I want her to earn it herself.