I wanted to make the voice mean something. I still do. The urge to disrupt everything and start over, give in to the seductive “redemption and reinvention” narrative was strong.
“You sure you are all right?” says my spouse Janyce handing me a plate with two slices of Friday night pizza and a glass of Guinness. It’s about 6:30 pm and I’m already two hours into a This is Us binge-watching marathon on the couch. I haven’t gotten dressed today and managed to attend my necessary Zoom work meetings in my pink Cape cod sweatshirt and my lilac pajama bottoms with the cartoon coffee cups. I thought about joining her at 5pm when she entered the room in her windbreaker jacket. “I’m going outside for a walk,” she said. “Why don’t you come with me?” But it was too late. I’d already hit the no return point of full inertia, sprawled out on my side and sliding my bare feet along the surface of the leather couch to find a cool spot, my fingers hanging over the edge to trace a half-moon shape on the wood floor.
I sit up now to eat the pizza as she hands me the plate with a look of concern on her face. “I’m just getting tired of all the ups and downs,” I say.
“I know,” she says.
She takes a seat beside me with her feet up next to mine. Because it’s a Hulu binge, the episodes blend together one after the other without so much as a brief musical refrain to signal a chance to escape. In the last episode, or maybe it was two back, Kate was at a fat camp and the sleazy guy who takes care of the horses was hitting on her. Now, we munch our pizza silently while watching the three adult siblings recite the ridiculous saying from their childhood that is a foundational theme of the successful TV show. first came... me. and dad said... gee! and then came... me! and mom said...whee! and then came... me. And they said... that's three! big three!
Janyce looks over at me. “Really?”
“I know, it’s terrible,” I say. “The whole series is so sappy.”
But that’s why I’m watching it. I can’t stop actually. It’s been another week of bad news. Not just the news on the radio, but the personal kind that hits you in the gut. Bad news about people you know.
I have a favorite novel by Anna Quindlen on my bookshelf that I reread when I want to understand the building blocks of good narrative structure. What makes this story so compelling? What did the writer do that hooked me in to the story right from the start and kept me sitting there turning page after page? It’s not a prize winning book by any means, it’s not the best prose I have ever read either. I used to think the story itself was exaggerated, too, and that the personal tragedy it depicted was outrageously inflated and far-fetched. Not anymore. Now I know that the world can be cruel and more random than ever.
I successfully deflected the urge to eat everything in the refrigerator yesterday when I first heard, standing in the kitchen, holding the door open and peering inside. I grabbed my mask instead and kept going, out the garage door in my running shoes, trudging up the hills, down the hills. Outside the wind was loud, rustling the leaves at the very top of the maple trees in my suburban neighborhood and the high pitch of the crickets drowned out any sound of my neighbors working in their yards.
I was passing by silent actors performing pantomime tasks on their lawn, seemingly muted as if behind thick plexiglass. The afternoon sun above the trees rested in a sky hammock still hazed over by west coast smoke. As I walked, I was listening intently for an inner voice to tell me what to do next. Isn’t that what you do? When something bad happens? Turns out, I actually did hear a voice, over and over in my head that kept saying “do something different,” “do something different,” “do something different.”
I wanted to make the voice mean something. I still do. The urge to disrupt everything and start over, and give in to the seductive “redemption and reinvention” narrative was strong.
All three siblings in the This is Us soap opera are wrestling with that same urge. Maybe that’s why I cant seem to pull myself away from watching it again. But at this point in my life, I’ve seen a few tragedies up close and personal and I have to admit I haven’t ever seen anyone upset their whole life or disrupt their own personal narrative all that much in response. Not in that dramatic literary way where they reinvent themselves fully, and start a new life in a new location, with a whole new cast of characters. Instead, people find a way to handle the ups and downs. They endure their sadness. They move forward.
“It’s ten o’clock, I’m taking him out one last time and going to bed, you coming?” says Janyce.
“I’ll be there soon,” I say.
But I know it will be hours yet before I come to bed. The “do something different” words I heard in my head the other day managed to stop me from an eating binge only to replace it with a TV binge. It’s really all I can think to do tonight to handle the ups and downs. And there’s always tomorrow.
Your feelings are so valid and real. You're not in this alone, my friend. I've been trying a few different things, and they're not working or satisfying me, so my search continues. I'm also going to stop pressuring myself that I MUST learn a new language, or become a fit lesbian in my near 50's, or that I SHOULD be doing a, b, and c. I'm going to live each day like it's my last, and hope for exciting new things in my future! Thanks for the good read.