I try not to write when I am feeling funky, but in the absence of therapy (which I have never undergone, by the way), I feel the need to talk myself out of this,
I'm not the center of anyone's life. There were only brief moments when I was. Jefferey (my first husband) loved me to death for a time, and I was probably the center of his universe then. But I treated him very badly - thought he was not smart enough or clever enough or sophisticated enough, I guess - and then that was over. And for David, I was an exotic flower, and he loved me, as much as anyone could have. By the time I met him, I had learned more about what was superficial and what was real. He was the real deal, and I honored him, and was lucky to have had him. But he has been dead for 15 years.....
But, you will say, you have so many friends. And I do. And I do understand how lucky I am to have them. But they all, first and foremost, owe their first loyalty to others. I honor that. I do. But it makes me feel, well, untethered. Was it Bob Dylan (or someone else from the 60's?) who said "freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose..."? I am, indeed free. I have no obligations to anyone - no parents, no siblings, no spouse, no children - and my friends don't need me. I would love to be of use to them, but they have other people to call on, I guess, although I keep offering.
So, I am adrift. Don't get me wrong. My life is pretty benign - a lovely place to live, good food (most of the time), good books, good music, good bridge, good conversation....
....but.....
....so, you will say, if you are not feeling useful to those you know, make yourself useful to others. But there's the rub. I don't much like the great unwashed out there (still a snob, I guess - I come by it honestly, my parents were both snobs in their different ways...), and would be just as likely to smack them on the side of the head and say "get a life" than to serve them soup.
And why am I such a snob, you might ask. It is not like my attributes, such as they are, are in such high demand. That is part of the funk, I suppose. Now that I am spending more time here, I have been trying to reach out here and there, to expand my circle, with very little success. Oh, people are friendly enough when I call, and a few Scrabble games and dinners have resulted, but no real connection.
But it has often been thus. I am still acutely hurt by attempts past - far in the past. I so looked up to Suzanne and Karen, and wanted to be part of their circle. But in spite of the fact that they were - are - educated and cultured, they preferred the company of Carolyn, neither cultured nor educated nor even a high school graduate who wouldn't know opera from rap.... the current example have less hero worship, but just as much feeling of exclusion. Now that I think of it, I am just like my father in his later years....
Maybe I'm just too needy. People don't like people who are needy. I try not to sound or act needy, but I guess it shows. And why am I needy? Here's the rub. I've never liked people wo blame their parents or their genes or their upbringing for their circumstances. But here I am, feeling like damaged goods - or maybe a sociopath - because I can't connect on any real level with other human beings. Oh, I am polite - sometimes charming even, I like to believe - but not connected.
Back to the title of this post: have I made a mark? I am reading a book called "The Invisible Life of Addie Larue (by Victoria Schaab). It is about a girl in rural, medieval, France, who, in effect, sells her soul to the Devil to escape the prison of the world she was confined to as a young girl in that time and place. The price extracted by the Devil is that she will live forever, but never make a mark; noone will remember her. And, frightened and alone, that is what I feel like. (In spite of the fact that it has obviously depressed me, it is a good book....)
Okay, enough of the pity pot.... I'm 75 years old, for god's sake, it is time to stop caring about whether anyone likes me or not, and acting like a moody teenager. My life, superficial and self centered as it is, is quite enough, thank you very much. Things don't have to be that intense; life isn't opera, after all. (I've always said that opera spoils you for real life, Maybe I wasn't wrong....)
Please forgive the outburst of self pity. I will no doubt be over it by the time you read this. And, in spite of it all, I do very much realize how lucky I am, and am still grateful for whatever part of their lives my friends are willing to give me.....
