Why Worry (Dire Straits)

Synchronistically (and how else does your life work, Susan?!?), the following appeared in my inbox Thursday... a few hours *after* I posted about R - Bob's essay speaks for itself...

Waiting in the Weeds

Bob Lefsetz

October 11, 2007

I have a friend who committed suicide. He woke up, found his wife with another man, saw the carnage in his wake, and couldn't stand living one more day. He had too much shame, he'd lost all hope, that everybody could forget what he'd done, forgive him, that he could regain his old life. I heard the desperation in his voice two weeks before. I told him I'd come right over, even though it was the middle of the night. I was afraid he wouldn't make it through. But he did. And three days before he hung himself his tonality was totally different. He was no longer freaked out, he was resigned. I heard it in his voice. I wasn't surprised when I got the call. I didn't expect it, but I understood it. I thought in the watchful eye of his family he'd get through. But you can't get through when your inner flame is extinguished. I know, because I've lived so close to that line, and so far from satisfaction.

They don't prepare you for how life works out. Your parents tell you to get an education, to get a career. As if the necessities of life can be bought with money. But this is untrue, just like the Beatles sang, money can't buy you love.

I wasn't looking for love when I found it. It was purely by accident. But you know it when you feel it. You tingle all over, you can't get them out of your mind, even though you've parted ways hours ago and you're lying in bed alone. It's the POSSIBILITIES that enrapture you, you see a whole life in front of you. The picture is not colored in, but it's a vast canvas, and you can't wait to investigate.

Some people say they know when they meet someone they're going to marry them. I can't say that's what I felt. But when she said that's what she wanted, I acceded. Even though I was worried about her history, the endless string of abandonments in her wake.

But she was fully alive. And she loved me. I thought that might be enough. It wasn't. But when she left, I was not prepared. I foresaw it as soon as I met her, that I'd only have her for a little while. But she set me straight, she convinced me otherwise. Trust your gut, that's the only lesson I can impart right now.

You can't explain it to your parents. Your life slowly compresses. All those couples events, you're suddenly left out. The bed's too big without them. You try to find new love. You're clumsy and desperate, it doesn't work. And then the depression sets in. You're convinced you'll never replace them.

On one hand, I escaped the craziness, the inability to finish anything. But I lost the exuberance, the support. Suddenly, I was no longer convinced I had life figured out. Everything was topsy-turvy. I was questioning everything, like that old Firesign Theatre record, was everything I knew wrong?

If I told you what it took to get through, you wouldn't believe it. I wasn't homeless, but I wrote some bad checks that the new landlord didn't bother to deposit until the money magically appeared. You see, simultaneous with her departure, I ran out of money. Completely. Try facing the week with less than twenty dollars in your pocket, with no idea where the next infusion is going to come from.

Not that anybody believes your story. You have to be there to understand. I got freaked out about going places. What if my car broke down? Could I really afford valet parking?

And then my father died. And she called and cried. But I'd be lying if I told you that made me feel good. Where was she in my moment of agony?

I was sliding towards the edge, inexorably and inevitably. I couldn't get a grip, I was losing touch with the world. Till the earthquake pushed me firmly over the edge, and I could cope no longer, and I gave up.

I was rescued by a psychiatrist that the $24,000 I got from my father paid for. And I'd be lying if I told you I was fully back. But I'm trying. But at unexpected moments, almost always when I'm alone, I start to sink.

I'm looking for hooks, to keep me on terra firma.

I used to go to the movies every night. But now everyone agrees the golden age of movies was the seventies, and although there are more flicks than ever, few are worth seeing. And TV's not a bad replacement. But it takes place at home. And the loneliness creeps back in as soon as you turn the set off.

I used to count on music. But all the understanding, all the identification I found in the great tunes of yore...it was rare in the new compositions. It was about fashion and marketing. And maybe that's why I'm so against selling out. This music kept me alive. I don't want anything sullying it.

I had quite a day. First I was on WNYC, discussing the Radiohead album. Then I was interviewed by "BusinessWeek". And, just before I started listening to the new Eagles album, I was tracked down by NPR for tomorrow's "Morning Edition". I couldn't ask for more. But if you think the foregoing makes a life, you're wrong. Life is made by people, by relationships.

I'm in a relationship now. With another person who's been wounded. We're trying to make our parts mesh. But we're burdened by too many bad experiences, there are constantly misunderstandings. But we persevere. Because that's what we have in common, commitment and dedication.

I'm leaving my old life behind. But at moments it creeps back in. Like in the mountains only an hour ago. I was listening to the new Eagles album on my iPod and I heard this song, "Waiting In The Weeds". It spoke of hope, or rather the evaporation thereof.

"I don't know when I realized the dream was over

Well, there was no particular hour, no given day

You know, it didn't go down in flame

There was no final scene, no frozen frame

I just watched it slowly fade away"

I thought the fact we weren't divorced meant we had a chance of getting back together, that was my ace in the hole.

Sometimes the ace is not the highest card in the deck.

I think I just realized the dream was over. It's about bonding with someone new. But the dream faded so slowly.

"And I've been waiting in the weeds

Waiting for the dust to settle down

Along the back roads, running through the fields

Lying on the outskirts of this lonesome town

And I imagine sunlight in your hair

You're at the county fair

You're holding hands and laughing

And now, the Ferris wheel has stopped

You're swinging on the top, suspended there with him"

I didn't run into her at the fair, but the Pier. With her new guy, who seemed to have no idea who I was. She seemed uncomfortable, she wanted nothing to do with me. She asked me if I had any money. And then she was gone.

"I've been stumbling through some dark places

But I'm following the plow

I know I've fallen out of your good graces

But it's all right now"

Shortly thereafter, we instituted divorce proceedings. The six month waiting period was eerie. Then the day arrived, and I was free.

I've been to some dark places. I hope you haven't been. But I'm beginning to believe it's the human condition. Try to hang on, do what you need to get through. Try to avoid numbing the pain. Rely on your friends. If you can just hang on, you can get through. At least that's the way I see it.

SONG: Why Worry? by Dire Straits

BOOK(S): Get Out of Your Mind and Into Your Life: The New Acceptance and Commitment Therapy by Steven C. Hayes

The Pharmacist's Mate by Amy Fusselman

Start the Conversation: The Book About Death You Were Hoping to Find by Ganga Stone

POEM: Everything Is Going to Be All Right by Derek Mahon

How should I not be glad to contemplate
the clouds clearing beyond the dormer window
and a high tide reflected on the ceiling?
There will be dying, there will be dying,
but there is no need to go into that.
The poems flow from the hand unbidden
and the hidden source is the watchful heart.
The sun rises in spite of everything
and the far cities are beautiful and bright.
I lie here in a riot of sunlight
watching the day break and the clouds flying.
Everything is going to be all right.

QUOTE: "Worry gives a small thing a big shadow." ~ Swedish proverb

My Way (Paul Anka... sung by Frank Sinatra)

Today is my mother's 77th birthday - I sent a vase of sunflowers yesterday and just called to extend my best wishes. My children sent her this plaque - she's always disdained the terms of grandma or grandmother, so, since they could talk, they've called her Mimi... :-)

She and I have a relationship encompassing all aspects of the pendulum swing - the faults I find in her, I know I might as well just point the finger back at myself. However, I also realize it is from her I inherited strength, one of my best attributes - when my father's alcoholism was beyond control, my mother learned to drive at 53 (my age now) so she could end a 29-year marriage and reclaim her life.

She found second love, in a wonderful man (he with Frank Sinatra's blue eyes, Bob Vila's handy ways and Job's patience) whose daughter lived in mom's apartment complex - they married... and it was devastating to us all when he was killed in a car accident seven years later...

My mom has had an impact on, and been an inspiration for, countless people over the course of her life - she has touched many, and has always provided a listening ear, a strong shoulder and a caring heart for others. She sings in Italian; she sends me, my husband and each of our children, checks with dollar amounts equalling the number of years old we are that birthday; she makes vats of spaghetti sauce and chicken soup when she comes to visit - the last few years have brought ongoing health problems, and it's strange to find the former whirlwind napping on the couch mid-day (who are you and what have you done with my mother?!?).

One of my favorite memories is, throughout my childhood, she and my dad entertained in our home - at a certain point in the evening, I could always count on them to play records on the stereo and, in a slightly “tipsy” state, put on her favorite song (on a compilation album) and begin to sing along. The hysterical part is that, if she didn't pick up the needle fast enough afterwards, the jarring first notes of Sleigh Ride would follow! - I always thought her taste in music was cheeZy... until just recently, when I realized that particular tune was really a perfect description of how she lived/lives.

She *has* done it her way, all these years I've known her - and, for better or worse, she's instilled in me that's the *only* way, and now I do it my way too... =*)

Thanks for being such a powerful influence in my life, and modeling the lesson of striving to be the best Me, instead of a second-rate Somebody Else... and now I thank goodness the nut doesn’t fall far from the tree - I love you, Mom… <3

SONG: My Way by Paul Anka (sung by Frank Sinatra)

BOOK: 8: A Memoir by Amy Fusselman

POEM: Parents by William Meredith

What it must be like to be an angel

or a squirrel, we can imagine sooner.

The last time we go to bed good,

they are there, lying about darkness.

They dandle us once too often,

these friends who become our enemies.

Suddenly one day, their juniors

are as old as we yearn to be.

They get wrinkles where it is better

smooth, odd coughs, and smells.

It is grotesque how they go on

loving us, we go on loving them.

The effrontery, barely imaginable,

of having caused us. And of how.

Their lives: surely

we can do better than that.

This goes on for a long time. Everything

they do is wrong, and the worst thing,

they all do it, is to die,

taking with them the last explanation,

how we came out of the wet sea

or wherever they got us from,

taking the last link

of that chain with them.

Father, mother, we cry, wrinkling,

to our uncomprehending children and grandchildren.

QUOTE: “If you judge people, you don’t have time to love them.” ~ Mother Teresa