Alan C. Fox

This past week I’ve been traveling with a group of friends through the Greek Islands.  While my friends enjoyed swimming and shopping I entered into a new and fascinating realm by immersing myself in a new book Sapiens: A Brief History of Humankind by Yuval Noah Harari.

“What ’cha been reading?” One friend asked me before lunch, while putting down a number of shopping bags.

“The best book I’ve ever read in my life.”

“Oh, come on, Alan.  Whatever it is, it can’t be the best book you’ve ever read!”  My friend dropped his fork on a plate for emphasis.  “You’ve read Shakespeare, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I’ve read Shakespeare.  And I think this book is better.”

“Oh, c’mon.”

I felt as if I’d been sitting on a bench of a dunk tank at a carnival, smiling at the crowd, when someone hit the bullseye, my seat collapsed under me, and I fell into a shiver of ice water.

Another friend tried to help out.  “What’s it about?  Must be very interesting.”

But it was too late for me to be cheerful.  The moment had passed. I had offered my real and deep enthusiasm, only to be hit in the face with a snowball of disbelief.  I felt rejected, not connected.  I withdrew my energy and refused to discuss the book any further with anyone.

We all crave connection.  When you reach out to me, my job is to take your hand, not spit on it.

When I was young I took a romantic vacation with my new girlfriend Susie.  It was a beautiful day in Hawaii, the second day of our five-day stay.  My arm was around her as we swung gently in a double hammock, a soft breeze wafting through the palm trees above. Susie said to me tenderly, “Alan, this may be the high point of our entire vacation.”

Maybe my mind was somewhere else.  Maybe I had eaten too large a breakfast and blood had rushed to my stomach instead of my brain. I should have agreed with her. Instead I said, “How can you say that?  We’ve only been here two days.  Tomorrow might be better.”

In that instant Susie became Siberia, She separated from my arm, rose from the hammock, and disappeared into our bungalow.  I knew better than to follow.

I had spoiled the opportunity she offered for a romantic connection.

Parents, when your three- year- old children proudly show you their crayon drawings, reward them with your full attention and admiration.  Do not mention that the red tree they have drawn should really be green.

Teachers, discover the need for approval in your students and provide it to them in full measure.

Friends and lovers, put your own needs, your egos, and the parts of your life that are unsatisfying aside, and be a true caretaker.  When your friend or lover touches your heart, be open.  They will respond with kindness, and the two of you will connect in a glow of mutual caring.  Nothing could be better.

Alan

You have finally succeeded in surviving the gauntlet of “I love you” and “You love me,” and are now half of a couple.  Good for you!  Now all you have to do is to glide down the sunny slope of “living happily ever after.”

Right?

As Sprite, the veteran of many relationships, would say, “Haha.”

After the courtship and the honeymoon, which may last a few weeks or several years, the going may get tough.  And when the going gets tough, as they say, the tough get going.  By “get going” I do not mean the tough resolve their mutual challenges.  They often “get going” by hiding, by keeping secrets of the heart.  At best this causes a relationship to deteriorate.  At worst it causes a relationship to collapse.  At the very worst keeping emotional secrets consigns a relationship into the zombie zone.

As time passes we each have a growing investment in keeping the relationship going, even if it has sputtered for years.  We accept a life of futile familiarity.  We fear the unknown and refuse to change the situation by either speaking honestly with our partner about our feelings, or by simply getting out.  As Thoreau put it, “The mass of men [and women] lead lives of quiet desperation.”

This is exactly what happened to Marcia and John (names changed to protect us all), who married at age eighteen, the day after they graduated from high school.  I talked with Marcia at our twentieth high school reunion.

Marcia married John with high hopes for happiness. “But he just didn’t turn out to be the right person for me.  He works all the time. He pays no attention to either me or our children.”

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“Of course.  In the beginning.  But nothing changed, so I gradually gave up.  And now both children are in their teens, and I guess . . .” There were tears in her eyes.  I never learned what Marcia guessed, because John appeared, drink in hand, and asked me what had happened since high school.

Ten years later, at our thirtieth high school reunion, Marcia and John were still together.  This time Marcia said, “Our children have both graduated from college now.” Then she hesitated.  “But our oldest is still living at home.  And he and his dad both treat me just like I was some kind of maid service.”

Marcia, drink in hand, smiled weakly.  It seemed I was talking to a woman who was resigned to her fate.

How can you avoid becoming Marcia?  Or stop being the Marcia you have become?  In your heart of hearts you already know the answer.  You know what to do.  You are just scared to do it.  You need to speak up, to have the courage to let your partner know how you feel.  You have absolutely nothing of value to lose except, as I said above, futile familiarity.

With open communication you will give yourself the opportunity to resurrect and resume the relationship you once enjoyed.  Or you may leave the zombie zone to find something better.  By allowing yourself to lead a life of noisy desperation you will give both yourself and your partner a fresh opportunity to return to that dream each of you once enjoyed, to live happily, and outspokenly, ever after.

Alan