Driving In Ireland

I have to admit that I approached the prospect of driving on the “wrong” side of the road with a bit of trepidation, faintly remembering some less-than-stellar vehicular maneuvers while attempting to drive in London about 30 years ago.  But, with some initial “learning experiences” behind me – some right hand turns that inexplicably put me back on the right (not correct!) side of the road, an attempted U-turn that looked more like a figure 8, and then adapting to shifting the 5-speed transmission with my left hand instead of my right - I actually began to enjoy it.  REALLY enjoy it!  The roads were so very narrow and winding, and measuring speed in Kilometers instead of Miles per hour added to the sense of going fast….. faster than you could imagine as the shrubbery (or a stone wall!) on the left and the oncoming traffic on the right were both less than a couple of feet from the sides of my car.  Intense!

But, as I was driving down the left side of a two way road that was just barely wider than a single lane back home, and doing so at 100 kilometers per hour while oncoming traffic was doing the same, I came to a realization……. My safety was dependent not so much on my own driving skills as it was on the skills (and intentions) of the 100’s of drivers around me and heading toward me.  This is not something I would be terribly aware of in the rather monotonous driving environment we have created for ourselves in the U.S.  But here in Ireland, where the roads demand every bit of your attention – even for the locals (no one thinks of texting while driving here in Ireland…… no one’s that crazy!) – I was acutely aware of my dependency on those around me.

This awareness of our “dependency” is something that the capitalistic, competitive, hyper-individualistic culture of the USA has bred out of us – perhaps even taught us to loathe – and it seems to me that every time I’m outside the U.S. and experiencing something else, I see the tragedy of this loss all over again.  One of my dear friends accuses me of romanticizing these other cultures, and I know that he is correct in his doing so.  Every society must have its own blind spots, but still, the contrast that these foreign travels present to my culture of origin make me acutely aware of a dependency that I long for……. and for which I now believe we were made.

In Steve Martin’s classic film, The Jerk, there is this ironic parody of our fear of dependency on each other that I will never forget.  Navin Johnson (played by Steve Martin) has decided to leave his girlfriend/lover (played by Bernadette Peters) and, as he is about to go out the door he says:

“Well I’m gonna to go then.  And I don’t need any of this.  I don’t need this stuff, and I don’t need you.  I don’t need anything except this.  And that’s it and that’s the only thing I need, is this.  I don’t need this or this.  Just this ashtray.  And this paddle game, the ashtray and the paddle game and that’s all I need.  And this remote control.  The ashtray, the paddle game, and the remote . . . “

What do we really need from each other? What do we need to give and receive and share? And who do we need to be to each other?  More than someone to safely share the road with? 

Sebastian Junger, in his new book Tribe: On Homecoming and Belonging, writes "Humans don't mind hardship. In fact, they thrive on it; what they mind is not feeling necessary. Modern society has perfected the art of making people not feel necessary."  It seems to me that what we need to rediscover, and share with, and be to each other is “necessary.”

A Little Life

Just finished reading the book "A Little Life" by Hanya Yanagihara, and feel the need to write something while it's still fresh in my mind..... although it may remain "fresh" forever.

This is not a book for the timid, the impatient, or those who like happy stories with happy endings. At 720 pages, it takes some endurance to read and, with every new chapter, we learn a bit more about lives - and especially one life - that are filled with tragedy and abuse almost beyond comprehension. As such, this is a graphic story about the corruption of our human spirit, and it sometimes takes courage just to turn to the next page.

But it is also a story about the power of friendship and love to heal some of the damage that is brought upon us, that we bring upon each other, and that we bring upon ourselves too..... (but the damage we do to ourselves is the hardest to heal.)  I want to believe that true love and friendship, when fully given and received, can heal all wounds.  As the main character's adopted father tells his adopted son:

“You won’t understand what I mean now, but someday you will: the only trick of friendship, I think, is to find people who are better than you are—not smarter, not cooler, but kinder, and more generous, and more forgiving—and then to appreciate them for what they can teach you, and to try to listen to them when they tell you something about yourself, no matter how bad—or good—it might be, and to trust them, which is the hardest thing of all. But the best, as well.” 

But, while many, many wounds are healed through amazing expressions and relationships of love in this book, some are not.  I cried over and over again, both for the damage done and for the healing love..... but mostly for when the damage was too great, where even love was not enough.

I think this book is about our own lives, on steroids so we don't miss what is more muted in our own day to day, so we can more clearly see the ways in which our lives connect and collide with each other in both damaging and healing ways, so we might choose to heal and love as much as we can.