Chrisonomicon

Monday, July 8, 2002

Finishing the first book of the month is always such a feeling of accomplishment, although this recent read has left me a little raw. Paul Monette's Borrowed Time describes the final 19 months of his AIDS-inflicted lover's life in—literally—painful detail and the idyllic description of his relationship only serves to wrench the heart with a devastating torque. I had hoped there would be a brighter conclusion, but was instead left with:

...I swam back to bed for the end of the night... Putting off as long as I could the desolate waking to life alone—this calamity that is all mine, that will not end till I do.

That sort of dependence upon another person unnerves me and yet another part of me envies and desires that kind of relationship, one that speaks of a higher sense of self, a synergy of two people exploring the world together, learning and experiencing and living together, so much in love they are unable to live without one another. At one point in the book, the author enters the room where his lover is resting and proclaims, "Here I am!" Endearingly, his lover responds: "But we are the same person. When did that happen?"

I had always been under the impression that the ideal relationship would consist of two people who were compatible to the point of sharing a few core interests, yet significantly different as to compliment one another. Happiness is something that is found on your own, not in another person or in a relationship. Monette seems to tragically discount all of this, describing a love that is a necessary, synonymous component to his life, to a man who was "another name for the same person."

Could it be that all of my preconceptions regarding love and commitment between two people are myths collected by my subconscious, designed to make me feel better about my independence (or un-attached-ness)? Perhaps this feeling of need that runs deep to my core is what I should truly be listening to. Hedwig starts up "The Origin of Love" in my head and freshman psych resurfaces with images of Plato's divided souls.

All of this pondering only points in one direction, however: there is no formula for this sort of stuff. As difficult as it has been for me to realize that, considering I'm want to find the easiest solution to any problem, figuring that out has been the easy part. Deciding what actually works for me is another story all together.