Since You Asked
What’s to live for?
I'm 20 and I've seen enough of life. Why shouldn't I just check out?
Cary,
After 20 years of being told that I have my whole life ahead of me, I already feel like I’ve seen enough. I don’t have it in me to pursue goals for their own sake — I have no motivation to finish college, look for a better job, or do any of the things that keep my contemporaries occupied. I get up and go to work and to class because it’s easier than not going, but I know that soon it won’t be.
I feel as though I’m broken on some fundamental level. I can’t connect to people. The one person I’ve considered a friend is leaving me soon and has said plainly that she doesn’t plan to keep in touch. I’ve tried dating and met some interesting people, but it’s incredibly easy to just let the phone ring when they call. I feel bad, but not bad enough to call back. It’s been years since I can remember looking forward to anything. About the only thing that keeps me alive right now is the fact that I don’t want someone else to be stuck boxing up my apartment, and there’s a lot of packing to do. That, and the vague sense that there’s something I’m missing. It sure seems like no one else has trouble finding reasons to get up in the morning.
There’s a lot of debate over the rights of terminally ill people to die when they choose, but why is it automatically irrational for a young, physically healthy person to decide that enough is enough? When there’s nothing I want to do and no one to be hurt when I go, it’s hard not to resent the people who tell me how selfish and stupid I must be.
I guess I’m still human enough to want to reach out to someone, or be reached out to. For the record, I’ve been through drugs and therapy without seeing any lasting change, and I’m not inclined to try again. I just want to know why this is so easy for everyone else and so impossible for me.
What’s the Use?
Dear What’s the Use,
Let me suggest this to you right now: Think of a happy time. Come on, I know you can think of one. I know it’s in there. You may know of it but not want to think of it. Think of it anyway. I know that as soon as I say “happy time” there is at least one that comes into your mind. So go ahead. Stop what you were doing and just think of this time. Remember it. Remember the sounds, the sights, the smells, what you were feeling and saying, who was there. Sit down. Linger on it. Do that for a few minutes. Let the memory suffuse your body. Let it envelop you and flow through you as though it were an expensive perfume or an elixir in your blood. Close your eyes and remember it in as much detail as you can. Take as much time as you need.
When the memory fades and you begin to feel exhausted or sleepy (it’s tiring to remember with intensity!), don’t do anything for a few minutes. Just let the happy event settle back into your consciousness.
Over the next few days, consider that happy event. Turn it over in your mind. Is there some reason that such a happy event could never occur again? Did it occur in a country that has been blasted off the face of the earth? Are all the people who were there now dead and gone? Have you yourself been maimed or blinded so that you could never experience such a thing? Or might there be a possibility that such happiness might be found again?
Now do something else. Think of more recent times, when you were fully engaged in something and forgot yourself and your many troubles. It may have only lasted a minute or two. Perhaps you were having a conversation with a friend. Perhaps you were finding some information on the computer. Perhaps you were walking along and noticed a bird or a building or a book in a window, or someone passed you whose face reminded you of the face in a book you’d read, or a man reading a newspaper looked like Jack Webb of “Dragnet,” or you thought for an instant that was Tobey Maguire sitting at a table, or the cab that passed you gleamed in the rain like a cab in a 1970s television show, or you passed a girl on the street and imagined, with alarming vividness, undressing her in a hotel room in Tokyo.
Having thought of these things, consider this: What is to prevent you from filling your life with more events such as the ones you have just recollected, so that your life is charged with such moments? Would that not be the life of a happy man? It’s not all that mysterious. String atoms of happiness together like beads, and you can have a happy life.
I’m curious about something. Is there by chance some ugly, frightening voice in you that has utter contempt for the kind of happiness we’re talking about? Does a part of you feel that happiness is delusion, unworthy of adulthood, that to be a man is to brood ceaselessly, to be inconsolable and wan, to let your damp hair flap in your face as you sit in a cafe staring at the tabletop, drowning in deep, impenetrable suffering? Is that what it means to be a man?
Did something happen that time you were so happy to destroy it? Was there a father who appeared, telling you you were lazy to be enjoying the sun? Was there a teacher or a disciplinarian who shamed you out of your enjoyment? Did your peers mock you for your transparent joy? What took that happiness away, and what has happened in the intervening years to prevent you from regaining it or experiencing it again?
You have tried drugs and therapy and say that did not work, but there are many kinds of therapy and many kinds of chemicals. If you’ve been drinking and doing a lot of drugs, or if you’re nutritionally unbalanced, your brain may not be working right as of late. Does it feel as though there is a layer of cardboard between your thoughts and your sensation? People write to me and suggest all kinds of things for what you describe — fish oil, for instance, and vitamin B. They write and say, “I was awful and then I started taking these amino acids!” Who am I to doubt them? There are all kinds of reasons why we don’t function right. It’s amazing what the right chemistry can do. Ask yourself what you need: Protein and vitamins? Salmon and greens and rice. A steak? Some lentils? Whatever pops into your mind. Go take a run. Lift some weights. Take a swim. Go hear some music. Take yourself out of yourself.
I say to you, my young friend, two and a half times your age in my exhausted and ravaged serenity, that these things take years to unravel. We encounter blazing moments of ecstasy and then the sun goes gray.
Is it worth it, you ask? Would someone be hurt if you were gone? Of course someone would be hurt. But I think you are only asking when dinner will be served, if there will be a game on tonight, if someone will come by to comfort you in your vague but overwhelming sorrow. I am here to say yes, dinner will be served this evening. Someone will appear eventually. You just have to wait.
It is not easy, at 20, to wait. Waiting is what the hunter does, and the poet and the slugger. He waits for the moment of inevitability and fate and then he swings, or shoots, or takes up the pen to put down a line. They don’t teach us to wait in America; they teach us to grab. But waiting is what we do when we are looking for something beautiful, when we are looking for an end to our sorrow. Nothing is infinite in life, not even sorrow. You just have to wait.
So maybe you are feeling the sadness of the one who waits. It is a sadness, that’s true, but it’s tempered by the sure knowledge that eventually a Buick will pull over and a stranger will give you a ride.
Not to be trite, but some people say, “Stick around for the miracle.” I would say, if not the miracle, at least stick around for the Buick.
- – - – - – - – - – - -
What? You want more?
Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
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My sister’s stalker
He accosted her on the street and forced her into his car. She went to the police and they did nothing
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
My younger sister is a 21-year-old college student who is “trapped” in an abusive relationship with her ex-boyfriend, who is 35 years old. She first met him when she was 19, fell in love with him and eventually moved in with him. After they started living together, she discovered that he was emotionally and verbally abusive, to the point that after six months, she had had enough, broke it off and moved out. The problem now is that for over a year, he refuses to accept that their relationship is over. Although he has not physically abused her, he has “forced” her into his car, screamed at her in public, in front of her professors and classmates, snatched her cellphone out of her hand to see if she has been talking to/texting other guys. He stalks her, physically, following her around town, staking out her apartment, and electronically, constantly checking her cellphone, email, Facebook, Amazon accounts, etc. (During the time that they were living together, he managed to get access to these accounts, and somehow manipulate the password access such that he continues to have access, despite my sister’s attempts to change passwords, etc.)
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
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Stop the wedding!
She's wrong for him! She'll ruin his life! What can we do?
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Cary,
My dear friend is about to marry the wrong person. He is a brilliant, outgoing man, always willing to put others first, and in this case to a fault. His fiancée has pursued him since high school. He avoided her romantic advances for years, knowing he could do better, but she is a very smart and manipulative person and succeeded in landing him as a boyfriend. In the early years, he occasionally expressed a desire to break up with her, but could not build the nerve to do so. Since then, almost a decade has passed, and they are still the only partners either has ever had. I know that if he could press a button and wake up tomorrow with her happy and living in another city, and him happy and single, he would do it. However, a number of factors have kept him from leaving her. Their best friends from childhood are very close-knit (for example, his older brother is best friends with her older brother), and their families are close friends as well. Understandably, he feels like to break up with her would shatter this group of people he cares so much about, not to mention the emotional impact it would have on her.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
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My friend calls Obama a monkey
What am I supposed to say to this dude? What's his problem?
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
I have a friend that cannot speak about the president of the United States without using the word “monkey” or “chimpanzee.”
There have been presidents I was not thrilled about, but certainly I would not stoop to this.
This individual is well-off, has a degree and is considerate about most other topics.
What the HELL is his problem?
Thanks Cary,
Bewildered
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
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My secretly bisexual husband
He's been with four men he met on Craigslist. Do I stick with him for our teenage daughters?
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
Recently my husband of 18 years has explored his sexuality with other men. He admitted having four sexual encounters with random men he solicited from Craigslist. After a week of hell, and many a shouting match, he begged me to take him back, claiming that his experimentation is not worth losing his family. As in a textbook scenario, he, somehow, convinced himself that I, being very liberal and supportive of gay community, would understand, and maybe even approve, his urges. Having two teenage daughters and being a stay-at-home mom, I have initially agreed to let him back into the family fold, after all his STD tests came back clean.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
- Make a comment to Cary Tennis not for publication.
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We were breast-fed really late
My mother continued to let us touch her for years after feeding stopped, and now it feels creepy and revolting
(Credit: Zach Trenholm/Salon) Dear Cary,
I don’t know how to put this any way but bluntly, so here goes. My mom let me and my brother breast-feed really, really late– until we were 4 or 5. She let us touch and play with her breasts for years after that. She never told us what sex was, and later when I found out for myself, my body changing on its own, I felt revulsion at the all-too-recent memories of how I touched, and wanted to touch, my own mother. I hated that she hadn’t stopped me.
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Cary Tennis writes Salon's advice column, leads writing workshops and creative getaways, publishes books, writes an occasional newsletter and tweets as @carytennis.
- Send me a letter! Ask for advice! Letter writers please note: By sending a letter to advice@salon.com, you are giving Salon permission to publish it. Once you submit it, it may not be possible to rescind it. So be sure.
- Make a comment to Cary Tennis not for publication.
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More Cary Tennis.
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