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By Garrison Keillor
Jun. 15, 1999 | Dear Mr. Blue,
I am a single woman determined to live the most joyous life possible until I meet the man who will love me and whom I can love. My life is really very full: close family, many artistic opportunities, satisfying work. I find, though, that I don't want to limit my friendships to other single people, and I find that, while I can be friends with a married woman and not feel I must pay equal attention to her husband, the same is not true with married men. I'd like your opinion. Can a man and a woman be "just" friends, or is the question of sexual attraction always present?
My relationship with a particular couple has been the source of a great deal of anxiety. I met him before I met her but knew very soon that he was married, and therefore not available to me. She is an interesting person, but I prefer his company. We have spent time together, the three of us, and I am happy to have them both in my life. But so often I wish I could just talk to him alone for a while, and then I feel guilty for that wish! I try so hard not to let it show. Am I kidding myself?
Miss LonelyHopefulHeart
Dear Miss,
Yes, you can be friends with a married man and not have sexual electricity make your hair stand on end. It happens all the time. You do have to walk a careful path so as not to excite your friend's spouse's jealousy, but if your conversation is mostly with him and not with her, then you should feel free to pursue it.
Dear Mr. Blue,
I'm blazing along on my first novel, clicking out 2,000 words a day when I'm rolling, and I keep wondering, how many words in a novel?
I know it varies widely and that the novel is done when the story is told and all that, and I also know that I'll know when I'm finished. But what are the actual word counts?
Curious
Dear Curious,
I'm so envious of someone who clicks out 2,000 words a day, I'm tempted to say, "4,684,330," but the truth is that you're getting into the novel league when you approach 50,000, and around 100,000 you may want to stop, sit down and read the thing to see if you're done. You don't want to write more than your reader cares to digest.
Dear Mr. Blue,
I am a 31-year-old male, recently finished with my Ph.D., but planning to blow off the bitter politics of academia to seek my fortune in Paris a few months from now. My problem is that I am unable to enjoy any of the good luck that has recently been raining upon me. Ever since a disappointing break-up with my fiancée three years ago, I have been filled with cold distrust toward other people. Worse than that, I may have inadvertently strung a couple of women along, wrongly giving them the impression that they might have a chance. By most people's standards, three years is probably a bit long to be nursing wounds from a relatively amicable separation, but I feel like a part of my soul has been cut out and I hardly know where to find it again. Any thoughts you might have would be appreciated. But the following question strikes me as especially relevant: Are these things best cured gradually, or isn't there something immediate and quasi-ritualistic (e.g., skydiving, a courageous knife fight) that might jolt me out of this dreary era?
Black and Blue
Dear Black and Blue,
Put the idea of a courageous knife fight away, OK? Most knife fights are short and brutal and nothing you'd consider ritualistic. I don't know about skydiving except that it's nothing to try if at first you don't succeed. Go seek your fortune, young man. Enjoy Paris. Enjoy it for all it's worth. Read up on it so that when you arrive the city will already be alive in your imagination. Let the glory of the city and the delicacy of French culture be the intense experience that will wash this bitterness away. Your miseries took place in English, so speak French for a while. As for cold distrust, it won't do you a bit of good in Paris; it will be wasted on people who will have more than enough cold distrust for you. So start being charming, sir. And look for your soul in Paris, a city of profound civilization.
Dear Mr. Blue,
I had an unfulfilling experience in a writing program long ago, and wondered what you thought of them. Do they do more harm than good?
Skeptical
Dear Skeptical,
I had an unfulfilling experience in a department store the other day. I don't know what I think about it. But it does no harm. You just look for an exit and go through it. There's a big colorful world out there to conjure up. If programs insult your soul, quit, and slam the door on your way out. Give yourself the pleasure of insulting the programmers.
Dear Mr. Blue,
I have brought my beloved husband to live with me in Iowa, my native state -- he is a New Yorker, from the Upper West Side, and the terms are that we will spend two years here, after which, if he doesn't like it, he has only to say the word and we will go back to the city. The thing is, I am a veterinarian; my career possibilities in Manhattan are limited to tending kitty cats, and I prefer cattle and horses and hogs, particularly hogs, which are truly fascinating and endearing animals. My husband is a writer. We've been here six months, and so far he's been so hard to live with that I've been tempted twice to send him back to New York alone. He makes fun of everything and everybody in such a sarcastic way, and lately he's taken to ridiculing my poor mother for her devotion to gardening and lawn care. I don't get it. He used to be more mannerly. What can I do?
Heartbroken
Dear Heartbroken,
Your husband is struggling with culture shock and needs to work his way out of it. Only he can do that. It's a long way from New York to Iowa. In New York, if you see someone on her hands and knees on the ground, you'd assume she was having a bad drug experience. Most dirt in New York City is dirt that you wouldn't want to get involved with. It's dirt that other people have been involved with. The devotion your mother expends on growing things would, on the Upper West Side, be expended on excoriating the mayor or finding a great Chinese restaurant. All you can do is be patient. And if you must return to New York and resign yourself to treating the urinary tracts of kitty cats, know that you, as a Midwesterner, are much more adaptable than a New Yorker, and you'll find a way to make it work.
Dear Mr. Blue,
Some years ago I was in a long, stupid relationship with a guy I should never have dated to begin with. When it was over, I was haunted by how many of his flaws I'd willingly overlooked. Then came Mr. Wonderful. He's the National Gallery, he's Garbo's salary. But he believes -- as Buddhists believe in the Middle Way -- that he's 5-foot-10. Well, I'm 5-5, and he and I are almost the same height.
What to do, what to do, what to do? Should I try to point out the reality of the situation or let it go? My fear is that I am too in love to see what this means, that he lies about whatever he doesn't like about himself and then forgets it's a lie. Or is this small potatoes. For what it's worth, I like him exactly the way he is and am prepared to spend the rest of my life dealing with his every shortcoming if I can just get past this one.
Being Honest
Dear Honest,
This is a small potato. The man is vertically challenged and he has clung to the notion that he's 5-10, which is not so different from a 130-pound woman believing she weighs 112. One of those tolerable little lies. But yes, take any natural opportunity to point out the reality, and tease him a little about his prevarication. This will let you know whether the man has a sense of humor about himself, and that is not small potatoes. That's crucial.
Dear Mr. Blue,
My beloved wife is in the fourth month of pregnancy, our first child, and we're both happy and excited. But I am slowly realizing that she assumes that I will be with her during labor, and I can't imagine this. I mean, I get woozy if a nurse draws blood from my finger, so how can I be of any use to my wife when she's in the turmoil of childbirth, which I understand to be a fairly bloody operation. How can I break it to her that this is impossible for me?
Nauseous
Dear Nauseous,
Under the Old System of fatherhood, the dad did not come into the delivery room. In those days, we men lived in hunting lodges in the woods and were brought into the village for breeding purposes and went back to hunting, and usually we were squatting around a fire eating half-baked venison on sticks and smoking cigars when a guy came by and said, "Hey, they say your wife had a baby," and we said, "Yeah, I was sort of thinking maybe it was something like that." Guys were out of the loop as far as babies were concerned. Nowadays, the father is a partner, present at the birth, helping his wife, holding her ankle, encouraging her, sharing her pain, mopping her brow, saying "push" when the obstetrician says "push," lighting incense and putting on a CD of a Bulgarian women's chorus if it's a natural birth, and if you skip all this and stay out at your hunting lodge, you will look bad and your wife will have reason to wonder if you really care about her. Go to the childbirth classes, learn what you can (which will make the real event less frightening) and know that a father in the delivery room is an ornament. Nothing really is expected of you but your ceremonial presence. You can always avert your eyes. The sight of the child emerging is something you shouldn't miss, but don't look when they administer the epidural or the episiotomy. Never look at an episiotomy.
Dear Mr. Blue,
I'm 28 years old. I recently left my hometown for a larger city after becoming involved with a co-worker at my last job. We started off as friends, but immediately there was a connection I've never experienced before. We were both in pretty awful relationships, and I ended mine and then decided to relocate, and he then ended his, and immediately after, we became involved, and WOW! I've had quite a few relationships and never dreamed that one could be this wonderful.
The problem is, I'm now over 2,000 miles away and we're still going strong. We met recently and decided we both want to get married. I've found a good job in this city -- my hometown is economically dead -- but he wants me to come back for a while to get married and wait for him to finish his degree in two years.
I still have student loans and other debts. I can't help but think I should stay for a while to make some money; I'm making twice what I made back home. He says that if money is the only thing keeping me, that he wants to help me financially. I've lived on my own and supported myself since I was 18, and I find I'm very conflicted about this. Maybe money isn't everything. Maybe life is too short to stay apart (it is so hard).
Plus, I know if the tables were turned I would do the same for him.
Undecided
Dear Undecided,
You'll do what your heart tells you to do, but since you ask me, I'd argue for staying where you are, earning some dough, paying debts and letting the romance simmer for a while. It costs you nothing to wait. (If this sounds like a dad talking, well, it is, but it's good advice.) Enjoy the romance; don't rush it to completion. It sounds as if this romance took place amid a good deal of personal tumult, yours and his, and it's not a bad idea to let time pass and allow the winds to die down. Test the romance at 2,000 miles for a while, and see how things go. And if you are going to marry, you'll want to be on as good financial footing as you can manage. You love him and he loves you, but you must make sure that you each mean the same thing by this. It's a bad sign if he tries too hard to maneuver you into returning. A very bad sign.
Dear Mr. Blue,
I was intrigued by your reply to "Wishy-Washy," that "indecision is a symptom of narcissism"; would you expand on that statement? It might help me to get past a recently broken heart, or at least to understand it better. And while I have your attention: Does love matter to anyone anymore? When did we stop believing in the power of love to transform us? Is it ridiculous to still believe this when you are almost 40?
Worldly
Dear Worldly,
The rest of us haven't stopped believing in the transforming power of love, and when you get over your broken heart, you may believe again too. On most days it seems like a lofty notion that doesn't have much to do with the price of oranges; it's seen more clearly when we look back at our life and the people we've loved and discern how this love has rescued us from narcissism and grounded us in reality. As for indecision, it's a common human failing and no doubt in specific cases is due to honest confusion (Would I rather go to the horseshoes tournament or to dinner with the Hooples?), but when indecision becomes a way of life and a person feels chronically becalmed and bewildered, I say you're taking yourself too seriously. You're missing out on playfulness, a necessary element. Play involves other people. If I sit in a room alone and stare at my big toe, I won't be able to decide if I'm a writer or what to write, but if I walk down the crowded avenue of literature, jostle with other writers, living and dead, compete in the dancing contest, sit down at the poker table, then I have a much clearer idea about myself and what I can do.
Dear Mr. Blue,
Is it OK to let a man buy me dinner when I'm quite sure I don't want to date him again?
Independent
Dear Independent,
I think you ought to buy him dinner, as a consolation. I mean, if he grabs the check, you don't need to wrestle him to the floor for it, but you ought to make a straightforward attempt to avoid being his guest. Unless he's loaded, of course, and then be sure to order the Malpeque oysters on the half shell, the 1988 Barolo, the aged filet mignon and a flaming custard, and when the bill arrives, push it gently toward him.
Dear Mr. Blue,
Oh God, I just turned 37, which seems much older than 36. For years, I've been writing songs and fronting a rock band without achieving much success. Now I feel too old for this biz, and too worn down to write. I have a relationship with a very sweet, kind, decent and intelligent man who is untormented by any failed-artist scenarios. I'm afraid to settle down with him for fear my life will turn into a deathly bore, and I'll feel hopelessly thwarted and unfulfilled. Once you've got the bug, can you make it go away? Is day-to-day contentment the enemy of creativity? Can I still rock?
Guitar Woman
Dear G.W.,
You are probably too old for the platinum end of the music biz, and have been for 20 years. That end is aimed at pre-teens and you, my dear, would only remind them of their mothers. Of course there are other levels and alcoves of the business that would be friendlier, but it sounds to me as if you need to think about your bug. The urge to perform is not necessarily an indication of talent, and every so often -- more often as you get older -- a person needs to reexamine these ambitions. Can you still rock? Of course you can. But it is a bruising business, the sort that a person should be prepared to walk away from at any time. Why don't you take a year off and rest? See if it doesn't help your writing. And see if you don't find other things to engage you. Such as this sweet guy, for example.
Dear Mr. Blue,
I'm 34. My father died six years ago, and a year later my girlfriend broke up with me. I was cautious about meeting someone new but eventually did and everything was great at the start. We had taken time to get to know each other really well first. After a while she said she no longer felt attracted to me. We continued to see each other for a while, to see if things would improve. Finally she broke up with me. She said I was a great guy and there was nothing wrong with me, but if that's true then why leave?
Now I don't know if I can trust another woman or even trust my own feelings. I was sure it was going to work out with us. I don't think I can take another failed relationship. What am I doing wrong?
Shaken
Dear Shaken,
You've just gone through a rejection and you should take it strictly as that -- one woman saying no -- and not as a general judgment. She is not the voice of the universe, so don't take it so hard. Move forward and put this behind you. You don't know if you can trust another woman? Good sir, you haven't even met that woman, the one you're not sure you can trust. Meet her and get to know her and see for yourself. And there's nothing wrong with your feelings: You're just bleeding a little. A person learns so much from failed relationships, and who knows? You may need more education, but I wish you well.
Dear Mr. Blue,
I divorced three years ago and since then have had to dedicate most of my life to my two children who were badly affected by the changes. I teach at the university level and am getting a Ph.D. But I have practically no friends. I can't afford baby sitters, the kids have homework every evening, etc. I'm happy during the school semester because I'm always busy. But when the children go with their dad for vacations, I have nothing to do but work. It gets lonely. Any advice?
Caught
Dear Caught,
It's awfully lonely, and good for you that your work keeps you occupied, but of course you must find some friends. Preferably some who are in the same boat you're in, I would think. Any sizable city would have groups of like-situated people (e.g., Parents Without Partners), and you might check them out. And what about your colleagues? Is there nobody among your fellow grad students who seems interesting to know? Make some room in your busy life for companionship. No need for baby sitters. Train your kids to let Mama have some friends over for supper. Whomp up some spaghetti and open a bottle of cheap wine and sit around and talk.
Dear Mr. Blue,
I notice a great many letters to you from people dissatisfied with the frequency with which they copulate. I have been married for eight years to a sweet, funny, charming man whom I love deeply, and who returns my feelings. We work in the same office and spend most of our time together. We have never had a serious argument. However, our schedule for lovemaking is not nearly as crowded as those of some of your other correspondents. We seem to be at the bottom of the curve. Should we be eating more oysters or watching X-rated movies in the tub, or is curling up together and sleeping like two old dogs reward in itself?
Satisfied (or so I thought)
Dear Satisfied,
There was a man who went to a therapist to talk about his marriage, and the therapist asked him how often he had sex with his wife. "Once a year," he said. The therapist expressed sympathy and the man grinned and said, "But tonight's the night." As we say, it isn't a contest, and every marriage is different, and whatever makes two people happy is strictly their business, and I wish you two old dogs many happy years of curling up together and sleeping.
-- By Garrison Keillor