Go With the Flow

In the cynicism all around, seemingly at all times, I find myself back at the very beginning. The craving for a connection, something I’m not even sure exists. When I look around, there is all sorts of evidence that it doesn’t and won’t. That love is not true, or more accurately that it is, but no one knows how to do it anymore. There is a piece of me that will not let it go and craves it still, despite all the evidence even in my own life. I’m in my forties. And how much is left?

I wanted it from the time I knew what my image of it could be. Maybe sixth grade. I had an off-center mindset when I was young, an independent way of thinking that landed me outside most of the tribes. I mean, you can’t escape that kind of thing when you’re a teenager, you’re always looking for a tribe. But, when everyone else was discovering what dating was supposed to be, goofing around and breaking up and getting back together on a lark, I was looking for a life mate. A connection in soul. Needless to say, it didn’t go well. Even older, I faltered, made bad decisions, cast away good things and embraced things that were obviously bad for me. But, I think all of it was in pursuit of that connection. All just various episodes in failure, waiting on the eventual success.

I credit God for showing me how the world really is and who people really are. How flaws are in everyone and elevating someone above their capabilities in your mind is unhealthy. It’s a big reason I grieve still, for my wife, and probably won’t ever stop.

She and I were destined to have troubles. She didn’t have the capacity to remain in that space, but even more frustratingly, she could get there with me for brief moments. When one person in a couple is crippled emotionally, the connection fades and sputters. She was capable of so much passion and tried very hard to reach for it and she delivered it to me sometimes, as I delivered for her. But, the other side of her kept us tethered at a distance for much of our marriage. I did my part, too. I don’t blame her for everything and I certainly don’t blame her for dying, sudden as it was.

She tried and sometimes I feel like that should have been enough. I look at myself…who I was before and after she died…and I see two very different people and not simply because of the fact that the death of a loved one changes everything. But, because I feel like I have come to much of my deep understanding and compassion for her posthumously. And that hurts in itself. Because, if I could talk to her now, I would tell her…so many things. Most of all, I would tell her…’it’s okay. All those feelings you have that you can’t control. We’ll get there or if we don’t we’ll figure something out.’ I said those things then, but they mean something very different now. And I think she would notice the difference.

Not long after she died and I got over the shock, a thought jammed itself into my head. ‘What now?’

Where will all this passion go? Where will I find tenderness? How long will it be before I go to my bed to find the warmth of someone I love permeating it, happy to receive me beside them with a soft moan? Who will say gentle things to me? Where is this person? I need them now. I can’t do this alone and I can’t materialize them out of thin air. Do I just find a replacement? These are needs, not desires. These are the crazy, desperate thoughts that go through your head and cause your body to ache in the watches of the night. I felt guilty for thinking any of it and still do, because how do I just walk away? Yet, at the same time, there is nothing to go back to. That is gone and it is never coming back. The rest of your life is staring you in the face, looming ominously as you prepare to raise a son on your own. The rest of the people in your life smile sympathetically, some even go so far as to squeeze the arms of their lovers….those they are connected to in whatever way, as if thinking ‘wow, I hope that never happens to us, honey.’

And then there are the ones I have become extra cross with lately. The people who have another…and don’t seem to care. Or appreciate it. There’s divorce talk and blither about being unhappy. A vapid wander through life, without realizing that everything you have in that person beside you is precious and there are some out there who would kill to possess it, because it has left them, never to return.

It feels like an insurmountable rift sometimes, this desire to connect deeply with another.

Weird things make thoughts like this come out.

In an effort to experience some nostalgia, I was on youtube, watching the 1982 Indy 500…of all goddamn things. The 500 was a big deal in our house, when I was a kid. My dad was a big fan of it and we lived in Indy for a while, where our family met friends we still think fondly of, even today.

It was the last place I ever expected to get shot in the heart; silly in fact. Yet, there is some connection, I’ve noticed, between memories of youth and desire of the kind I talk about.

So, it’s one of the best 500’s ever to have happened. Notorious, even. It started with a crash at the very beginning, before the green flag even flew. Four cars were taken out and people were screaming at each other on the track and casting accusations about who’s fault it was.

At the end of the race, a man named Gordon Johncock (GREAT name) has an eleven second lead on a guy named Rick Mears. He’s got the race won…except his handling is off because of a front wing issue and it’s getting worse. He can only go so fast or the wing will fly off and end the race for him. Mears, meanwhile, is booking. The lead is dwindling during the last ten laps. Mears is catching up, the drama amps up, the entire thing gets extremely tense.

During the coverage, they cut to Mears’ wife, Dina. She’s in the pits, watching all this happen. She’s got a stopwatch, she’s dressed in racing gear, she’s there, in the midst of everything. I’m amazed by this woman. She’s obviously beside herself, tearing her hair out, hoping like hell her husband pulls it off. I think, ‘what makes her care so much?’ I know the answer and that’s what stings. On the penultimate lap, Mears tries to pass Johncock and fails. They show Dina biting her nails, leaning up to see….anything. Another woman is beside her, comforting her. Mears tries to get by Johncock one more time on the last lap. It doesn’t happen. Mears loses in one of the closest finishes in the history of the race.

They show Mears in his car, after the race, talking from his car to reporters about what happened. Dina is leaning into the car, she kisses him once and runs a loving hand through his hair. You almost did it, honey.

I thought…’I bet those two had the greatest sex of their lives later that night.’

“I want something good to die for….to make it beautiful to live.”

The tune of it runs through my mind constantly.