Give up dread.
Valentine’s Day has held an exaggerated significance in my life. Probably because of my ‘bohemian upbringing’ which mostly just means messy. My parents were not married; my mother never married. The corny traditional demonstrations of love became like terrible markers in my barometer of was I worth it or not? Sending someone a note or some flowers seemed such an easy gesture, so if my romantic interest forgot, or thought it was too commercial, I would plunge into a dejected and furious mood. I didn’t want a grand gesture, only this stupid blithering card. I also felt ashamed of wanting this so much. And of course all the nicest people forget – so this was such a bind.
At school my best friend Rusty got all the Valentine’s cards. She was the most beautiful, and somehow it seemed easy to show her the love. We all thought she merited it – and she did for that very reason. I felt like one of those characters from a postwar novel who watched other people having successful romantic experiences whereas I would panic and pull back, or fast forward so that everything was over before it had got anywhere. In some kernel of my self-protected being I was still on guard from witnessing my parents’ relationship fracture and rupture. I both craved and feared love as something too elusive to be available, and something that could be withdrawn. The whole subject of needing anything from anyone has been conflicting. Need seemed to come with catastrophic consequences of loss. I decided early around the age of 11 that I would cultivate being invincible. Self-denial became my fun thing. I thought it would make me strong - and it did, but also brittle which is the opposite of strength. Oddly it is the rejections I have experienced – both in love and ambition that have softened me. The shock of going through it has made me more committed to the blade of grass philosophy: bending in the wind instead of being felled like the oak tree in the storm. Now I am less afraid of being hurt, I don’t find it so devastating either in reality or as a concept. My shrink once told me ‘Why don’t you give up dread.’ I did, and it has made a huge difference to my capacity for pleasure.
