Anxious People
Blow after blow
“As if you understand that people need fairy tales as well, not just narrative. I’ve liked you from the moment you came in here, you know. You messed things up a bit, with the pistol and all that, but who hasn’t messed things up at one time or another? All interesting people have done something really stupid at least once! For instance, I had an affair, behind Knut’s back, with a man who loved books, just like me. Whenever I read anything now I “think of the pair of them, because he gave me a key, and I never told Knut that I kept it.”
“but Estelle ignored her. She ran one hand along the bookcase. One of the last times she met her neighbor in the elevator he gave her a very thick book, written by a man. He had underlined one sentence, several hundred pages in: We are asleep until we fall in love. Estelle gave him a book in exchange, one written by a woman, so it didn’t need hundreds of pages to say things. Close to the start Estelle had underlined: Love is wanting you to exist.”
Anxious People
Fredrik Backman
Wow. You weren't kidding about how this wraps up. What a great read. I wish I'd finished it before I spun out. Why did I write that? Would it have changed things? Would I instead have been eager to keep our feelings clandestine? Yes. I think I would have. But that would be so dangerous. But also delirious. So delightfully delirious.
Is it the thrill of someone new? Jellybean says it is (she always has). 'The touch of the strange' she calls it. But, it seems there was something else here. The warm pulsing glow from my heart that would wash up my neck and over my shoulders when you said certain words, or sent certain photos. Or the way my brain would experience what I can only describe as warm honey pouring down over it when a new message from you arrived. Not to mention the other ways my physiology would react thinking about you.
I want to argue that is how new relationships start. Young love isn't just for youth. But, I can't say I remember a lot of these emotions when I fell in love with Bean. Or, more accurately, I think I always attributed those to the flush of chemical imbalance we experience as young adults. I was certainly cast headlong into my love for her those many years ago.
Why are we designed this way? Why can't we feel that same rush with our chosen person all our lives? Is it imperfection? Will we be able to feel that electricity again once our bodies are restored to their glory? Or are we doomed to eternity finding our infinite partner dull and predictable? What a long eternity it would be. That doesn't make sense. Certainly, people will take much more time selecting their mates.
Mental illness likely plays some roll in peoples perceived incompatibility. Personality flaws rear their ugly heads after you are committed to a relationship for many years. But they are just that, flaws. Which can be corrected.
This the delightful thing about fictions: you can write these little dioramas and they appear so perfect in the warm glow of make-believe. But, as we have learned, feelings are dynamic. They wax and wane. And if they wax too hard... big trouble in little china.
I could write all night about this. But... it's one am and clients demand I finish. So energy has to get diverted. Argh! What a read. I did NOT expect such a gut punch at the end. Was it that heavy? Or am I just particularly vulnerable these days?
In the future (please, Jah let there be a future for us foolish humans), could you please not let me screw things up so badly? I'd really appreciate it.
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