Normalcy, part 2

It didn't really take this long for D to reply to my letter here, but I haven't gotten around to updating till now. She replied that afternoon, and we bounced e-mails back and forth for the next couple of days. And in the end I suppose you could say everything turned out all right.

Dear Hosea,

Thank you for writing and providing a great deal of clarification. It is helpful, not hurtful.

There’s no question that the last few weeks have been very difficult for me, and you have undoubtedly seen me at my worst. Yet I also realize that creating an environment that allows both of us plenty of freedom while still remaining connected is genuinely challenging.... I certainly agree that a fishbowl existence for you is unworkable. It is far better to swim in the sea, even if it means less contact and connection. It seems fine to me that you write less often and not call [both of which I had pretty much promised in my last letter before this one]. That seems more workable for you and for the most part, when I am doing what I love and I’m surrounded by others, I am not nearly so dependent on my friends for connection and support.

When we had talked on the phone (back here) I had tried to explain some of the reasons that I find frequent phone calls difficult. At the time, D had responded by saying, "Sure. But when you have a new baby in the house it's difficult to get up at 3am because the baby is crying, and you still do it." In my e-mail I had asked her if this was really the way she wanted to think about our relationship, because it sure wasn't a model I had any interest in: "You take care of a baby because he is helpless and can’t take care of himself. And taking the larger view, the baby’s very helplessness means that you assume a whole raft of obligations – lasting for years – when you first bring him under your roof (whether through birth or adoption). Is that the picture I should have of our love? That by virtue of loving you I have assumed a whole raft of open-ended obligations because you are helpless (the way a baby is) and can’t take care of yourself? Really?" Fortunately she got the point, and so she addressed this one too.

There are also times when my analogy about caring for a friend like you would a child is appropriate (I did not mean it in the literal way you understood, as incurring obligations for years), and last week was probably one of those times, but I certainly agree that most of the time—98 percent of the time--another, more liberating model should be in place. We all go through periods of intense change and difficulty when extra support is probably necessary. But honestly, it’s no more than that. All the decisions to change and the activity necessary to do so have to come from within the person; it’s not a matter of giving advice or solving a problem. It’s just presence. Managing ‘presence’, I’ve come to think, is a very difficult feat. It means being there, but just positioned to listen; a certain silence is also necessary. I call it keeping watch, and I have no illusions about how difficult it is. It really does preserve your freedom while still undergirding the other person with love. Ideally, this is what parents do for their adult children, but it’s not easy. It is way too common to either get deeply involved and offer lots of advice and activity, or pull back completely. Right now, it seems best to me that you pull back, and demand the freedom to sail on the open seas. Sailing is a good image, because when you are tacked into the wind, there is a certain delicious lightness and speed that never feels heavy.

I hope you enjoy your week in Faraway City, and you get the opportunity to see some theater. I have lesson plans to write and planning for next week. It all seems a little overwhelming, but manageable. Honestly, the worst is behind me. So take the freedom you desire, and enjoy the separation, confident that I will be fine, and that when you desire to see me, I’ll be here.

With all my enduring love,
D