Stelios' Gelateria and Cafe is one of my favorite places to work for reasons ranging from sentimentality to their kindness to very reasonable prices. His music generally isn't – some station or channel that does a mix of Top 40 and Top Hits Of The Past. Stelios is all about overplayed pop – which is a safe choice for foreigners coming for ice cream. It's a sad departure from a decade ago when he played more Greek pop which Emily and I enjoyed so much that we bought an album of the top Greek hits of the Summer of 2010. It was great.
Cafe Mostra in front of my house seems to play endless volumes of cover songs. Sometimes it seems organized by genre, other times decade. Always upbeat but not overpowering - it delivers a slightly interesting rewash of what might otherwise be trite and mundane. Someone put some thought into their music choices and as great as he is, I'm sure it wasn't Christos.
As I passed Mostra – one of the many times per day I pass Mostra – I heard John Waite's 1984 soft rock hit, Missing You which got stuck in my head. As it looped around for a half hour, I realized what I wanted to hear really was Tina Turner's cover of Missing You.
I was a big fan of Tina Turner long before the recent revival following her death in late May. One thing about Tina Turner is she gave an unbelievable performance. I was fortunate enough to see her live in Seattle when she toured in her early 60's and she could still do Proud Mary in a leather mini-skirt and high heels. Her energy filled the Key Arena, and probably beyond. Another thing about Tina Turner - and this goes to Proud Mary which is both my favorite of her songs and one that really changed the trajectory of her career – she didn't do it much, but when she chose to cover something, she did it better than anyone else. Her completely different interpretation of Proud Mary was far more successful than CCR's original and a spectacle to watch performed. Likewise, her cover of Missing You gave depth to a somewhat cheesy soft rock song from a one-hit-wonder.
Tina emphasizes one line in the song that has an existential quality – as if to say, "this is why I chose to cover this song":
In your world, I have no meaning, though I'm trying hard to understand….
Maybe I have been affected from being on an island that has been flooded with French people the past few days, but this is a core existential sentiment. We are a hyper-social species and one of the key ways we see ourselves is through the eyes of others. Similar to the way bats use sonar to "see" – our sense of self isn't formed solely from our inner worlds, but what gets sent out into the world and returned to us. To some degree we are – or become – what others tell us we are. For better and worse. What's more, like bats, if we have no one to bounce signal back to us, we're blind. People go crazy when they're alone for too long in-part because all they have is their internal world, which is an incomplete version of themselves.
Having no meaning in someone else's world isn't terribly uncommon. I have no meaning to people I pass in the supermarket all the time other than perhaps we need to politely allow the other to pass. We all mean even less to each other on the freeway. But to go from having closeness and meaning to one another, to no longer meaning something – that's hard. What could be more troubling that having someone reflect to you that after getting to know you, after really appreciating you, in the end you don't mean as much, or not enough – and eventually you don't mean anything anymore? Everyone is trying hard to understand.
Most mature people understand this rationally. Everyone lets go of people for an entire spectrum of reasons - many of which aren't an evaluation of the other person. Of course, in a sense they are because other than some kind of mental or physical health crisis, something made it not worth the time and energy to maintain the relationship. We all play the role of the person who lets go and who is let go. Of course, sometimes you're grateful to be let go – that exists too – ask anyone who has ever had someone with Borderline Personality Disorder in their life. Sometimes there's a mutual parting of ways which might be less stressful. That said, most of the time when we're let go, it hurts to some degree – and sometimes it hurts a lot as it presses up against core wounds and existential questions.
Tina knew how to sing that.
I'm continuing to slog through a divorce that has been fraught with far more disagreements than we ever had in marriage. I warned Emily that divorce wasn't going to solve anything – in fact, it would probably make things far worse because there would no longer be incentive to give, take and come to resolution. Instead, each of us could just entrench ourselves in our positions. That's exactly what has happened.
After a recent volley of emails trying to resolve the remaining issues, I wondered how two people who once meant so much to each other no longer have any meaning? I can look back and see so many warning signs – things early in our relationship and marriage I coulda' woulda' shoulda' given more weight. That's on me – I didn't want to believe those things mattered so much, I didn't want to throw away lots that was good over a few things that might be a problem – especially since every relationship has its challenges. But those things spoke not to dynamics but character and character doesn't usually change or improve.
In December 2010 as we enjoyed a year of around-the-world travel, Emily and I were staying at an Ayurvedic resort on the backwaters of Kerala, India. Everything about our charming bungalow was a little ramshackle and mis-shapen including the sheets that didn't quite fit snugly on the bed, but which were vital to mosquito protection. We could both be covered only if we shared the sheets just right.
One night Emily asked for some more sheets. I knew if I gave them to her I'd come up short, but she was a little cold and she gets bit more easily. I quoted the vows the rabbi had us say during our wedding six months prior, "Ok. Everything I have or ever will have is yours." Another time, I woke up short-changed on sheets and asked if she could spare some. She sleepily shooed me away. I jokingly asked, "Whatever happened to 'Everything I ever have or will have is yours?'". She responded that she had never said that. I reminded her that's exactly what we said during our wedding – that Rabbi Feinstein had us say that. Emily popped up and said, "I said that?! That's ridiculous! Who says that? I thought I said half of everything I have or ever will have is yours?! Who gives more than half?!"
It took me a minute to realize that while she said it in a humorous way, she also meant it. We joked about it for years. It became one of the funny anecdotes we told friends at dinners and brunches. I came to realize with time, make light of it as we might, it was a foundational belief and perspective.
Maybe at that time, in her world I had meaning, but not the same meaning she had in mine. Not that it was personal – I don't think she planned to give that meaning to anyone.
So what happens when I have to let go of her meaning something to me – and now no one plans to give? I suppose Tina's words on that would be "What's love got to do with it"? Or maybe "Big wheel keep on turnin'"?
Buying and creating a home is an act of hope – not dissimilar to committing to a long-term relationship. It involves seeing and setting up for a future you believe you can realize. When we shop for homes, the heady part is imagining the possibilities. What was life like for the people who lived here before and what would I change to make it an ideal life for me? We'll have brunches in the courtyard and cocktails on the balcony. The dining room is perfect for entertaining and the chef's kitchen will make preparing dinner a joy. It's the same hope and possibility we allow when considering partnership and/or marriage.
How you use your home, the life you lead is never quite the way you imagine when you first buy it and set it up. Things you never considered or couldn't imagine come into play. The courtyard is really hot in summer, you can't really go sit on the balcony off your bedroom when the kids are around and need attention and after six months you realize you really hate making dinner every night no matter how nice the kitchen. That doesn't make it a failure. It just requires acceptance that we go into things with our imagination and best intentions – and if all goes well, we bring some of it to life. Maybe the kitchen and dining room are a real joy on holidays and special occasions and the balcony gets used when the kids are away. That can be okay too.
Sometimes as I work on my new Patmos home, I wonder what I'm doing. A house doesn't create meaning, instead I have to imbue it with meaning. I'm tasked with setting up the possibility of experiences – imagining today a life that may or may not come to pass. I have to decide not only what it might be, but what it probably won't be – or even foreclosing options. Even just in buying the house I'm likely letting go of other possible ways my life could go. I'm making room for a vision of life to unfold, though it may not come to look exactly like I expect it – for better or worse. In fact, that's part of what stresses me about furnishing and decorating a house. It's not just my unimaginative aesthetic eye, but that everything feels like a commitment to a life I can't foresee. A sofa makes a room and how do I know that the sofa I chose today will serve the life I want to live?! Or that it won't be easily stained, or weak or prevent me from getting a coffee table I really like later – or clash with a piece of art I fall in love with in two years?! Or that something in life will prevent me from coming and enjoying this place?
There's no getting around the fact that life is always a series of unanswered questions, requiring us to make choices and take risks. Everyday, I read about people's whose homes were damaged in a hurricane or fire. Towns no longer suitable to live because a train filled with toxic chemicals derailed. Economies changing. Wars being fought. Climate change making homes uninsurable. Here I am taking my chances, creating a home in a place that isn't so easy to reach – for anyone. All I can do is take my best guesses, infuse my home with intentions and walk toward a life I want, making room for the life that happens.
Barack Obama once said that having children is like having your heart walking around outside your body. Which is scary as shit. At the same time, people don't frequently frame it this way, but having kids is easy because it gives your life purpose. There are these people for whom you have endless love and a reason to persist. You can be assured that in someone's life, you will always have meaning – and in turn they anchor you when things fall apart. They are insta-meaning. Intentionally or not, children obviate some challenging existential questions and I think that's some of the satisfaction people find in being parents.
That said, the meaning derived from connection to our children isn't enough to create a full life. We need other forms of meaning including from exploring our inner worlds, sustaining a variety of relationships, serving community, and seeking spirituality. In my late teens and early twenties, I came to realize that the space between people – the things we can share – the truths of life, feelings, exploring the nature of the universe we live in – that's where the good stuff is. Those moments of connection, exchange and the empathy and bondedness they engender – those are the meaning, at least for me. Those add color to the world and fill my cup.
Unfortunately, so much of the sheer volume of life isn't those moments. Obviously, not every moment can be a peak one – or we wouldn't be able to appreciate them – but there are so many mundane ones like washing dishes, sorting recycling and sitting through a webinar. There are so many tasks and actions required of us – which can apply ourselves to do with excellence and try to imbue them with meaning as Japanese culture tries to teach – but at least for me, in my experience they are necessary to our physical well being while being spiritually and emotionally unimportant. Has anyone really been uplifted from a webinar?
Maybe I can focus on making room to get to the good stuff. Maybe the goal shouldn't be for me to have meaning in someone else's life, but to create as much meaning as I can in my own. That involves establishing and pursuing possibilities I think could foster meaningful moments and enough sufficiently varied relationships and connections from which to draw the many exchanges that can fill my cup. It could be a "If you build it, they will come…" scenario. Still, I suspect that building it is just one part. Meaning feathering my Patmos nest is both important and just one part of a bigger picture. On the other hand, it also makes it so picking rugs and countertops doesn't feel so tedious, empty or scary.
For now, I just have to have as much meaning as I can in my own world. Which I think is what Tina did for a long time – and she didn't even get half of everything Ike had or ever would have. Though in the end, she got a lot more. Tina, you're simply the best.
