In the realms of the unreal...

I am taking a break from the breathtakingly beautiful "In the Realms of the Unreal." It leads me to think about my own realms of the unreal, the worlds I create that I alone venture into. Falling asleep as a young girl, bored with the prospect of falling asleep and waking up into the same world, I'd imagine myself falling asleep on a pirate ship, rocked to sleep by the waves. I'd imagine myself in a down-filled, 19th century homemade mattress on the prairie. I'd imagine myself covered in furs and velvets, as befitted my imaginary royal self. Once, my father was scolding me, most likely for not picking up my room properly.
"What do you think you are, some kind of princess?" I threw my head back, and with all the regalement I could muster, I said:
"YES."

I suppose this ability to create alternate worlds to live in, like a transparent overlay on top of an existing background, could be considered unhealthy. But because I have, over thirty years of practice, become so adept at maintaining control over my own imaginations, that they never take control of me without my consent. With so many smart people floating around, unaware of the transparencies they throw against their own world, unaware or unwilling to admit the delusions they create and foster are their own, I can't help but feel grateful that I recognize reality in all its glory.

My world is my own. Your world is your own. I can't possibly understand what your eyes see unless you tell me, and you can't hope to fully comprehend where I go when my gaze drifts into daydream unless I trust you enough to share it with you.

Lynn Barber wrote an eloquent and beautiful account of her affair with a much older man in The Observer. I suggest reading the whole piece, it's horrifying and compelling much like a good slasher flick, but relies on the emotional carnage she suffered instead of bloody bodies.

I learned not to trust people; I learned not to believe what they say but to watch what they do; I learned to suspect that anyone and everyone is capable of "living a lie". I came to believe that other people - even when you think you know them well - are ultimately unknowable. Learning all this was a good basis for my subsequent career as an interviewer, but not, I think, for life. It made me too wary, too cautious, too ungiving. I was damaged by my education.

It's a bit odd to turn a decade older the year that we all enter into a new decade. I have entered my 30s as the year turns 2010, and that logically leads to contemplation. Who I have been in the past 10 years as an adult. Who I thought I'd be by now. Where I've failed, and where I've succeeded. The best and worst I can say about myself: I have tried to do right as much as I can, and have tried to admit fault whenever I've felt responsible. I do the best I can, and I keep moving.

It's hard for me to disengage. I feel things passionately, and my gut has never pointed me in the wrong direction. It's hard to not trust that. It's hard to trust other people instead. I suppose, if a new year's resolution is necessary, that it will be to be grateful for the trust I have in people, to observe and recognize it, and those people who inspire it, in the moment I feel it. To appreciate what I have when I have it, with the full knowledge that all people are temporary, that all relationships are ephemeral, and that the only constant and enduring support I have is found within myself. To only spend time or energy on those who make room for me in their lives, who care as much for and about me as I do for them. To not be used as a therapist and wet-nurse for sad-sacks, who forget their convalescence as soon as they are well again. To give joy and love and expect it in return.