I was lying in a naked tangle with an old friend recently, talking in hushed voices about the renters who live in the basement apartment of his enormous house, one of whom I had met a couple of hours earlier. “Wait, is that the same socially awkward, grumpy bachelor who has lived down there for years?  You were hoping he’d meet a nice lady.”

“Well yeah, so she came along and moved in and she’s great, but they fight literally every day. And yet, a couple of weeks ago, they got married anyway. Came back from the wedding and just kept fighting.”

“Do you think some people just need and value companionship so much that they are willing to accept that kind of lack of harmony in their lives? I couldn’t handle that. I’d much rather be alone.”

“No, I don’t think that’s it. I think that the fighting could be what makes him feel loved. He’s a grumpy, difficult guy. The fact that every morning she tangles up with whatever bullshit he’s dishing means she sees him. And yet every day she is there anyway.  She married that bastard. He drives her crazy daily and she still loves him and chooses him. I think it makes him feel loved. If there was harmony, it wouldn’t be as good. He might not feel loved.”

“Do you see me?”

Over the past weekend, the neighbors had a big run-in with the police. A relatively young widow lives there with her quiet, hard to connect with teenage son. He’s the kid without friends who sees life through a lens that leaves him in an isolated dark cloud. I was out running this morning and he walked right by me, close enough to touch – the only two people in sight.  I said “good morning”.  Again, louder, “GOOD MORNING!!” and he stared ahead like I wasn’t there.

On Saturday night, he pulled a knife on his mom and threatened to kill her and himself. Not a surprise in this plot, but there it was. And the police came and the neighborhood lit up with intervention.

As he stood there in his threats, the thing he kept saying was “Can you see me??!?  DO YOU SEE ME?!?” and perhaps unsurprisingly, the mom couldn’t. She worried what other people would think, how it would affect her. The police suggested to her multiple times that she go talk to him and check on him. But she continued to worry about herself. She could not see him. And tragically for this kid, there may be no one who can see him right now. On some level, he didn’t answer my good morning, not because he didn’t care that I existed, but because he doesn’t believe he does.

I see you, you big fat hairy bastard

One of the many ways I have failed the men I’ve loved is by trying to see the “good” in them. It’s a bullshit mechanism for control and righteousness, and a guaranteed shorthand for not seeing someone as they are.  It can be a fun novelty for a bit to have someone see something spectacular in you, but after a while, it just becomes a burden and a lie. It’s a constant source of failure, a nagging obligation, and a reminder that you aren’t really totally loved for what you are. You are loved, at least partially, for what you could be. And that’s bullshit.

You are selfish, lazy, messy, and annoying and I love you and want to be around you anyway, you fat, hairy bastard. Maybe that’s what love is.