Thursday, September 24, 2009

The dueling man

There are those of you who know how hard the last year has been for me. There are those, I suppose, who don't know. The details are frivolous. You'll find out eventually. Or not. You'll at least see the results of the decisions I'm making, which are in turn, results of decisions I've made. There undoubtedly have been some right decisions, but all I can seem to dwell on are the wrong.

At any rate, I'm in a state of calculated reflection and uncontrollable emotional reaction. I'm hitting extremes and very rarely does my meter seem to fall in between, in some healthy medium. It seems that being a man -- perhaps being a person in general -- inevitably shifts from extreme to extreme.

The point is: I'm a mess.

I've turned to dueling pieces of art that cater to my unbalanced points of view and in turn help me realize why I react the way I do. They cater to my weak side -- the sadly emotional, weepy, powerless reaction to the sadness I'm facing and my pigheadedly strong side -- the wildly emotional, Alpha male, intimidating, break-shit-to-feel-better reaction.

Exhibit A -- feeding weak and emotional side -- is the Bon Iver album "For Emma, Forever Ago." Specifically the songs "Skinny Love" and "Re: Stacks." Justin Vernon wrote the album on a three-month hiatus at his father's cabin in northwestern Wisconsin. He had broken up with the love of his life. He had endured mononucleosis that plagued his liver. His band had broken up. He didn't intend to make music, but he did as a sort of cathartic exercise. The result is an album of heartbreaking songs about pain, loss, the difficulty to cope and the inability to recover.

I had avoided Bon Iver during the past few years because it seemed too indie hip. I made a big mistake. I saw Vernon and his backing band perform last weekend in Omaha. The songs spoke directly to me and my situation. It was moving. It felt good to listen to his songs that indulged my need to grieve over the wrong turns in my life and the incredible sadness that lies ahead in the coming weeks, months, years. It consoles the side of me that wants to wrap myself up in a blanket and sleep off the horror and heartbreak. It embraces the side that wants to live in a forest near Gunnison, Colo., until the end of time.

Then, of course, there's Exhibit B: Jon Krakauer's "Where Men Win Glory." It's the story of the pigheaded, tragic, heroic journey of Pat Tillman. He was an NFL football player with a comfortable life, a great wife and an unquenchable thirst for adventure who left it all to join the Army and try to avenge the Sept. 11 terrorist attacks. As Krakauer -- my favorite author by a million miles -- writes, Tillman was an Alpha male who believed "in the moral imperative to defend ideals such as truth, beauty, honor and justice. He is self-assured. He is a risk taker. He regards suffering as salutary, and scorns the path of least resistance."

It's the justice and suffering parts that stick. I've been wronged -- deeply, soundly and irreparably. I have an unhealthy need to blame and punish. I have an unhealthy ability to trudge through pain when I'd be wiser to walk away. The results haven't been pretty. Broken possessions, burned knickknacks, lost sanity. And, worst of all, the point hasn't been taken. But reading about Tillman makes me realize my reactions aren't asinine. They certainly are wrong, but, in fact, there are centuries of precedence of men acting like ridiculous assholes. You'll be glad to know I've done quite well holding up that tradition.

Both creations -- Krakauer's and Bon Iver's -- cater to these undesirable aspects of my character. Sorry for the crassness, but they validate the pussy who's too weak to enact change and the asshole too mean to allow it to happen.

I am, in essence, a man at war with himself and his emotions. A dueling man, who soon will have only himself to examine, only himself to commiserate with.

1 comment:

Jeannine said...

Wow! Great writing, sad story. If it all means what I think it does, I am sorry. Very sorry.