Drinks With Doug

The Odometer Moves Again

Wednesday's weather: Finally fall! Almost. Beautiful sunshine and cool, dry temps. The leaves in the back have been turning piecemeal for about a month; now they begin in earnest. Herbs are dry, and windows are open.
Wednesday's drink: Something limey and a little froo-froo. It's my birthday for G-d's sake! Like that's ever made a difference.
Wednesday's meaningless link: Why, it's my year ahead! And it must be true! It's a horoscope!

So I know therapy is helping. Today is my birthday and I don't care who knows I'm 44.

A decade ago I doubt I was telling anyone how old I was. I would mumble about being in my "early thirties" (how long did I use that line?) or maybe even outright lie, shaving a year or two off. More if I thought I could get away with it.

Of course, this was still a time when I could get away with it. I did legitimately look younger than my years. And fairly hot, too...within a reasonably small universe.

Ten years is such a short passing of time. But looking back I'm genuinely shocked to think I was even on the air...on basic cable at least. "Hey everyone! It's Doug, on the teevee! Change the channel."

Sure I was no Rob Marciano, but I had my fans. And I had my friends, and my boyfriends. My friend M. who came to visit one wintery day met me at a local hotel. He was one level up and I was bustling in the main lobby to meet him at the bar. He said I looked like a million bucks: great black longcoat, jaunty scarf, tugging my leather gloves as I moved confidently into the room. And then, the telling detail, I apparently knew just how and when to unbutton my suit jacket as I sat as if to say: "I know exactly who I am and what I'm capable of."

But I was not happy. Really, most days, I was not happy in the least. I might fake it well - I could even almost fool myself. Thinking on it now: I don't know at all what was wrong.

Well, OK, that's a big fat lie. I know the roots of what was wrong, but I still don't see how they were manifest then. Not that it's worth dwelling on.

Today I tell my therapist of the last 18 months that we are drawing to a close, he and I. I'm of many emotions about this, but see the need and practicality. Foremost among the good stuff is appreciation for his help and pride in my accomplishments. Somewhere in the murky middle is that weird sense of saying goodbye to someone who knows you so well, but is in no way a friend.

I was thinking of the old Melville metaphor in "Moby Dick" - the leviathan (great whale) is so large that you can't see him all in one view. The most you can ever grab are pieces and parts. A tail fluke, a fin, teeth and mouth, great lolling eye, a snowy fountain on the horizon. I feel like that to him: he sees me in pieces and parts, but not all together.

A better metaphor might be the internet. I, any of us really, exist as clouds of information scattered on a thousand computers across the net. My address, my favorite movies, my grocery purchases and political contributions: a million unconnected bits that, connected, make a pointillistic portrait of me. But even with that, there is one very secure computer that holds eyes-only, top-secret classified files. This computer is not connected to the net; this information does not float aimlessly through the internet's tubes. This is the computer he has had access to.

And of course, that's the point. Perhaps only one or two other people shall ever see what's in there. (Sort of like David Addington's safe.) But looking back, 18 months into therapy, 44 years into life, I wish he and the many others I know had a better sense of those clouds, that portrait, that represents me.