The Favorite

July 18, 2015

I saw “Trainwreck” last night.  It is hysterical, wonderful, vulgar.  My kind of flick.  I don’t think I will spoil the movie for you when I launch into this next part, but if you get all jacked up by knowing a plot twist and you plan to go see this f-word-laden film, it’s probably time to stop the read on this one.

In the movie, the father of our heroine, Amy, dies.  She delivers a eulogy in which she first acknowledges his flaws.  Topping the list are he was a drunk and he was an asshole, and it’s funny and heartbreaking as she makes the case for both. But she goes on to say with a grief that this kind of loss makes palpable (and I’m paraphrasing here), “He made me feel loved and important every day.  He was my favorite person.”

And it was then, after laughing enough to test my already limited bladder control, that I stifled a sizable sob so hearty that giant tears bubbled up and out, silently. That scene I couldn’t shake.  I would even say I was inexplicably melancholy last night after my solid almost-pee-my-pants movie event.  And I woke up this morning with my disposition unchanged.  

The thing is, Amy’s assessment of her father struck a larger chord with me. Feeling loved and important every day is it. Not BEING loved and BEING important (okay, okay...that does lay the groundwork...).  But you gotta FEEL it.  

I’m not splitting the atom here.  I know that.  We have basic human needs of belonging and love.  Got it.  I don’t have a PhD in psychology and I don’t claim to.

But there is nothing nothing nothing I need or want more than to feel loved and to feel important.  At the crux of all my difficulty is when I don’t.  At the crux of any pain I’ve caused others—from family to friends to students—is when I have failed to make them feel that way.  Conversely, at the core of every good relationship I’ve had—from family to friends to students—is when they feel loved and important because of me.  

And you can’t fake it in perpetuity.  I’ve been able to “fix” all kinds of messes here and there, doctor all kinds of wounds, by faking my way through:  yes, I really care about this/you; yes, I can pretend.  But only for so long. Eventually, the bough of feigned affection breaks. And so do you.

So it is with sincere gratitude that I survey the contents of my (slightly worn) heart and find its inventory in solid supply of love and importance from and for so many.  The ache comes, though, when the give outweighs the get here and there. 

Such is life.

It is my charge to do what I can do be the favorite person for those in my favor.  I try and I will and I do. 

We are all charged with that pledge, aren’t we?  Be someone’s favorite.  Try.  Do.