Chickens

One of the people I've read - I don't remember if it was Alasdair MacIntyre or Bernard Williams or maybe Harry Frankfurt or Martha Nussbaum (and this isn't an academic essay so I'm not going to worry too much about the references, but someone who talks about what it means to be fully human) - one of these people writes about an element of friendship (after Aristotle), that part of friendship is taking an interest in our friend's interest, not because we find them intrinsically interesting but because we value our friend.

I know that's dense, so let me give you an example: I have a friend named Paul who likes to lift weights. I haven't spent much time in a gym, and when I exercise I tend to do yoga, or hike or ride my bicycle - not lift weights. Lifting weights is not even something that's ever really occurred to me to do. But when Paul and I started spending more time together, I started going to the gym with him - and this is the important part - not merely to placate him, but taking an interest in the things he finds interesting. He and I are currently living in different cities, and I don't make it to the weight room these days (and there's more to that story, but I've already got too much for today) - but I miss going to the gym with Paul, and when I think about lifting weights, I think about it in reference to Paul.

Let me switch briefly here to another topic (I tend to think dialectically, so I promise I'll eventually relate this to what I've just said above): enthusiasm. When I look back on things that I wrote when I was in high school or junior high, or on videotapes or audiotapes of my younger self, I'm struck by this naive, goofy energy that's embarrassing - how could I have liked the notebook with Confederate flag on the front? Why did I think this triviality about the date (I can't remember which one) had some sort of mathematical significance? I'm embarrassed by the things I wrote, things I said, things I had - and the connecting feature for me here is the energy I put behind them. That is, it's not necessarily even the things themselves - of course I liked Star Trek! - but did I have to be so bouncy about it? Those of you who know me as an adult might even be surprised by that: have you ever seen me goofily enthusiastic about anything? Have I exhibited an unrestrained positive emotion about anything? And "positive" is an important qualifier, because I've cried in public about my (now ex) fiancee breaking up with me; and really angry about politics, and other relationships I've had (see the cartoon - not about my ex-fiancee!). I can be loud and sad, I can be loud and angry, and of course I can be happy, but my "happy" is usually pretty quiet. Did I like Robert Downey Jr. in Kiss Kiss Bang Bang? Yes - but I'm never going to go online (here or elsewhere) and say "BEST MOVIE EVAR!!!!1!!!!" - about that, or anything really.

So: bringing the pieces together. My ex-fiancee wanted to have chickens: she read about chickens on-line, checked out books on chickens, bought some books on chickens and small-scale farming. I can't say that I did much in the way of reading: we were both living in (and continue to live in) apartments, and chickens aren't part of that equation. But she was surprised when I told her (post break-up) that I had been looking forward to having chickens with her: I never conveyed the enthusiasm that I felt. And that last part is another important qualification: I really did feel enthusiasm for the future-chickens. I don't have any intrinsic interest in chickens - the farm I grew up on didn't have any animals except dogs and cats - and I'm unlikely to start raising chickens on my own. The enthusiasm I had was based on her interest: I was interested because she was interested, because I valued (and, honestly, continue to value) her interests (but that's no longer a shared project). She didn't know that, though, and I wish I had been better at conveying that.

I sit here this morning and wonder how much of the problems in our relationship had that basic structure: she wanted to do X, I didn't have an intrinsic interest in X but felt excited by the prospect, because she was excited - but then nothing ever happened because she didn't think I wanted to (go cross-country skiing, go to Waynesville to look at the shops, etc). And what's worse, I failed to convey any enthusiasm about some of the things that I do have an intrinsic interest it - singing duets at the open mic, singing with her in general, hiking around the area. She didn't think I wanted to do those things, and so we didn't. Now I wonder what's wrong with me. I wonder if there was any way of fixing that relationship. And I wonder if I'll continue that pattern in the next relationship. I hope not.