Lately, because of the book, people have been asking me what I know about life and death and also about helping people you love. I don’t know anything more than you do, unless you are a professional caregiver or social worker or therapist or spiritual leader or all-knowing being hovering in the sky (or wherever all-knowing beings hover), in which case you probably know vastly more than I do. What I believe (but do not necessarily know for sure) is you can’t help someone who doesn’t want to help themselves. You can beg and plead, you can cajole and flirt, you can manipulate, you can guilt - and you should definitely try all those things - but in the end, if someone is dead set on destruction, you should probably just get out of their way.
I was thinking this morning about how all of the best conversations I’ve had lately with men have been with married men because we don’t stress each other, and we can just relax and just be. None of us are worried about anything except making each other laugh. It has been very soothing to enjoy male energy in an uncomplicated way.
Except for the one conversation I had with the extremely drunk married man who within ten minutes of conversation had his hand on my knee. I pointed out the wedding ring on his hand immediately, and he retreated his hand and left the party right away, but later it occurred to me that I should have been more upset about how quickly he groped me. Oh well, it’s all insulting, right? Two days later I ran into him in the security line at the airport and he mouthed “Sorry” to me. Sorry, you guys. Sorry. He was sorry. You can say sorry to me as long as you say it to your wife, too.
The rest of the married men have been gems, though. I’d wear them on a ring, or like studs in my ears, and carry their delightful banter with me wherever I go.