Are your idealizations unrealistic?
Friday started off on the right foot – the delivery guy from Saia said he had no idea where MidCity was and could I meet him at Five Happiness – a character to the say the least, from the West Bank – the day continued in that fashion with an eldery woman asking me if I could check out her parking for her – and I felt like all day I was trying to spread the love and it was working for me. Making people’s day a little easier. Uptown and saw a car run a makeshift stop sign and hit another car – the woman hit got out of the car and was indignant and petulant – I felt sorry for the other woman, the one who didn’t see the handwritten stop sign that was low to the curb – a product of Katrina – homemade street signs and stops signs. Sigh. But it also was a reminder to be kinder – the woman hit was a gorgeous woman who made herself very ugly by being unreasonable.
So what is reasonable? Sonia used to tell me to temper my expectations – to make them more realistic. “Perfection is not a goal, Rachel.” Last night E said he thought the problem with relationships is that we idealize the Other. When he said it I didn’t agree with him – I thought to myself that might be your issue but mine is not about idealizing – and the more I think about it the more I believe it.
I romanticized the homecoming to New Orleans for 15 years – within those years even came back for 11 months – and then I came back and Katrina hit, my divorce hit, everything hit – yes, some of the rose color to my glasses has dissipated in the wake of all this – but I still feel like New Orleans yields to my unreasonable demands on her. My tendency to have unrealistic expectations of a place are made sound by knowing that no matter what, this fair and faded city is home. For better or for worse.
The question arose whether the addition at the LaLa was inspected. I called K, the ex contractor and she said she would ask J, the framer. No word. I called J and he screamed at me that it is not HIS JOB TO INSPECT that fell to the contractor. I then called the city myself and asked for an inspection. The guy came and said I already had an inspection – I told him I liked to do things twice – it made me feel better. Turns out his name was Jerry McRaney – he had a Mr. B’s tee shirt on and turns out his wife is Michelle McRaney – executive chef at Mr. B’s. He said the restaurant wouldn’t be open till Christmas sometime – we talked about the restaurants that got damage were using this opportunity to completely overhaul and were going to come back better. He said he lived in Gentilly and he was trying to do the same thing. Nice guy.
But back to idealizing – I don’t think the demise of my marriage was that I idealized my husband and when I saw the reality I was crushed. Not at all. I think I underidealized myself and put unrealistic demands on myself to be a perfect wife, daughter, worker, etc. and when I became more self-actualized, more comfortable with less than perfect – I was a late bloomer – our dynamic changed – I made demands – he thought I was being unreasonable in my demands – “I have needs too” was not going over well in the post-self-actualized era.
He’d say I changed – I no longer ADORED him – he liked to be the object of my desire – held fast in my gaze – we talked about this notion last night as well – the Other – it’s always a push me pull me with the Other – trying to negotiate what we want, what has been modelled for us, what we need. I liked being the object of N’s desire – it made me feel special and ADORED – but it is unrealistic – G needs to be adored, but she repels any man who adores her because she will not allow herself to ultimately be vulnerable. E idealizes women and then when the cracks appear he is disappointed. I give so much to the Other that I lose myself in the masterpiece – so I have learned I have to stand back, master the brush stroke, place myself center in the painting.
But in this idealized work of art, behind me is the backdrop of New Orleans – a texture of cannas, oaks, banana trees and ginger, weathered boards and wrought iron fences, uneven sidewalks and now piles of trash and standing water, abandoned neighborhoods and commercial areas, faded charm, silent trollies, and a bayou that needs tending, a house that pulls me emotionally, financially, intellectually to the brink then offers me a porch to sit and rest my eyes on a Great Egret who takes flight at the banks while issuing a deep croak and lands across the smooth water after offering me a glimpse outside myself.