I knew a young woman once, born in Britain of Chinese parents. She had a Chinese given name, but most people knew her by an English equivalent that sounded similar. Let’s call her Jo.
I first met her when she was eighteen and just starting university. It was obvious that she had a reasonable level of intelligence, at least enough to subsequently gain a Masters degree in politics, but that wasn’t what appealed to me. I was drawn to the Bohemian side of her nature. She was keen on art, literature and theatre. She asked questions, considered alternative angles, and we spent hours discussing the meaning of life, the universe and everything.
When she finished her studies she moved to London, first to work in the offices of a leading national charity, and then went into sales work with a major publisher. It wasn’t long before she was given a very large territory of her own to cover and she moved back up to the Midlands. She rented a flat in a village only a few miles from me and lived there with her boyfriend. By then we’d known one another for about ten years and were reasonably close. It was also the time when I was getting deep into the writing of my own fiction. She liked to read every story as soon as it was finished, and always had comments to make that were mostly complimentary.
I knew her well enough to recognise that there were two distinctly different sides to her nature. The Bohemian side that appealed to me was balanced by a highly organised, pragmatic and conservative alter-ego. She told me once or twice that she had no difficulty controlling her emotions with her rational faculty, and admitted that she thought people who became distressed about things should simply try harder. Despite her apparent native intelligence, she didn’t appear to fully understand that not everybody is logic-driven, as she was, and that dealing with emotional trauma isn’t simply a matter of applying reason.
She did say, however, that she hated her job in sales. It didn’t appeal to her other side. She found the pressures and commercialist presumptions oppressive, and had every intention of getting out of it ‘soon.’ She also said there were two things she would never do. She would never move back to her home town (also my home town) because she found it shabby and small-minded. I felt the same way about the place; it was one of the things we had in common. She also said she would never take on a mortgage because she felt it would trap her into the sort of work-life syndrome that she didn’t want.
And then she turned. She announced one day that she was going to buy a house in her home town, and that she had convinced herself to be happy in her job because it was necessary to maintain her chosen lifestyle. This surprised me a little, since it was a sudden and complete about face. It didn’t break the friendship, however, even though her new preferred topics for discussion were the different varieties of roses, her new fitted carpets, and the fact that the men hadn’t done a very good job when they installed the modern fire surround. All interest in poetry, drama and the meaning of life had either gone or been placed temporarily out of sight. I was happy to indulge the newly-evolved dominance of her conservative nature, but then she turned completely.
I sent her my latest story to read, and she panned it. Her criticisms were not, however, constructive. Most of them were irrational, and her tone was highly vitriolic. I had no doubt that she had come to dislike me and her reaction to the story was her vehicle for saying so. My e-mailed defence of her criticism went unanswered, and we simply stopped speaking. I tried to revive the friendship a year or two later but her response was lukewarm. That was about three years ago, and I haven’t heard from her since.
I don’t expect to. I think Jo came down off the fence on the other side to where I am. I doubt we would have much in common any more.
6 comments:
It must be the way you write, or your tone, that makes all your acquiaintances and experiences sound like a chapter out of a book..
It's impressive to me that you've known her for so long. Maybe I havn't lived long enough for that type of thing to seem pheasible yet. Do you still keep in contact with some of your high school or college friends?
Are you sad over losing her?
Funnily, I want to say that I can understand her. Maybe she figured that all the past concerns over happiness and the meaning of life was childish or wistful? Maybe she succumbed to the most Chinese of all concepts - wealth, or material success, over own happiness. hmm
This is pretty much what I am scared of. And ditto what Jenny said. You know, those things about wealth and stuff, it all starts with thinking that there is some kind of responsibility attached to it. But then you reach that fine balance of being spiritually free while teetering on the edge of you know, the corporate definition of independence. And yeah, like I said in my latest post, I guess when that line is so fine, you tend to lean one way and lose your balance.
She might remember her old self one day.
I hope that remotely made sense.
That's quite sad. I don't really understand her. I don't know, maybe it's because I'm not 'logic-driven' like she is/was, but still. I should understand a little, but I don't.
Maybe she realised that what she thought life was, and the life she wanted, wasn't for her, or it's unattainable... but still. To change from theatre and literature and politics to CARPET fixtures??? I honestly do not understand. Call me narrow-minded, whatever, but you can't ignore the fact that that is a little strange.
I still hope you can revive your friendship with her. I mean, a friendship that lasted for so long must be worth saving, right, Jeff?
Jen: I met lots of my old school friends at a reunion some years ago. We had nothing in common save a few memories. They’d all settled into suburban safety, whereas I’d gone down a very different road. Few of them even recognised me. I haven’t seen any of them since. No point. I rarely stay in contact with anybody beyond a few years because I find my path constantly diverging from theirs. There are one or two exceptions. So no, I wasn’t sad over losing Jo. I’ve become very used to that kind of thing. I suspect the reason she came down on that side of the fence was simply because it exerted the stronger pull. And, incidentally, she didn’t ask the same kind of searching questions you do. She was less mature than you, even at 30.
Carms: Of course it made sense, and you’re probably right about her. Comments to Jen apply. But are you suggesting that in choosing to come down on my side of the fence, I, too, lost my balance? Maybe there’s a little truth in that, but my intolerance of the whole conventional/corporate thing stems from a lot of things, some socio-political-psychological, and some spiritual. I can no longer function in that narrow world. I was forced into it for only fifteen weeks two years ago, and it drove me close to serious depression. As lonely as my world can sometimes be (and a little impoverished,) I have to be true to who I am or I would become very unhappy indeed.
Lu: Jo was certainly logic-driven, and she was the sort of person who, I think, could change her whole persona to suit practical considerations. I have no problem with that. It’s her choice to be who she wants to be. I read something interesting once about Chinese culture. In his book ‘Tao, the Pathless Path,’ Osho talks about the conflict between the Confuscianist mentality (logic, order, control) and the Taoist approach (instinct, freedom, going with the flow.) It seems that Confuscianism came to dominate Chinese culture, but the Tao still hangs around in the collective consciousness. Maybe Jo eventually succumbed to the dominant imperative. Her family were business people who owned chains of fast food outlets. I could speculate forever, but it doesn’t matter. She was just somebody I knew for a while, and it’s most unlikely we will ever renew our acquaintance.
no jeff, you didnt lose your balance, but you lost THE balance. des that even make sense?
Only just picked this one up.
I’m not sure I do, Carms. I will say this, though. I’ve come to believe that existence functions, both materially and spiritually, on a number of levels. And I further believe that the lowest of those levels is the way in which western culture chooses to live, with its emphasis on things like material wealth, status and so on. Nevertheless, living in a country like Britain means that I can’t entirely move away from that mentality, and neither would I entirely want to because some of its conditioning still holds. I do, therefore, try to maintain a balance in the way I relate to all the levels. But it has to be my balance, and it has to be as informed a balance as I can manage.
And I might be wrong.
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