The Best Character I Know

As a writer and lifelong reader, I spend a lot of time thinking about characters -- what makes them tick, what they would do in my life, if I would even want someone like them in my life. But, by far, the best character I know and spend the most time thinking about is my mom.

My mother has all the workings of a great literary figure -- she's complex and flawed, but consistently well-intentioned. She's also humorous and adventurous, but oddly sensitive, which she covers up skillfully with her opinionated demeanor. And she was part of the best love story on Earth.

Elizabeth Bennet would sit down and shut up in her presence. And probably start taking notes.

Don't believe me? Well here's just some of the pearls from the necklace of wisdom she's been fashioning for me for the last 35 years:

Don't ever marry a boring man. Men get more boring as they get older.

You should wear heels and dance on a table at least once in your life.

Always have one kitchen for every woman living in a house. (This advice was given when we knew two brothers sharing a house with their respective wives. Shortly thereafter they had a huge falling out and one moved out.)

When you host a big party, pay the maitre'd $50 up front, before the event starts.

Even Princess Diana wasn't good enough for her mother-in-law. (Given when a friend of mine was having problems with her mother-in-law)

Don't compare yourself to anyone. When I think back, all the times I behaved badly it was because I was comparing myself to someone. (This is my favorite, because it not only shows her honesty, but also her unflinching courage.)

One of my favorite stories about my mother is how she made us "smurf" chicken. My brother and I both liked tandoori chicken (which she would make without the spices for us as kids). One day we asked her why it had to be red--can it be blue? She said sure, and the next day threw some blue food coloring in with a yogurt marinade and made us blue chicken. Though it tasted good, smurf chicken never took off as a household favorite. But it did make me realize as a child that my mother really was willing to do anything in her power to make me and my brother happy.

Since moving to Boston six months ago, I've gotten to spend more time with my mother. I also turned 35, which means I actually have memories of my mother when she was my age. Which is weird. And astounding.

She used to make three dinners every night -- a pasta dish for me, meat for my brother, and Indian food for her and my father. And this was after working a full day as a doctor. I usually don't have the energy to cook for myself.

She also ran a private practice, took care of the finances and kept a roof over our head. My father, and my brother and I by extension, had a compulsion for giving the shirts off our backs. My mother always found a way to buy another one... or sew one from scratch, if times were tough.

And she's done all this without much recognition. Her saying about Princess Diana is especially poignant because my father's charm and charisma made him the prince of his family, and I highly doubt that any woman with a personality would have been good enough for him in his family's eyes.

But my mother's love was unconditional, by all accounts.

A few years ago I traveled to India and stayed with my parents' med school classmate. One afternoon, as we sat on the veranda after a monsoon shower, she confided in me:

"I was so envious of your mom. I'd never seen anyone love another person so purely as she loved your dad. I remember being so envious of her, even as a teenager. Not many people saw her virtues back then, but your father did. And your mom has many virtues."

My thoughts exactly.

Musings on 'Cause Celeb' and Men

I'm in San Francisco, where it's bright and sunny and 80 degrees. I should be exploring organic local markets and the liberally-minded kitsch stores and art galleries.

Instead, I've holed myself up in a dark room with one narrow window, with only the glow of my computer screen throwing light on my face (and not very flattering light, mind you).

The reason I've opted for this self-induced hermit-ude (solitude without the natural surroundings of Walden Pond), is because before boarding my flight to SF yesterday, I picked up a copy of Cause Celeb by Helen Fielding at the Boston Public Library (I can write a whole other post on the virtue of paper books and the library, but I'll save that for another time). It turns out Helen Fielding's first novel is more enjoyable and revelatory than Bridget Jones--at least for me, and perhaps anyone else who dallied with the idea of "saving the world."

For those of you who haven't read it, Cause Celeb follows twenty-something Rosie Richardson as she dates a B-list TV host, gets caught up in the media and publicity world, and then chucks it all to go save dying people in Africa after she realized the man she loves -- desperately, chemically, addictively -- is a real prat. Sound familiar?

In my twenties, I had a special talent for dating men who fell somewhere on the spectrum between self-absorbed do-gooders and narcissistic "victims." These men had the uncanny knack of getting me to sympathize with them through their minefield of self-discovery, to which I ultimately fell victim to, often losing a vital limb of my own self-identity.

But the charm wears off. Around 25 I decided I would never ask any of them to love me--either they did or they didn't, but I was not going to hitch my needs to their emotional rollercoaster. Around 28, I started trending more towards the self-absorbed do-gooders, who were easier to not hate after the break-up (thereby ensuring that more of the person I wanted to be was preserved). Around 32, I just stopped. Stopped dating, stopped trying to figure them out.

As Rosie says in Cause Celeb, "I've had four years of romantic aridity, but also emotional peace."

I couldn't say it better. I became smarter and happier when I stopped trying to figure out men. As Rosie figures out, you can do all the things the books and magazines say, but you can't earn love the way you earn money. Romantic love is spontaneous and unconditional--meaning you can't earn it at all. The relationship is conditional on all sorts of things -- lifestyle choices, emotional stability, philosophical alignment, sometimes even in-laws -- but the chemistry is not. It's completely out of your control. You can have a date with the most good-looking, kind, smart, eligible guy and not feel a thing. Trust me. That's what I've been doing (repeatedly) for the past year and a half.

But the question that keeps coming up in my mind, the one that makes me think that I'll never want to be in a relationship ever again, is "Do men really want to love a woman?" Sure, they want companionship, sex, and all the other goodies related to being in a relationship (if they want a relationship at all). But do they want to give of themselves?

Most women do, and the whole dating scene seems to predicated on this imbalance--women want to give emotionally, and most men want a muse or mother--someone to inspire them and take care of them in their moments of self-doubt. But what if you don't need a provider, nor do you want to be anyone's muse? Can a man want a relationship that doesn't bolster his manhood through the "provider" trope or force the woman to be a self-negating muse? (After all, did a muse ever receive royalties or her own book deal?)

Now, I don't think all men are life-sucking narcissists (though some remain out there--I think that explains the proliferation of vampire movies). But I've never heard a man of talking about wanting a relationship because they had so much to give. Have you?

Of course, the full irony of Cause Celeb is that those of us who dally with the idea of saving the world are narcissists ourselves. Not selfish narcissists, but generous narcissists, who think that it's somehow our responsibility to right all the wrongs of the world. It's a great way to feel validated while invalidating yourself--everyone thinks you're noble while you ignore your own needs. That's why we so easily fall into the role of muse/mother for self-absorbed narcissists--we're so eager to heal anyone but ourselves.

The Calming Allure of Old-fashioned Book Binding

This was recently posted on Facebook by a friend and reminded me of why my first job out of college was in the production department of a publishing company. We used to get regular tours of printing plants, and the site of bound pages, gold-leaf impressions and ink on paper makes me nostalgic...

Birth of a Book from Glen Milner on Vimeo.

Who defines your family?

Hurray! Same-sex marriage got its New York seal of approval!

This is good news. For gays and lesbians, and probably our consumer-oriented wedding industry and corporation-sponsored health insurance industry.

However, people like me, with families like mine, are still left out in the cold.

By all likelihoods, this should not be the case--I'm straight and single with no existing conditions and able to work. It shouldn't be too hard for me to find work that lets me support myself and get enough health coverage.

But that's assuming that being single means you have no responsibilities to anyone. Which is not the case for me.

Let me explain. I like my family of origin. Really, they're quite lovely people. I have better conversations with them than I do with most people, and whatever issues we may have with each other, I don't doubt that my parents and brother love me unconditionally.

So, while I support gay rights and am proud that New York finally caught up with Iowa, I find it curious that the state is more willing (along with people who like to police co-dependency in the world) to say I have a family if I marry a woman and adopt a child than if I try to claim either of my parents or brother as my family. True, they are not dependents, but neither are working spouses. Yet a sexual relationship seems to warrant a tax break, while a loving, familial relationship for 34 years does not.

It appears that progeny is the defining trait of family, according to a recent ABC news report. But what if I don't want children? What if I've decided against bringing new people into the world to suffer? (I know, it's not all that bad, and I've made peace with life and its difficulties, but really, I don't see any reason to recruit.)

Can I get a population-reduction credit? Like how corporations get a carbon credits?

It all seems so arbitrary at this point. My first job at McGraw-Hill had a nice system allowing employees to choose "self+one" health coverage, allowing single parents and gay couples in domestic partnerships to get covered without too many questions. It seems that we should all be able to do at least that. In an ideal world, maybe we could elect to pay higher premiums according to the number of people on our insurance, not conditions or dependency status.

But the debate goes beyond health insurance. Even salaries are less negotiable if you're single. But why shouldn't I be able to demand a salary that lets me contribute to the well-being of the people I'm related to? Yes, I'm not the sole bread winner. But they are still my first priority and responsibility after myself.

At one recent interview, I asked about work-life balance and the interviewer and I enthusiastically agreed that it's very important. The interviewer then asked, "Do you have family?"

My response: "Yes. Not in the traditional American way. But I have family."

The Complete and Utter Boredom of Being Chased

I hated playing tag as a kid. I couldn't understand running around in circles, pretending that your friend was a threat. Worse was having to chase other people--I found it annoying to run after them only to be evaded or start up again if I caught them.

I'm starting to wonder if this is why I hate dating so much. I know how to get guys to chase me (full disclosure: it took me longer than the average American woman to figure this out). It's not that hard--mainly you just need to be aloof. But it's so incredibly boring. I mean really, what a ridiculous waste of energy that could be better spend building something with that person.

I can see how some women may like the ego-boost inherent in this game, i.e., the one who cares less has more power. But power isn't love. It isn't even close. It's eventually toxic, like too many Flintstone vitamins (I nearly OD'd on Spider-Man vitamins as a kid, perhaps another reason I'm not intoxicated by this game--I know the downside of too much artificial boosting.)

Am I alone in this, dear readers? Is there some appeal to this whole game of dating that I'm missing?

I think not. Which means I'm doomed to die alone in a house with 9 cats. But I suppose I'd have to chase after them, too.

Indian Work Ethic

Ever wonder why jobs are getting exported to India? These two videos explain why.

In (reluctant) Defense of Kate Middleton

Occasionally, I like to boycott major television events, like the Super Bowl and the Oscars. I find it keeps me saner and more benevolent (neurosis and envy being my two big character flaws). But I couldn't pull it off for William and Kate's wedding. My mother woke me up at 6am to watch it live, and even The Economist ran a homepage story titled "Who made it on to the Westminster Abbey invite list, and who didn't."

There is a thrill in watching such an event--an adrenaline rush that can make our hearts soar. It feels good, like love or admiration.

The problem is that it's not. At least not for me. I've come to realize that that particular thrill, the one that also makes me rehearse my Oscar acceptance speech in the shower, is the seduction of envy. After all, I wouldn't be envious if it felt bad from the start. Envy sneaks in disguised as admiration and attraction. I don't want to be the other person, I just want what they have. I blame the seduction of envy for my many relationships with white men. I didn't want to be them, but oh, to be close to that life of relative ease. Imagine--a name everyone could pronounce, a demographic everyone catered to, from politicians to reality TV. (I should also admit that this insight has not diminished my attraction to white men.)

I knew envy was creeping in when I was trolling the Web on Friday for some feminist critique of the wedding, especially Kate. And some writers made some good points, like Kate's lack of career focus. Or so I thought. Until I thought some more.

What is so wrong with Kate choosing a conservative lifestyle? Is it really so antithetical to feminism? I agree that feminism should knock down the barriers to equal pay, but does that mean every woman must work (or every man)? I agree that feminism should end the misogyny that lets men treat women like property. But if William is protective of Kate because he loves her, not because he thinks he (or the royal family) own her, is that so bad?

Is it so wrong that a woman chose to marry for love, is gentle in nature, and chooses to be a supportive stateswoman of a wife? Granted, I would have loved to have seen William marry a woman more likely to be a Queen like Draupadi, or even the Buddha's wife, Yashodra, but I don't think the Royal family wouldn't have looked kindly on a brown woman, even if she was of royal birth.

And therein lies the real rub. I'm not envious of Kate's dress, or wedding, or even her great pick of a husband. It's the life of relative ease. and that only seems accessible to rich (and mostly white) people, that I envy. Sure, the paparazzi will hound her. But to be raised in comfort, to go to one of the best universities, to know that one illness or accident will not knock out your savings account, to meet the love of your life in your 20s, and to know that he's got your back--it's a privilege and fortune that turns me green. I can't help thinking it's all worth an occasional embarrassing photo. The pettier side of me wants to say she's a bad feminist role model and the whole event is "atavistic." But that's a cop out. Not simply because I have a soft spot for the return of monarchies. (Unlike the Corporate democracy we have now, a monarchy would let us hold someone squarely responsible if, say, the economy tanked.) But because my criticisms--she lacks focus, she's timid, it's an antiquated event--are all hollow. A lack of focus, timidity, and maintaining conservative rituals are not moral ills to society. They're just not a privilege I get to have.

And that's Kate's big "sin"-- she gets the good fortune of happiness, while the rest of us imagine it. At least for now. There's still Prince Harry...