(no subject)
Aug. 22nd, 2002 05:20 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
xiphiasIt's nearly five in the morning, and I just got back from visiting with a friend who was in town for the American Chemical Society conference. I don't see her anywhere near often enough.
Y'know how I was talking about how maybe there's a difference between intelligence and wisdom? I generally remember how intelligent she is (in that "I just finished my masters in biology so I'm now getting my PhD in chemical engineering before I get my MD" way), but I keep being surprised by how wise she is.
Once upon a time, Lis and I really helped her out. She was at about her lowest ebb possible, and we kept her alive, close to sane, and, as she pointed out, kept her from actually flunking any classes. To this day, having helped her is one of the few things that I feel unambiguously good about in my life. Even at my worst, most self-loathing, self-pitying moments, I can remember that I helped her, and feel pride at that.
And now she's returning the favor. Because I was able to be there for her at her most vulnerable, she's one of a very few people that I feel comfortable really being emotionally vulnerable with.
She's doesn't have a whole lot of tolerance for self-pity or such, coming from me, at least. Talking to her, I find that I have to attempt to live up to what she thinks of me. Which is tough. And . . . different.
See, I saved her life once, by telling her what to do and being firm and smart and decisive and loving and all these other things that I'm not, usually (except loving). And that's what she expects of me. That's what she needed to believe I was, when she needed me to be that, and she sees no reason to think less of me just because she's sane, healthy, and stable now.
I mean, she's not stupid by any definition of the word. I think she's completely aware that she somewhat idolizes Lis and me because of what we did when she was a freshman in college. But . . . while she's smart enough to know that her opinions of us may not be true, she's wise enough to know that they are.
I'm still processing all this, obviously. But I'm realizing that, all my life, I've surrounded myself with people smarter than me -- which isn't a bad thing -- and I've allowed myself to be teased and joked about and so forth. And I don't mind that and don't really intend to change that.
But it gets into your skin, y'know? My friends tease me and mention how worried they are about me and talk about the things that I can't do and so forth, and that's because they love me.
But this woman . . . she believes in me. Just because I once saved her life by being competent and decisive and compassionate and organized, and all sorts of things that I just basically am not.
But . . . I did save her life. And I did do so by being competent and decisive and compassionate and organized . . . and so I am those things.
She has no patience for the sort of self-destructive whining that I did in two posts on this journal which are not actually up for public perusal. She'll listen to it from me, for a little while, but not for that long. She doesn't believe it.
And that means a lot to me. She looks at me like I'm Clark Kent bitching about being cheated out of a byline.
Y'know how I was talking about how maybe there's a difference between intelligence and wisdom? I generally remember how intelligent she is (in that "I just finished my masters in biology so I'm now getting my PhD in chemical engineering before I get my MD" way), but I keep being surprised by how wise she is.
Once upon a time, Lis and I really helped her out. She was at about her lowest ebb possible, and we kept her alive, close to sane, and, as she pointed out, kept her from actually flunking any classes. To this day, having helped her is one of the few things that I feel unambiguously good about in my life. Even at my worst, most self-loathing, self-pitying moments, I can remember that I helped her, and feel pride at that.
And now she's returning the favor. Because I was able to be there for her at her most vulnerable, she's one of a very few people that I feel comfortable really being emotionally vulnerable with.
She's doesn't have a whole lot of tolerance for self-pity or such, coming from me, at least. Talking to her, I find that I have to attempt to live up to what she thinks of me. Which is tough. And . . . different.
See, I saved her life once, by telling her what to do and being firm and smart and decisive and loving and all these other things that I'm not, usually (except loving). And that's what she expects of me. That's what she needed to believe I was, when she needed me to be that, and she sees no reason to think less of me just because she's sane, healthy, and stable now.
I mean, she's not stupid by any definition of the word. I think she's completely aware that she somewhat idolizes Lis and me because of what we did when she was a freshman in college. But . . . while she's smart enough to know that her opinions of us may not be true, she's wise enough to know that they are.
I'm still processing all this, obviously. But I'm realizing that, all my life, I've surrounded myself with people smarter than me -- which isn't a bad thing -- and I've allowed myself to be teased and joked about and so forth. And I don't mind that and don't really intend to change that.
But it gets into your skin, y'know? My friends tease me and mention how worried they are about me and talk about the things that I can't do and so forth, and that's because they love me.
But this woman . . . she believes in me. Just because I once saved her life by being competent and decisive and compassionate and organized, and all sorts of things that I just basically am not.
But . . . I did save her life. And I did do so by being competent and decisive and compassionate and organized . . . and so I am those things.
She has no patience for the sort of self-destructive whining that I did in two posts on this journal which are not actually up for public perusal. She'll listen to it from me, for a little while, but not for that long. She doesn't believe it.
And that means a lot to me. She looks at me like I'm Clark Kent bitching about being cheated out of a byline.
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(no subject)
Date: 2002-08-22 07:42 am (UTC)I'm not at all profound right now, which is why I haven't said very much (well, anything) in your journal recently. But, I just wanted you to know I was reading things, and that I care about you.
And that you have a track record of helping people. You certainly helped me. You were good to me at a point in my life where it made a huge difference. So I figured I'd remind you of that too.
Love,
A.
She looks at me like I'm Clark Kent bitching about being cheated out of a byline.
Date: 2002-08-31 11:05 pm (UTC)Just, wow.