Must we move on?

I have been late in discovering a wonderful writer like Cheryl Strayed. I haven’t yet read any of her books, but her Dear Sugar columns for Rumpus have been great. She is considered a pioneer in the Internet Existential Advice column genre. Then I started reading about her book Wild, which is now a movie starring Reese Witherspoon. It talks of a time in Strayed’s life when she was still mourning her mother’s death almost 3 years after the fact; a period when she repeatedly cheated on her husband like she was addicted. Finally she goes for a long hike and this book and the movie are about that hike. I was curious to know more, even though I didn’t understand her reaction to the death by cheating. I then stumbled upon this piece she had written for the Sun magazine – The Love of My Life its called.

That article is like a precursor to Wild. She talks about her husband, her incessant cheating (which led her to change her last name to Strayed btw), but most of all she talks about grief, of sadness that cannot be wished away. I still don’t understand her reasons for processing her grief by cheating, but there was something that I caught – is it really necessary or even realistic to expect to move on from certain things? Strayed talks about waking up feeling she couldn’t continue to live and then being afraid that she will have to continue to live, with the loss –

“If, as a culture, we don’t bear witness to grief, the burden of loss is placed entirely upon the bereaved, while the rest of us avert our eyes and wait for those in mourning to stop being sad, to let go, to move on, to cheer up. And if they don’t — if they have loved too deeply, if they do wake each morning thinking, I cannot continue to live — well, then we pathologize their pain; we call their suffering a disease. We do not help them: we tell them that they need to get help.”

Grief can be about any loss, it could be that dream job that you didn’t get or one that turned into a nightmare, it could be that relationship that was never meant to be, or it could be death. But rarely do we come across people being ok with us holding on to our grief or pain for more than an acceptable period of time. One might say acceptable is subjective, but there are apparently rules. A relationship – half the time of its actual duration at the max, a job – the moment you get a new one; death, perhaps a little more complex, but not more than a year they stipulate. And after this time, you are magically supposed to be sparkly new, as if the trauma never happened, the grief never observed.

“WHAT DOES IT mean to heal? To move on? To let go? Whatever it means, it is usually said and not done, and the people who talk about it the most have almost never had to do it.”

Let it go has become such a mantra, one is supposed to let go of everything, to the point of showing some ADD symptoms. But what if some things can’t be brushed off? What if some people, some things, some experiences will always be there, no matter how much you try to move on? What if they are like the wound which left a scar, which you then did plastic surgery for, but you will always know where the scar existed? Does it remind people who see us that they could also feel such hopeless, seemingly ceaseless pain? Do we move on to not look like a freak and then go back home and toss and turn in our beds while replaying tapes of that thing you didn’t really move on from in your head? Do we move on because we are tired of being there, trapped, while everything and everyone has changed?

Strayed concludes – “Healing is a small and ordinary and very burnt thing. And it’s one thing and one thing only: it’s doing what you have to do.”

And I wish to ask, is it imperative to move on? I’d like to believe the world has space for the maudlin, the weary, the ones who find other things to do even as they live with grief. Holding on to grief and being open about it may not equal being less than. But then perhaps I don’t really know everything about grief or healing.

Cool girl, That girl, Barney Stinson and other tropes

I didn’t see the movie, but I finally read Gone Girl and understood what the brouhaha was all about. It is a dark story of two extremely flawed, unstable people in perhaps the most dysfunctional marriage you will ever read or see. And it turns all our understanding of gender roles on its head while flirting with misogyny and misandry. I have the spoiler right here, the wife is the villain, the psychopath who systematically ruins her husband for his infidelity. But much before this twist is revealed all you see is a woman writing in her diary about how abused and disrespected she feels in her marriage, how she puts up with a lot in a bid to be the wife her husband wants. Right at the time when the twist is revealed, Amy Dunne, the wife and protagonist goes on a rant about a recent cultural phenomenon called the “cool girl”. This is that oft quoted paragraph :

“Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.

Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much – no one loves chili dogs that much! And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version – maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women.”)”

Somehow this paragraph resonated with me and a lot of people I know. It really is a malaise this ‘cool girl’ thing and it is just the old please your man repackaged for the 21st century. When we fall into these roles in relationships, sometimes we are not even conscious we are doing it. Sure there are women who love beer and sports, but that is not the point that the author is trying to make. What she is trying to say is about some unrealistic social acceptance norm wherein you are a ‘cool girl’ only if you never show any negative emotion. Anger is a valid emotion, so is disappointment. Elsewhere in the book Amy talks about this outing she has with her friends where the husbands were to join the wives later. Her husband Nick neither calls nor texts and when they meet later in the night at the apartment, she just hugs him and doesn’t make a fuss because well she doesn’t want him to feel forced and because she is the ‘cool girl’, the anti-thesis of another cultural trope – That Girl.

You see the way relationships are sold in the pop culture market, which is where unfortunately everyone learns their first lessons of love, girls are either cool girls or they are that girl. The cool girl waits endlessly for her man to accommodate her in his life; all the while having her own awesome life (hey her life is not on hold really you know, its an open relationship, or she has her career/projects, what have you). She never questions him on his flakiness, she never asks him to sit down and have the talk with her. She is supposed to lovingly let him go after cheating or a breakup. If she doesn’t do that, if she shows her negative emotions, she is That girl. That girl is basically someone who has emotions and expresses them to the inconvenience of the person she is with. Inconvenience could be anything really. Thankfully, Jezebel says both Cool girl and That girl dont exist. (the links –  and Just girls exist. Period.

Lest this be misconstrued as a misandry rant, it is not as if pop culture is kind to men either. If women are under pressure to be the Cool girl, men are equally under pressure to be like Barney Stinson – rich, suited, always with a trick to get laid and full of awesome stories about how goofily clever they are. The standard trope of any rom com is a commitment phobic womaniser. Recently we had a movie called Happy Ending which was marketed as an attempt to laugh at the cliches of rom coms. We have Saif playing bloke Yudi who cant say I love you, who has a Ferrari, who gets women pretty easy despite a non existent writing career and who is pretty much just Garfield with sex appeal (his alter ego in the movie is somewhat Garfield). Thats one cliche but then the other is Yudi’s best friend. Why oh why do rom coms have that best friend who is married to the woman he loves but finds her over bearing. Its a rom com cliche to have a best friend who is somewhat unhappily married or forever freaking out about how his college days of roaming like a khulla sandh are over. This is to juxtapose and somewhat justify our hero’s commitment phobia, villifying not marriage, but the wife in the process. Is it too much to ask for a portrayal where the people around are just regular couples or singles who havent been reduced to cliches?

Men are also somewhat pressured to have this wild lifestyle. They are supposed to be cool studs too according to pop culture and a lot of guys do buy into it. Its like they want to be Hank from Californication. Its like they are encouraged to be Peter Pan like only the pop culture Peter Pan is always rich and always surrounded by women and booze. If a man seems to be more invested in the relationship than the girl, he is advised it can only end badly. According to pop culture he’d fall somewhere in the wide range of Devdas to those dudes of Pyar ka punchnama with some Honey Singh lyrics thrown in. Ironically, girls are also told not to care more. But relationships are about caring aren’t they?

What I find interesting about all these tropes is that they want us to be in some ways a better, airbrushed version of ourselves. Not robotic, but just devoid of any negatives, devoid of any expectations. That unqualified, unconditional love which if you ask me should only be reserved for children who can’t think for themselves and honestly need our care. Its about never asking, its about seamlessly floating from people to people, things to things, a nonchalant detachment even if you are burning up inside. Self love, self flagellation, self improvement all one large cool quotient industry.

This essay is becoming more stream of consciousness than I thought it would be. But the point I am trying to make is that it is not enough to be human, to have emotions on display these days. Its an era where you seem to have to constantly photoshop your profiles, prune them so that others see you are a breezy person, man or woman. Everything should look as if it was effortless. How did you succeed? You know it just happened. How did you end up having a fabulous relationship. You know it just happened, double gush. There is this constant messaging that what you are is not what you should be. There is also this constant need to be an exhibitionist, to show your best version, over and over again. And each time it should be a more shiny version.

In these times of who has the better profile picture and the first rebound after the breakup, it is tough to ascertain what is about gender politics and what is about a merely flawed understanding of being human seeping into the society.