“Dear Bear,”
(you have written me. Dozens of you have written to me. And the body of the email that makes up over half of your responses from my initial callout for questions goes more or less like this:)
“Circumstance, circumstance, mitigating circumstance, qualifying statement, bitterly detached acknowledgement. Hopeful note, damning detail, hopeful note, statement of pure fresh stupid optimism.
“So ultimately, I guess my question is: is this a good idea? Is it okay for me to be fucking this person/working on fucking this person/fantasizing about fucking this person?”
***
Dear Reader,
I think we all know by this point in the history of our romantic and sexual lives that by the time we’re asking, “Should I be fucking this person? Is this a terrible idea?” the answer is almost certainly “Do not do this, it is a TERRIBLE idea.” However, that so rarely stops anyone from going right ahead and getting mucus-membranes deep in a bad plan. So it seems worth talking a little bit about why that’s the case, since I don’t want to waste the precious pixels allotted to me by trying to talk you out of something that you’re pretty definitely going to carry on with regardless.
First, let’s get one thing sorted – in no way am I holding myself up as a paragon of virtue in this regard. Any wisdom I may have temporarily gained on this general topic is the kind you get when you’re (let’s say) heartbrokenly listening to “Man On The Side” by John Mayer for the hundred and fiftieth time on repeat, on the earliest train, exhausted from chain-smoking dramatically and regretting your choices. So please accept the following reflections on whether it’s a good idea for you to be fucking that person (spoiler alert: still no) in a spirit of solidarity.
Because listen, I am very happy with my life – I adore my husband, my children are kind and smart and occasionally do as they’re asked, my work is fulfilling, our old dog is still hanging in there. Things are quite nice here. But also, I am a forty-year-old husband and father. If there’s any surprise at all in a given day, it probably features poop. And one thing that questionable fuck choices provide in spades is surprise.
They might be nice surprises at first: a warmly fuzzy spot in the small of someone’s back, a noise she makes, a new post-coital breakfast place, how he gathers you up in a hug like he can’t stand to leave any inch of you uncuddled, how pale and candy-like the pink of her areola are, how comfortable you feel being naked with them. These things are new and exciting, and they sort of wash away a certain amount of your usual diligence, true. But they’re delicious.
Unfortunately your hindbrain, the part of you that likes things to be new and fresh and surprising sometimes, isn’t always super great at distinguishing between nice surprises and awful surprises. It just likes to have its button stroked. And so when you veer out of “I might never get enough of the smell of your neck” and into “is there actually not a single clean towel in your house ever, really?” and then to “what do you mean, we’re not dating?” it’s kind of still just as addicting.
Because, surprises! Isn’t that what you came here for?
The other reason we do this is for attention. Admittedly, not everyone in the world likes a lot of attention, but some of us definitely need more of it than others. I am one of those people – I like a LOT of attention, and being a writer and storyteller helps with that a lot, but having other lovers doesn’t hurt a bit. My husband prefers to have very little attention, to a degree that means he is only even able to accept my exuberant focus a little at a time. It’s not really the fashion to own how much attention we like as adults, especially because those of us at the rather jazz-handsier end of things wind up being made to feel bad, but listen: you may be a person who likes a lot of attention. Or at least, more than you are currently getting, and therefore adding a person with whom to have sexual congress seems like a way to handle that (it is certainly /a/ way, that is true).
Here then, is my advice, about whether you should be fucking that person: Can you think of any better way at all to get your needs for surprises and attention met? What if you started participating in community theatre or street performance or competitive bodybuilding or Scrabble tournaments? What if you hinted or urged or frankly instructed any contiguous parties (dates, sweethearts, boo people, even spouses) you may have to get more fully on the surprises and attention train? Can you self-talk your way down from twenty fervid minutes on his man-bun or her broad shoulders? Because if there’s some other way – any way at all – to enjoy that hot fizzy feeling, or a version thereof, without doing the other thing then I for one encourage you.
And if you can’t, well? Empower someone sensible to give you a sit-down if you get too ridiculous, buy some new cute underwear, hoard a few sick days for the inevitable denouement and give yourself to it with abandon and all the energy due the moment.
Love and courage,
Bear
If you have a question for Bear, send it along to asking.bear@gmail.com.
Tags: advice, ask bear, S Bear Bergman, the butter
Oops.
Who said you could read my gchat conversations.
In a situation like this right now. Unfortunately, I’m too weak right now to stop going and enjoying myself–even with having someone sit me down and try to get me off the hot mess express I’m currently riding.
Welcome, Bear—high five for weary-wise solidarity + sensual chop-licking = general grown-ass adultness … Anyone else have visions of Dear Sugar, before her much-deserved but still-lamented apotheosis?
I can’t envision Sugar admitting that the letters she gets are essentially interchangeable. Part of the whole “radical empathy” mystique is that the connection between correspondents is singular. It’s radical because it takes people’s thoughts and feelings regarding whatever they’re writing in about 100% seriously, which most people (let alone advice columnists) aren’t willing to do. And empathy isn’t something you can distribute wholesale, it requires looking someone in the eye. That’s what made Sugar special to some people and intolerable to others – if people are hapless, hopeless and utterly predictable, it all looks like onanism. Many, many people have no patience for the exceedingly common dramas that plague the lives of others.
Of course Sugar probably has remarked on endless patterns in her letters at some point and I just don’t remember it.
I love and appreciate this advice and, in the future, when asked (for the millionth time) to give my blessing to a bad idea, will probably direct people toward it. I’m tired of saying, “But he’s lied to you 50 times about MAJOR LIFE THINGS?” “But he talks to you like you’re dumb?” “But – ” BUT NOTHING. GET A HOBBY THAT ISN’T FUCKING PEOPLE FOR THE DRAMAZ. DANG. DANG!
I….I think you just gave a name to my favourite hobby.
Shit.
“…those of us at the rather jazz-handsier end of things…”
That’s wonderful.
I concur. That line made me spew.
Read this and immediately thought of so so many past versions of people that would benefit from this advice as well as people who would currently benefit and then I just sent it two the two that I didn’t think would hate me for it completely.
GREAT ADVICE BEAR. I liked reading it while imagining it was an actual bear.
I can't envision Sugar admitting that the letters she gets are essentially interchangeable. Part of the whole "radical empathy" mystique is that the connection between correspondents is singular. It's radical because it takes people's thoughts and feelings regarding whatever they're writing in about 100% seriously, which most people (let alone advice columnists) aren't willing to do. And empathy isn't something you can distribute wholesale, it requires looking someone in the eye. That's what made Sugar special to some people and intolerable to others – if people are hapless, hopeless and utterly predictable, it all looks like onanism. Many, many people have no patience for the exceedingly common dramas that plague the lives of others.
Of course Sugar probably has remarked on endless patterns in her letters at some point and I just don't remember it.
As someone who loves attention, I highly recommend going on game shows for the buzz. There’s the audition, then the taping, then you’re on TV and maybe win some money!
I know people are going to disagree with me on this but debuting an advice column without actually engaging with a letter writer is not particularly auspicious. Maybe you do get a lot of letters that are variations on a theme! Pick one that seems particularly earnest and answer it while pointing out that over half the letters you get are just like it! Whether or not it’s intended this reads as boredom, boredom so powerful that none of the many letters you received on this subject are worth responding to, so you’re just going to address them all.
Ultimately any advice column is going to be defined by the relationship between the writer and her audience and the (sweet, droning) music they make together. I’m assuming that correspondence will be a feature of the column at some point (what a hope to have). But if I were someone open to writing to someone for advice, I wouldn’t have a greater sense of why I should write in than I had before I read this. I wouldn’t know what catches the attention and engagement of the writer, let alone the tenor of the response that I might get. If you want to address yourself regarding the compulsions of people, write an essay. If you want to address trends among populations, conduct a survey, then write an essay about it. If you’re going to be an advice columnist, give advice that’s asked for.
He did give pretty excellent advice that would apply to a lot of people and situations, and I appreciate the honesty here that suggests that no bullshit will be found herein.
I took it as an essay that was formatted as an advice column– that also has good advice. No complaints here.
Maybe someone could now write a one-size-fits-many followup on what to do when you love your spouse, are attracted to your spouse, but your spouse seems to have lost all sex drive (to anyone) and meanwhile, there’s this other person…
Do cold showers really work for anyone?
I know people are going to disagree with me on this but debuting an advice column without actually engaging with a letter writer is not particularly auspicious. Maybe you do get a lot of letters that are variations on a theme! Pick one that seems particularly earnest and answer it while pointing out that over half the letters you get are just like it! Whether or not it's intended this reads as boredom, boredom so powerful that none of the many letters you received on this subject are worth responding to, so you're just going to address them all.
Ultimately any advice column is going to be defined by the relationship between the writer and her audience and the (sweet, droning) music they make together. I'm assuming that correspondence will be a feature of the column at some point (what a hope to have). But if I were someone open to writing to someone for advice, I wouldn't have a greater sense of why I should write in than I had before I read this. I wouldn't know what catches the attention and engagement of the writer, let alone the tenor of the response that I might get. If you want to address yourself regarding the compulsions of people, write an essay. If you want to address trends among populations, conduct a survey, then write an essay about it. If you're going to be an advice columnist, give advice that's asked for.
I….I think you just gave a name to my favourite hobby.
Shit.
Yep. It's like the Freshman Barf Principle: just about all of us get a little too drunk sometimes, but only freshmen (or other first-year drinkers) get a pass for throwing up on the carpet and needing to be taken home and given Ibuprofen and water. After that–you know you're hitting the vodka, you better a) know what puke-drunk feels like, and b) know how to access the bathroom, the medicine cabinet, and the cab company by your ownself, because distressed-kitten flailing is not endearing. But that doesn't mean you can't get drunk, or even really drunk, or even complain a *little* about your hangover the next day.
Similar here. I am the last person to say anyone shouldn't fuck Issues, but after the first time, when you know you're sticking it in the drama (or vice-versa, as your personal preferences go), you need to be prepared for the inevitable pear-shapenedess, know your coping strategies, and not expect your social circle to put up with the fifteenth go-round of "but I thought he'd chaaaaaaanged," or whatevs. Have a drink, do some crying to the appropriate iTunes playlist*, watch some Law & Order reruns while eating Godawful cupcakes, and suck it up, buttercup–you enjoyed the ride, so pay your fare.
*If you don't have a Disappointed By Other Human Beings iTunes playlist, I totally recommend making one.