2004-08-16 - 2:06 a.m.

August Sixteenth, 2:06 AM

I met a person who lives entirely for other people, and who has closed off their internal life from the rest of the world and everyone else. Who denies any need, any want, and any negative thought; denies, in fact, anything that first and foremost concerns them and only them. Someone who genuinely only thinks about other people.

Having met this person, I am doing what I can to tear down the walls that they have erected to isolate themselves that keep their contact with the outside world free of ego, free of id. I'm trying to help them become human. Doesn't look like they're going for it.

I'm taking care of her dog right now. It's a small dog that doesn't mess on the carpet or in any other way inconvenience the owner. It does not whine, will not bark, and does not chew on things that it ought not chew on. It's desperate for affection and frighteningly well-trained for a civilian-dog (as opposed to a pro, you see). As I type it is sleeping five feet away on a pile of clothing I set up for it so that it would not have to be alone while I typed.

There are very few pieces of wisdom that I have stumbled across in the study of people. One was given to me by Brianne -- she said that people give what they want to receive. My immediate thought was Christmas presents at the time, but it's occurred to me that it's vastly more applicable than that -- particularly to human relationships.

This small dog has been with this Other for ten years, and is fairly elderly for a dog of her breed. Everything it knows of proper behavior, it learned from the owner's standards of what constitute acceptable actions. It has been trained (by a person who worked in a paper mill at age fifteen to support the family) to not really play. To not bark, by someone who will never speak up if they are not enjoying themselves. To stay nearby and not be a nuisance by someone who will not suggest any activities or give an actual opinion on nearly anything.

In short, the dog has been trained to be a furry, walking pillow that eats and shits. What good is a little bouncy dog that's been trained not to have any fun?

I guess my observation for all of this really has not a whole lot to do with little, bouncy, un-fun dogs that don't bark and a lot to do with the owner. You are, naturally, quite surprised.

When we give nothing of ourselves to a relationship, we are offering nothing of value. All I am being offered in this relationship as it stands is myself, with no judgement, requirements, or requests. I know my own value, but I'm a commodity I already possess.

I worry, though. Left to her own devices, the aforementioned owner will pair up with egoists and narcissists, the kind of appreciative soul that will give a rare pat on the head for your helping them remember exactly how perfect they really are. If I'm on my way out, as I begin to suspect that I am, seems I can at least offer them the option of a detour from their predictable future while I'm here.

previous - next