May 13, 2003
The ancient Celts believed that the soul was not contained within the body, but that rather the soul surrounded the body like a halo or an aura. Because of this, they thought that our souls had the ability to mingle with the souls of people around us, and that sometimes two people would connect so strongly that their souls would flow together and become part of each other. In Gaelic, this connection is a called Anam Cara, which translates into English as “soul friend.”
This doesn't necessarily mean “soul mate,” which is how many people seem to want to translate it. Personally, I'm glad Anam Cara means soul friend and not soul mate, because soul mate implies that there can be only one person with whom you connect so deeply and only then on a romantic plane, while soul friend carries the possibility of more than one such special relationship and is not limited to romantic love.
Actually, I don't believe in soul mates. It's too limiting and depressing to think that there is only one person out there in this entire world whom you are meant to love and connect with. While I was in college, single and watching my friends pair off and fall in love, get engaged and plan weddings, people would say, in a misguided attempt at comfort, “Don't worry, Kate. There's someone for everyone.” They would go on to assure me that I would find my soul mate, that one and only person who would fit me like a lid for a pot. And I would always smile sweetly and reply, “Yeah, apparently, mine was killed in a freak rodeo accident in Wyoming when he was seventeen.”
So, no, I don't believe we only get one person out of this great, big, star-sprinkled universe that we can connect with in an intense, amazing way. I've lost the original lids to a few pots and have been able to use lids from other sets quite effectively, thank you.
And I certainly don't believe that the soul connection has to be romantic. But I do believe in Anam Carae, in soul friends. And yes, some of them are romantic. And, no, this doesn't mean that I somehow love Holden less than if I believed he was my soul mate, or that I don't want to spend my life with him. It means that I recognize that at one time, I loved Warren and felt an intense connection with him that was no less valid than the one I share with Holden, even if it wasn't as durable. (I won't say this about my ex-fiancé Matt. Not because I didn't love him. But even when we were together, I knew we did not have this connection. It was ultimately the reason that I could not go through with the marriage. Hey, we've all covered pots with lids that were too big for them when there wasn't one that fit, just to get the job done.) It also means that I recognize that if something were to happen to Holden, I would fall in love again. And that there are people in my life right now that I know I could very easily fall in love with if I was not involved with my boy. Yes, I am talking about people I actually know. Not just Billy Boyd and French Stewart. (C'mon. Admit it. We've all got those people in our lives. The ones we find ourselves hanging out with and thinking “If I had met you seven years ago” or “If I wasn't married…or engaged…or living with someone.”)
So, yeah, we have romantic Anam Carae; hopefully we all settle down with one of ours. And we have platonic Anam Carae. And sometimes, we have Anam Carae that are a little of both.
The concept of Anam Cara explains a lot about my own life and the way I make friends and lovers. With precious few exceptions, I can tell within the first ten minutes of interaction whether I am going to be close with someone. Often, I meet someone and we are good friends by the end of the day and if not, definitely by the end of the week. On the con side of this system of interaction is the fact that I tend to shut myself off from people whom I know I will not be close with so I don't do things like spend my lunch hour with the girls in the next office because I know we will never be more than casual acquaintances. Often, in situations like school and work, this gets me branded as stuck up. As a result, I have very good friends but few acquaintances.
An Anam Cara is that person with whom you feel an instant connection. The one with whom friendship and/or love seems like a given, something preordained, something destined. I may not be in tune to much in this whole confusing life, but for some reason, I am quite tuned into recognizing my own Anam Carae.
Maybe because of that sensitivity, I have been blessed with them: From lovely Janet, whom I met on my first day interning at WXTU and got lost for two hours with trying to cross the street to get to Denny's for lunch, who years later took me into her home when I fled my relationship with Matt. To crazy Keith, our boss, who taught me invaluable lessons about work and life and never acting your age. From my middle school friend, Delia, my soul sister; to my oldest Anam Cara, my sister Holly, who while so radically different from me in outward appearances and lifestyle, has also proved a soul sister as well as my biological one. From my brother, Frank, who is the kindest, calmest presence in my life; to Teddy, the most turbulent of my soul friends. From my writers, Pat and Nancy and Melody and Derrick; to my theater people, Sabrina and Sammy and Peter and Fenton. From funny, funky Kymm, in whom I see so much of myself; to my oldest school chum, Linda, who couldn't be more my opposite if we tried. From my girls, Melissa and Colleen and Corina and Elizabeth, who are the first group of women I have ever felt a part of; to my boy, Holden, the first man I really wanted to have a family with.
But when I first read about Anam Cara, there was one person who came to my mind immediately. I was standing in my mother's kitchen, looking at the April page of her Ireland-themed calendar, and reading the text that accompanied the tranquil photograph of a clear brook running over mossy rocks. It described Anam Cara and the idea of having soul friends that connect and influence your life and spiritual development in profound and lasting ways. (And, no, all of my information on Anam Cara does not come from Hallmark's Ireland calendar for 2003. I've done a smidge more scholarly research on the subject, people.)
Anyway, I read about Anam Cara on that calendar and the first thing I thought was: Wow. That's Scott. Scott is my Anam Cara.
Boy, is he. With the exception of my family and Holden, no one has done more for me. He's gotten me teaching jobs and this non-teaching job at University C when I really needed it. He wrote me a kick ass recommendation that got me into grad school and I'm sure counted for a lot when it came time to hire me as a writing teacher. Hell, he got me WRITING again. Yes, you all have Scott to thank for this stellar little corner of the World Wide Web. (Seriously, though, don't hold this against him.) He's been my biggest source of encouragement about writing and my toughest critic.
But he's given me so much more than just jobs and recommendations and advice on my writing. He's given me confidence and self-respect. He is, without a doubt, my most unconditional fan, my most failsafe advocate. Holden, my parents, my siblings, they all believe in me; they all think I am talented, pretty, wonderful; they all think there is very little that I cannot do. Still, they're practical. Sometimes, they listen to my schemes and then look at the world and say, “Katie, are you sure you can do that?” or “Kate, that might not be a good idea.” But Scott. Scott listens to my schemes and afterwards he hugs me and exclaims, “YES! That's so great. I know you can do it!” And then he sets to thinking about how he can help me achieve my goal.
Sometimes, he seems to know that I can do something even before I know it. He got me my first teaching job before I had taken a single graduate-level class and when I said to him, “I don't know if I can do this,” he said, “But I know you can.” He honestly believes I can write a novel. He's believed this for years; even back when I couldn't write anything that had a cohesive ending to it. He knew I would be a great assistant director for Sabrina, although when he called me to offer me the opportunity, I was thinking, “I haven't done that since I was 16. Why would he think I could do this?”
What's more is that he believes in me about more than just being able to do a job or cultivate a certain talent. Once he told me, “Kate, you are the strongest woman I know.” I was half drunk at the time. So was he. I looked at him like he was nuts. I mean, really, me? Strong? Most times I feel like the weakest person on the face of this earth. I made a face at him that said, “Yeah sure, Scott. Have another pitcher of Black & Tan and you'll be telling me I'm a genius, too.” He got serious and made me look him in the eye while he explained: “Don't brush this off. You are. You give to everyone around you. Everyone who knows you needs you. And you help every single one of them. And yet, when you're in trouble, you don't ask for help. You take care of things yourself. The past couple of years, you've lived with all of this crap in your relationships and your life and you didn't give up. You didn't turn Holden out because you loved him and you didn't want to abandon him. That takes amazing strength, sweetheart. It's why I try to help you so much. Because you don't let people help you and you need that.”
In a life, where most people think I'm a flake (at best), I can't describe how wonderful it is to have this person who thinks I am strong and competent.
He believes that I am beautiful. We'll be out somewhere in a bar, having a few beers (yes, we spend an awful lot of time getting drunk. You wanna make something of it?), and he'll suddenly announce, “God, Kate, you're stunning” or “Wow, are you beautiful.” Or he'll turn to whomever we're with (usually four other guys because for some reason I always seem to be the only girl on these outings) and say, “Isn't she gorgeous? Isn't she amazing? Wouldn't you go to University C if Kate was the one trying to recruit you?” And he does this without a trace of self-consciousness. And certainly without guile or ulterior motives: I've known him for five years now and even though he never hesitates to let me know that he thinks I am attractive and exciting and wonderful, he's never made any moves on me. (And, believe me, he could have had me for the asking when I first met him – as many of you who have been reading my blathering since “If I Wrote You” well remember. And really, he must be my Anam Cara, if our friendship was able to survive those wacky, wacky early days when I was madly in love with him.)
I don't know. He just has this way of making me feel desirable and amazing without making me feel like he wants something from me. When I am around him, I feel like I am an attractive, talented, sexy girl. And considering that nearly every woman in his life and half the men are madly in love with him, it's a pretty big honor to have him feel the way he does about me. (I know. I know. Some of you who have met him don't see the attraction. Believe me, it's there. You just have to spend time with him.)
Sometimes, it's tough. People get jealous and sometimes very petty people will engage me in conversation about him and our “odd” (they're words, not mine) relationship. They try to dig around and get me to admit that there's something going on between us. Occasionally they won't even try to get me to admit anything, they just spread rumors. It never works. No one else believes those vicious things. Everyone else just says, “Oh, that's Kate and Scott. They're very close. But there's nothing going on.” When that happens, those petty people then try to tell me that they're “sure Scott flirts and does this kind of stuff with lots of women.” They hate it when it doesn't bother me.
And it doesn't bother me because it isn't true. I know that there is something unique about our relationship. I know that he doesn't feel for anyone else what he feels for me. Yes, I do know that he feels more strongly and more intensely for his wife and his babies, just as I know that I feel more strongly for Holden. But I also know that we occupy very special places in each other's hearts and lives.
I couldn't ask for a truer friend, a more loyal advocate. Every few weeks, he sits me down for a chat, just to make sure that I am happy. If I don't like someone, he doesn't. God forbid, someone upsets me. To this day, he cannot talk about the Fourth of July softball game that resulted in my spraining my foot and a huge, spiraling fight with Holden. He's let it go, because he knows that Holden is not the same desperate, frightened boy he was back then, but I know Scott is also determined to make sure that Holden treats me well and if he finds out that he doesn't, he will be right there to pick up the pieces, in addition to beating Holden senseless with a whiffle ball bat.
Scott has the most amazing presence. People love being around him. He is incredibly warm and giving and always, always cheerful. Even when he is angry. I always feel safe with him. He is, without a doubt, the most benevolent, kind, loving person I know. And I know quite a few very loving and kind people.
He brings people together. I have met so many cherished friends because he decided that we should meet. I owe him for introducing me to Sabrina and Sammy – a tremendous debt that I could never repay even if I could ever repay him for the love and kindness that he has showered on me.
He's welcomed me into his home and his family. He's welcomed Holden into his home and family. It's a tremendous testament to Scott's character that after everything that happened between me and Holden (a trauma in which Scott was a major player), Holden respects and admires him. The other day, while I was in New York visiting Sabrina and Sammy, Holden called me just to tell me that he ran into Scott and had a coffee with him. I could hear the smile in Holden's voice that is only a result of having spent time with Scott.
I may not know much in this life, but I do know that whatever agendas people around me have, whatever expectations so many other people put on me, whatever anyone else wants from me or for me, Scott will remain constant in the fact that the only thing he wants for me is my complete happiness and the only thing he wants from me is my company.
That used to bother me – the fact that he would do so much for me, more than he did for anyone else, but would never let me do anything for him in return. I can't number the hours that he's spent listening to me spill my troubles, my doubts, my fears, my dreams. But I can number the nights he has let me listen to his problems. He gives me so much, but he wants nothing in return and when I try to do for him what he does for me, he smiles and tells me, “Katie, just let me take care of you. It's what makes me happy.” I try to be okay with that because it's what he wants, but I make sure he always knows that I am here whenever he needs me.
Actually, I used to wonder who the person was that he would confide his own problems and fears to. And I used to be terribly jealous of that person. He never lets anyone read his writing, not even his wife. If he seems troubled and you ask, nine times out of ten, he will tell you he is fine. Even when you know he is not. He has confided in me on very rare occasions, but I never felt like I had enough opportunity to be his support. I used to feel bad that he would not confide in me, that he would give me so much and not let me be the person he leaned on. But last week, I found out that I am that person. I was talking to a mutual friend who told me that I was the only person Scott had ever let read his fiction and that as far as he (our friend) knew, I was the only person Scott had ever really confided anything in. Meanwhile, I had always thought that this particular friend was the one Scott turned to when he needed comfort or help. Instead, I learned that he doesn't ask for it very often, but when he has, he's come to me. I can't explain how honored that made me feel.
Once, a particularly jealous young woman sat me down and hissed into my ear, “You know, it's terrible the way he puts you on a pedestal and you let him.” It was one of the nastiest, most vicious, most hurtful things anyone has ever said to me. Not because she accused me of anything, but because she would say something so hateful about Scott. She meant it maliciously, but minus the malice, maybe she was right. Maybe he does put me on a pedestal. Sometimes, I fear that I won't be able to live up to the image he has of me. There are moments when the idea that he cares for me so intensely can be more disconcerting than comforting, mostly because I still have a hard time believing that I am worth caring about that intensely. But even if he has built me a pedestal on which to stand, is that such a bad thing? I think he needs to do that for someone because so many other people in his life have built him pedestals of his own. Maybe this is the way I give back to him.
Wow. This entry has turned into a love letter to Scott. But you know, he deserves it. He really does.
7 Deadly Sins and Other, Less Fatal Diversions
Pride:
Envy:
Wrath:
Sloth:
Avarice:
Gluttony:
Lust:
Book:
Tune:
You've got a heart so big,
Beauty:
Task at Hand:
Quest for Publication:
I'm quite proud to have such a friend. I'm also proud that such an amazing person thinks so highly of me.
Because everyone loves Scott, there's quite a bit of envy focused in my direction a lot of the time.
Don't want to incur my wrath? Then don't say anything nasty about Scott.
I'm still only four pages into the story I've been working on since November. Forget about the novel. That stalled on page two.
$$$
You know what's good? Marshmallow Fluff melted over oatmeal.
Somedays, it's French. Somedays, it's Billy. They're in a dead heat most of the time.
The Night Battles by Carlo Ginzberg. It's a scholarly work on how ancient agrarian cults were transformed into witch covens by the Inquisition.
Tom Petty, "Walls":
It could crush this town.
And I can't hold out forever.
Even walls fall down.
Holly brought me the most exquisite pendant from the Guggenheim Museum in Spain.
More reading.
Another rejection. The rape story again. Scott would just hug me and tell me to keep trying. Then he'd start talking about our plans to start our own literary journal.
Total Submissions: 51
Rejections: 26
Acceptances: 1
Withdrawals: 7