Decoration in the Lives of Others

What I am to write here is not a new idea. Truly, I have wondered about this for many years. It's just that I feel it quite acutely right now.

We are all mere decorations in the lives of others. There, I've said it. I'm sure that many will protest, claiming that they care deeply about many people. But they're not being honest with themselves or with others.

I write this, not as a cynic, but as an observer of human behavior. It is no less cynical than if I were to write "We all will die." This is a statement of fact, and saying otherwise is tantamount to denial.

What I mean by "decoration" is that we decorate the lives of the people who know us. We make their lives more colorful by association with us. They may appreciate us for our tennis skills or our adventuresome spirit or our talent for flying kites--or our damn good attitude when faced with kidney dialysis. We are a decoration that adds to the color of the other person's life. He or she can then tell others, "Oh, yes, my friend Kelly is a fantastic tennis player" or "My neighbor Lester just returned from a three-month trek through the Amazon" or "I know the national kite-flying champion" or "My friend Heidi is on dialysis."

There's nothing fundamentally wrong with this. It's actually quite lovely that we appear on stage and give our performances and that others are amused. Kind of like Burning Man, yes?

Most people fall into this category of decoration. We realize on some level that they have their lives and their significant others and that we are somewhere on the periphery. We are not central to their existence. I mean, how could we be? However could we be central to the lives of all those who know us!

We are not the Christmas tree, but one of the decorations. If one of the glass bulbs breaks or is lost or stolen, the tree remains. The bulb is replaced--or not. Some trees have more decorations, others fewer. But the decorations are not the tree.

In contrast to the decoration people are the few, rare tree people. If we're lucky, we have perhaps one person who cares about us in a daily, ongoing, substantial way. If one is exceedingly lucky, that person is a life partner, a lover, and a best friend wrapped into one. Someone whose life is entwined with yours. Someone who loves you in a selfless, lay-down-his-life-for-you kind of way.

Sometimes, I'm sure, this person is a friend, but this kind of friend is exceedingly rare in our society. This would be someone you've seen every day of your life, who lives in the same village, went to the same school, married your cousin. Someone who was there with you when you went off to war, who served by your side. Or someone who helped deliver your babies, and you in turn helped deliver hers. Someone who was there when your grandparents died, and held you as you wept when your mother, father, sister, or brother died. A friend of gold, as Aristotle said, not a friend who has a shared interest and when the interest is no longer there, the friendship ends. No, this is the type of friendship, the philosopher wrote, that consists of two bodies but one soul.

I've long known that the person who cares about me in a fundamental way is my son, and I, of course, care for him. But I've also known that he has his life to lead, and most likely he will be off to graduate school in the fall, in New York or Boston or San Francisco or some other city.

And that's why I've always wanted a dog. Unfortunately, I've always lived in an apartment in which dogs are not allowed. A dog loves in an always-there-for-you way. You are never a decoration for a dog.

But now that path seems closed off to me, as a dog increases the risk of infection, and a dog may jump up and tug at my tubing. Yikes!

Every time I see a dog now, my heart aches a bit. How I would love to have its affections! I could really use some unconditional love right now from a four-legged creature who couldn't care less about tubing and a catheter. Who would see those as decorations and not as the tree.