The pill in the pudding

Just started---as in five minutes ago---Alan Alda's new book, Things I Overheard While Talking to Myself.

I'm thinking of stealing his title and renaming this blog.

This is the short version of what I've read so far.  When Alda was starring in MASH he used to get letters from people who wanted him to save their lives.  He doesn't put it that way.  These were letters from people who were considering suicide.  Alda thinks they were looking for some kind of meaning in their lives.  They were hoping he would give them a clue as to what that meaning might be.  He received about a dozen of these letters during the run of the show.  That's a note a year, plus one.   Twelve people asking Alda why they should bother to keep living.  One of the letters was from a teenage girl.  It came in a pink envelope.  The handwriting was neat and controlled.  It began:

Please help me.  I don't know what to do.

Of course all these letters were probably written to Hawkeye Pierce.  But Alda is the one who got them, and Alda is the one who wrote back.  He answered them all, not knowing how best to respond, not at all sure what to say.  He heard back only once.  One man wrote to say thank you, Alda's letter had "helped him reconsider and now he was glad to be alive."

No World Wide Web back then.  No Googling for obits or for signs that those eleven others had reconsidered, that they were still alive and glad to be that way.

Alda doesn't say if he kept the letters.  If he has them, I wonder if he's tempted to try to find those people or if he's afraid of what he'd learn.   He moves on from there to the subject of, and the problem of, giving advice.

He writes about the invitations he's received to speak at college graduations and how he feels he worked harder on those speeches than he's worked on anything in his life.  "What did I have to say that was worth the time it took to listen to it?"  And he writes about the more casual and serendipitous occasions that have come up when he's seen a chance to pass on some advice, probably unasked for, because that's the way it usually is in these cases:

As my children were growing up, and later with my grandchildren, I would look for those pleasurable moments when I could call up something that would feel like passing on a little wisdom.  In all these talks, public and private, of course, I probably really hadn't been talking to other people.  I'm sure I was really talking to myself.

I like it, the ironic, self-satirizing way he put that.  "Those pleasurable moments."  Those moments are pleasurable.  We enjoy the opportunity to feel like we're helping others while showing off how wise, savvy, experienced, worldly, and just plain smart we are.  I had one of those moments myself this afternoon.  The teenager and I were doing some yard work and I showed him a trick about how to use a rake.  Wasn't much of a trick.  He was dragging the rake instead of sweeping with it.  But, boy, did it make me feel puffed with myself.

What a dad, I thought to myself.

What a lucky kid, having a dad who knows how to wield a rake and knows how to pass along such ancient, manly wisdom.

The teenager wasn't impressed.

But then he doesn't like it when I give him advice.

He'd rather figure things out for himself.  If he can't figure them out, he'd rather be wrong on his own than that I be proved right.

He's a lot like his mother that way.

But I can't help myself.  I know he doesn't want to hear it, and I still open my yap and let loose.  I feel sorry for the kid when he starts dating.  "Son, let me tell you about girls..."

I know why I do it, though.  It's what Alda writes at the end of that paragraph.  "I'm sure I was really talking to myself."

The person I know who most needs my advice is me, and I wish I would listen to me more often.

I try not to give advice here.  When I write about life or something like it I try to make it the case that I'm just telling you what has happened, what I've seen, what I've thought, and not add what you should see, what you should think if you find yourself in the same boat.  But I can't help myself.   Sometimes the advice slips out.  Most of the times, it's implied.

And a lot of what I write is opinion-mongering, which is advice-giving in a roundabout way.  You should watch this movie.  You should skip that one.  You should like this TV show.  You should read that book.

I try to make it entertaining for you.  Cover up what I'm doing with some jokes or fancy writing.  But it's there, I slip it in, what Alda calls "the pill in the pudding."

I don't know why I expect you to swallow it.

I do expect that readers will call me on it when the pill's the wrong medicine, when I write something dumb or wrong-headed.  I expect to have my mistakes pointed out.  I expect to be disagreed with and told why what I've written is pure horseraddish.

What surprises me is when people get mad at me.  I don't mean in the sense of "You stupid jerk, how could you possibly think the Democrats will do that!" or "What kind of idiot are you?  Quentin Tarantino's a genius!  A genius, I tell you!" mad.  I mean when they get mad as in personally offended.

I will get comments or emails from readers absolutely furious at me as if my opinion has hurt them and was intended to.  And they aren't from Right Winger bloggers or Republicans or members of the Beltway Media.

I will get comments or emails from readers raging at me, clearly feeling as if my holding a particular opinion was a personal insult to them and my having the gall to post it was a slap in their face.

I will get comments and emails from people who've decided I need to be put in my place and given a good swift quick while being put there.  "How dare you presume you know what you're talking about!  And how dare you tell me what to think!" they seem to be saying---actually, in one case out and out said, more or less.  They left out the "How dare you" but let me know I was daring something I hadn't the right to dare---"Who died and left you king!"

People have reacted to things I've written as if I was physically forcing my opinion down their throats.

Doesn't happen often, but it happens often enough.

And this stuns me.

Now it's probably the case that my tone is off now and then and I sound more high-handed and presumptuous than I meant to.  And I know I can get up on my high horse and ride it till it drops.

But generally it seems that somehow or other without intending or trying I've given some people advice they really do not want.

I've put pills in their pudding and they've choked on them.

I'm sorry when this happens.  I'm sorry that I can make people feel this way.

But, really, what do you care what I think?

Obviously, though, some people do.

So I would like to say to anyone who's ever felt that way or who might feel that way in the future when reading some post of mine, I'm not trying to tell you what to think.

I'm trying to figure out what I think.

It's one of the reasons for writing, to see the thoughts going through your head stated in actual words instead of feeling those thoughts all in a jumble.

Write it down and then you can look at it and decide not just if it makes sense but if it's something you are glad to be thinking.  If it doesn't and it isn't then you can throw it away and be done with it.  Over the last couple of months I've written a lot that didn't and wasn't and so I didn't post the post that contained them.  I think it's been running close to two posts thrown away for every one post posted.

What I'm saying is that what turns up here on your screen is usually the result of an argument with myself that I've won or it's the distillation of a long conversation I had inside my own head that required typing up in order for me to figure out what, if any, of the stuff I said to myself I really believed or felt or decided was true.

True in the sense of being an idea I wanted to call mine.   Not necessarily, and sometimes far from, an idea I expect you to call yours.

In other words, what you're reading here are, in fact, just things I overheard while talking to myself.

Comments

[Apostate]

Beautiful post. Funnily enough, and you may not have read my email (or perhaps you simply chose not to respond), I asked you for advice not too long ago: I wanted you to help me figure out what to do with my life. And yes, frequently, life doesn't seem like it's worth living, so maybe I'm like those people who wrote to Alda.

But after I didn't get a response, I did the sensible thing and had a long talk with one of my mentors, who helped me figure out what I want to do.

So you're off the hook. :)

[sfmike]

Toughen up your hide, guru empath. Your conversations with yourself are why we come here. It doesn't matter if we agree or disagree. We're paying attention.

[Karen]

Lance, and I mean this in the kindest way possible--the people who react in anger the way you describe are NOT worth the effort you just put into apologizing to them.

[Deschanel]

Hey Mr. Mannion, I come here to read your well-written opinions and please know I appreciate them. I'm probably one of many who came here on the recommendation of James Wolcott, and to me his endorsement is high praise indeed. And you've definitely more than made good on that. I know absolutely nothing about you, but I enjoy your writing and POV on things.

I'm sorry that there are troubled people out there, either asking advice or berating you for whatever their own issues are.

It's funny you bring up Alan Alda in the beginning of your post. Got me to remembering: He was a local presence in the Hamptons when I grew up there, and I remember as a teen in the 80's being in line behind him at a chi-chi sandwich shop. It seemed like the whole place was silently electrified at the presence of such a celebrity in their midst, but being a punkish misanthrope decided to ignore his presence. I said hello to my classmate behind the counter, too cool to acknowledge the TV star at my elbow. My classmate was fairly agog at the Alda's presence. There was flop-sweat. Alda was I think sanguine at having 20 people gawk (I dunno, I was to cool to look, lol).

When I left the shop I actually felt sorry for Alda- it was the first time I saw how people will observe a celebrity as an animal in a zoo, and I thought how unpleasant that would be, people staring and whispering. Feeling the right to have an opinion on you, what you do.

Which brings me to the last part of your post: blogging (prominently, with readership) isn't celebrity, but there's a similar amount of exposure, people thinking they know you, a fair amount of kooks and lost souls. Basically, you get the worst parts of "fame", without the Swiss chalets, money, and frolicking with starlets.

It's hard to expose your personal thoughts regularly, and negativity stings. But in the same way creatives always remember one bad review and forget 99 positive ones, I do hope you realize what talent you have, and how many people truly enjoy your writing. Please keep at it.

[KathyF]

So true: "It's one of the reasons for writing, to see the thoughts going through your head stated in actual words instead of feeling those thoughts all in a jumble."

What happens after you've written them, though? Do they go away? For me, it settles things.

[Rana]

So I would like to say to anyone who's ever felt that way or who might feel that way in the future when reading some post of mine, I'm not trying to tell you what to think.

I'm trying to figure out what I think.

Yes.

This is exactly what I try to get across to my students; their papers are not "proofs" of absolute truth, nor are they simply "opinions." They are the work of people sharing what they think, explaining how they got to that point, and hoping that others will join them for the ride.

Blogging adds the opportunity for the readers to talk back during the process, but, really, if what someone says doesn't work for you, getting huffy at them for having thoughts that challenge your own isn't very productive. Critique the logic, point out the implications, offer your alternative interpretation... but getting offended merely because someone in the world has failed to help you maintain the pristine bubble of your unchallenged thoughts? That's just sad.

[Zach]

Old son: you, Sara Robinson and James Wolcott are reason sufficient unto yourselves worth getting on the internets every day.

Your voices feed my sanity.

Well said, and thank you.