I just got off the phone with a friend of mine who is going through a rough patch. I guess I hadn’t realized exactly how rough it’d been going for how long, but this friend is the kind of person who has big passions and throws him/herself into them with such gusto that, even if it’s something you’ve never heard of involving things you’d never think of as exciting, my friend’s enthusiasm is always contagious. Like, say my friend were the person who designed marbles. If you called my friend, s/he could go on for hours about how s/he’d figured out just how to make the molten glass drop and roll in such a way that his/her marbles always spun counterclockwise. And while you might not understand why anyone would want to have a marble that always spun counterclockwise, you’d feel like, wow, you’d talked to someone who really fucking loved marbles and the problems of marbles.
Tonight, s/he made apologies for his/her love of marbles. Kept diminishing their importance, making it seem like it was reasonable for a normal person to find marbles stupid and boring and a waste of time. Like it was wrong of him/her to keep up such enthusiasm for marbles. Like his/her love of marbles was this kind of gaudy unreasonableness it was wrong for him/her to impose, even slightly, on others.
I told him/her just what I’ve written here–that I’d listened to him/her go on for twenty minutes about how small and unimportant this thing s/he used to love so ridiculously and enthusiastically. And I said that it worried me because s/he was talking the same way about him/herself.
And I’m sorry to be vague, but I found it upsetting, that this gregarious vibrancy can be squashed by life. I hope it can bounce back.