"My sole consolation when I went upstairs for the night was that Mamma would come in and kiss me after I was in bed. But this good night lasted for so short a time: she went down again so soon that the moment in which I heard her climb the stairs, and then caught the sound of her garden dress of blue muslin, from which hung little tassels of plaited straw, rustling along the double-doored corridor, was for me a moment of the keenest sorrow. So much did I love that good night that I reached the stage of hoping that it would come as late as possible, so as to prolong the time of respite during which Mamma would not yet have appeared. Sometimes when, after kissing me, she opened the door to go, I longed to call her back, to say to her 'Kiss me just once again,' but I knew that then she would at once look displeased, for the concession which she made to my wretchedness and agitation in coming up to me with this kiss of peace always annoyed my father, who thought such ceremonies absurd, and she would have liked to try and induce me to outgrow the need, the custom of having her there at all, which was a very different thing from letting the custom grow up of my asking her for an additional kiss when she was already crossing the threshold. And to see her look displeased destroyed all the sense of tranquility she had brought me a moment before, when she bent her loving face down over my bed, and held it out to me like a Host, for an act of Communion in which my lips might drink deeply the sense of her real presence, and with it the power to sleep."
Marcel Proust, Swann's Way, p. 13
I've included this section for a couple reasons. First off, it is beautifully written, and I think the image of his mother's face hovering above him as a Host in an act of Communion is the first line, at least to me, that promises more beautiful passages to follow. Several people, including writers I really respect, view Remembrance of Things Past as the greatest novel of all time, and this particular image is the first that hints at transcendence to come.
The second reason is more personal, which I guess is the point of this entire experiment. When I separated from my first wife I went through the traditional six free sessions of therapy, which took a lot for me to do - and was about the best proof you'd ever need to what a fragile state that I was in at the time. It's not that I don't see any value in psychology or therapy, but rather that I was raised in a very traditional way, and asking for help of any kind was branded into me as a true sign of weakness. And, truthfully, it's something I haven't gotten over yet. Even today it's very difficult for me to ask for any help doing anything. I don't know if I got too much out of my six sessions, although they did make me feel better. Often I would say something and the therapist would lighten up and say something like, "wow, that's really perceptive." Of course, that may be the best evidence that she was doing her job. The one thing that she told me that did blow me away was that I was "starved for affection." I had never thought of myself in that way, but it did make a lot of sense - and has always been in my mind, even if I didn't probably make much effective use of the fact. I think I've struggle with some of my relationships with women because I both desperately needed affection and attention, but yet somehow remained pretty certain that I didn't deserve it. And to receive that level of affection and attention I had to be "there" in a way that I probably wasn't (see the first two installments on Proust).
Now, why am I starved for affection? Still working on that one. It's way too easy to blame your personal shortcomings on your parents. I think the attention. and in some sense affection, from my parents was very accomplishment-based, but I think their approach to parenting was very representative of their generation. I've never considered them cold people. Plus, if you've been fortunate to have traveled as much of the world as I have it's hard to take your own problems as having much merit. This is why the hashtag #firstworldproblems was created. I never missed any meals and I had the opportunity to pursue my Ph.D. I don't have any complaints. So, then the reason for feeling that I was starved for affection is probably internal. Like I said, I'm still working on that one.
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