TRANSCRIPT

I’m Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown. 

A big part of loving someone is loving their idiosyncrasies. I don’t mean tolerating them, or putting up with them, or trying to overlook them—I mean delighting in them. I mean taking real pleasure from the way someone laughs or speaks, or the way they tell a story, or the way they cook or eat. These are the little things you’ll miss about them when they’re away, or after they’re gone.  

A big part of loving someone, whether they’re a friend or a family member or someone you’re romantically involved with, is embracing them exactly as they are. Not hoping they’ll change, or waiting for them to change, or—worst of all—trying to change them yourself. My children tease me all the time about my quirks: my loud cackling laugh, my childlike (and very uncool) excitement about the natural world, the way I pronounce certain words (is it bay-sil or bay-zuhl?), and my propensity to curse like a sailor but then say “language!” when they do the same.

They tease me, and I let them, because I know they do it out of love. I’ve never gotten the sense that they wished I were different. So what if I misplace my car keys and phone several times a day? So what if I make every meal a little spicier than it needs to be? So what if I quote “Ferris Bueller’s Day Off” and “The Big Lebowski” more than anyone should? My quirks are part of what make me me. That’s true of all of us. And we need the people in our lives to love us, quirks and all. 

I hope I’m that kind of mother to them. And that kind of friend, and partner, and sister, and daughter throughout my life.

Today’s poem sees someone as beloved not in spite of her idiosyncrasies and her struggles, but because of them.

This is a poem by Natalie Dunn.

Laura, I Want You Pulling Your Hair Back
by Natalie Dunn

Behind your ears, boiling pasta and forgetting
about six minutes, letting it turn to glue. I remember
once you said, this tree is torn to shreds and we stood
and stripped it further. The night I looked at you terrified.
This was back when we belonged to no one,
when your hand found my rib in the dark. I played dumb
so as not to lose you. I watched you choose lovers,
watched as you changed on a whim when a man entered
the room. Laura, I want you embarrassed
by long dresses, by the fun of the carnival.
I remember the first time I convinced you to keep living.
It didn’t take much. I tricked you into walking to the place
on the corner with cheese danishes glazed thick
with sugar. We never got them. On the sidewalk a child
was playing in her plastic kitchen. She poured us imaginary
water, offered us mud soup. We put out our hands.
You took the mud almost to your mouth.

"Laura, I Want You Pulling Your Hair Back" by Natalie Dunn. Used by permission of the poet.