TRANSCRIPT

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

I’m not a secretive person. In fact, I’m known in my life for being open. But I do value my privacy. Maybe that sounds a little strange, given that I’ve published a memoir and spend more time than I probably should online, but it’s true. There are parts of my life, and parts of me, that I don’t share with others. I like keeping some things to myself, for myself.

We can never know everything about another human being, no matter how much time we spend with them. I know my parents, my sisters, and my own children deeply but not wholly. I don’t know all of the contours of their minds, all of their thoughts and fears and dreams, all of what they hope for themselves. I can’t access it all.

If it’s true that we can never know for certain where we stand with another human being, then it’s a risk to have a close friend, to fall in love, to build a life with another person. Like swimming in the ocean, you can see only so far and so deep, and the rest is a mystery. It’s a risk, of course! But I think the risk is worth it.

I could be fearful or cynical about everything I don’t know. I could worry and ruminate, be suspicious, be wary. But I’ve surrounded myself with people I can trust, so I love that there is always more to uncover about them. I see it as an opportunity, over time, to learn more and more about the people I love most. 

It’s exciting to know that I can dive deep into another human being and never touch bottom. I will never know everything there is to know. If I’m lucky, I’ll get to spend many years with the people I love, learning as much as I can, and watching them grow and change, and being surprised and delighted by them! If I’m lucky, I’ll continue to change, too, and the people who love me will be surprised and delighted by those changes. 

Today’s poem explores this tension in a love affair, and how people can elude our grasp.

Dear Delinquent
by Ann Townsend

Dear disaster, he said to me,
                 tossing my shirt across the room

where the doorknob deftly
                 caught it. Inside out, its silk

draped and settled like a caul.
                 I was fond of his slippery mind,

could not access it, not completely.
                 Having mapped him, blazoned

his parts, sent my ships
                 across his sea, having dreamt

the way and its destination,
                  I learned how he drew near

to teach me dear, how he left
                 to teach me lack. Still I set out,

quickened by his touch, still I asked,
                 fair friend, what is your secret name?

“Dear Delinquent” by Ann Townsend from DEAR DELINQUENT © 2019 Ann Townsend. Used by permission of Sarabande Books.