How to survive being an emotional? – 08/20/2023 – The Worst of the Week

Mariana writes to me with the specific question that plagues me since my earliest adolescence: “How can I survive being emotional?”

Such questioning reminds me of the sensational masterclass I attended last year with writer David Sedaris, known for his self-deprecating work. He begins the first class by asking what a guy who is not a writer does with the pains and troubles of his day.

David says that, as sad and pissed off as he was in unpleasant situations, he always celebrated “somewhere in his psyche” all the professional and loving breaks he took. The author confesses that a simple fall in the middle of the street was already the reason for him to finally resume writing a chronicle, book or screenplay.

“I hope that many things go wrong in my day, so I never run out of reasons to write.”, he says (Sedaris must not have said exactly that sentence, but I dared to put my memory in quotes).

In my micro-world, I recognized myself deeply in the artist’s fascination with being (or doing everything to become) a character. In addition to the pleasure I get from slathering myself in public squares, exposing my flaws without a hangover effect and inviting everyone to watch my falls, I have already extracted many literary attempts (for the good and for the bad of those around me) from my worst moments. dealing with friends, peers, and family

My readers, these brave ones, survivors of such a self-referential and hysterical work, know that I calmly take many insults home. Just because my home is home to my computer and the possibility of, finally, scrutinizing a scene through language, so that it takes on a possible form and stops being a ghostly woodpecker poking my liver.

When I got into a fight with a friend in the school gym and later, nauseous, dead, murdered by the supreme pain of loneliness, I cried so much that my friend’s hair was covered in mucus (and I asked for forgiveness with theatrical exclamations, to the point of joining a small group of bullies to slaughter me) I knew I needed to create some kind of protective shell for my raw young body. Irony seemed to me the only way out.

If you see me making fun of someone I seem to like a lot, maybe I love them deeply. The hard core of my mother’s family was made up of people who could only bear to live with each other because so much feeling could be softened by mockery. Were they right? Do we Bernardi have good minds? Is it easy to live with me? No no and no. But that’s what we had to do until the year of grace 2023.

However, I’m here thinking, Mariana, that actually what you ask is how to be an emotional woman in a world with so many people pretending to be cool, check?

To begin with, run away from such people: 1- very discreet; 2- who watch many sports; 3- who have lived in another country for 15 years and are not at all distressed; 4- who look at you genuinely scared —and not slightly stifling laughter —while you entertain them with all your aptitude for drama and 5- who work in the financial market.

A longtime friend started dating a public figure on television and decided, to protect him (or probably because she was required to), never again to say anything, really anything, about her intimate or family life. ANYTHING. I had lunch with her, I threw up my entire being and when it was her turn, she would give me tips on Mexican cuisine or the theater program at Sesc Pinheiros. It became, more and more, the Ilustrada or the Tourism section. The impersonal subject is the most boring subject there is.

It also helps me a lot to read books, listen to music or watch movies and series with very emotional protagonists. Belonging cradles us, breastfeeds and then returns us to the stone jungle studded by evil beings and their dryness.

I recently returned to good ol’ Jeff Buckley on his “Grace” record. Antony and the Johnsons, Adele and Nina Simone never left my playlist. Yesterday I saw the beautiful film “Supernova”, with Colin Firth and Stanley Tucci, and the brilliant series “Somebody Somewhere” with Bridget Everett.

I always return to Timothée Chalamet in “Call Me By Your Name”. I’ve watched “Please Like Me” a couple of hundred times, and I read Scott Stossel’s “The Anxiety Times” whenever I need reassurance that yes, “it’s not okay,” but I’m not the only one. Over half of my tips are obviously gay.

In closing, I will have to resort to the theme that is a great enemy of the scholarly chronicle. A serious writer shouldn’t believe in signs, let alone write about them. But I hate all serious people of all kinds and I will always be an emotional bundle, so I tell you: run away from Aquarian partners. I know it’s difficult, almost impossible, but it’s worth at least fighting the good fight against these very dangerous types for girls who can spend two whole years crying lulled by the beautiful phase of singer Silva, before he re-records axé.

It’s also good to avoid Virgos, people who will love you madly if the goal “overwhelming passion” is consistent with your Excel spreadsheet for that moment. I would ignore Capricorns for obvious reasons. I would ignore Sagittarians, because I don’t take adult people seriously who could go camping at any time (and Libras because they could flirt at any time). I wouldn’t bet on Taurus either, it’s my sign and I know well that I’ll never like someone the way I like good hotels, sleeping or being right. I wouldn’t waste my time with Leos, because “how is he going to notice you if he’s more concerned with stopping the restaurant while walking”? The worst boyfriend I ever had was cancer and if he had any desire to be “family” it was with half the town. But, if an Aries or a Pisces knocks on your door, as shitty as you are, then yes, honey, the chance of going wrong is immense.

In short, Mariana, everything will always go wrong. And what do non-writers make of it?

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