Give Everything Up For Love?

For anyone who noticed my recent status update on Facebook I am now involved in a relationship with Gene Kelly. The only surprising aspect of that should be that it took me this long to become involved with him. The term “dreamboat” comes to mind. What has me writing tonight, however, is Brigadoon. I had never seen this musical previously; we watched Singing in the Rain last night and I absolutely loved it. (I could do a thing with all caps to show just how much I loved it, but trust me when I say I’m still on a little bit of a high over that one.)

Brigadoon, however, while not bad, wasn’t quite as good. Cyd Charisse was marvelous and Gene Kelly was marvelous (of course) and I liked the love story between them. But the plot both left me dissatisfied and got me to thinking. In this movie the town of Brigadoon is only a part of the world for one day every hundred years. The townspeople wake up, have their day, then go to bed only to wake up one hundred years later. This came about because in 1754 the pastor of the town worried about the unpleasant influences headed for the townsfolk, specifically a band of witches headed their way. He went out to a hill and prayed for a miracle. God granted this miracle by removing the town from reality for all but one day every hundred years. No one could ever cross the boundaries of the town (none of the townsfolk that is) or all of the townsfolk would wink out of existence. Well Gene comes along and finds the town and falls in love with Cyd and of course he is able to join them.

My problem is this: is it really a miracle to live your life one day at a time every hundred years and to never, ever be able to leave? You can never go anywhere else, never see anything else, never access any other part of human existence outside what is encased in your small town. One young man goes insane and tries to leave and is accidentally shot; it’s sad, but as a viewer I was left conflicted. His escape would have destroyed the town and he couldn’t stand to be there any more; death was his only real option then, but death seemed an unfair solution to him. I’m not sure I buy that what the reverend did was a good thing; I am, it should be noted, predisposed to side with witches in almost everything concerning the social view of witches in the 18th century--I freely admit that bias.

Aside from this problem there is also this very important philosophical question to consider: could I actually give up everything, my friends, family, life, everything, to live in an isolated faerie existence with my love? What made me seriously think about this, is that as I watched I realized I didn’t, and don’t, think I would.

Let’s imagine for a second really, truly falling in love over the course of a day just like the movies. The sort of love that never leaves you alone, never gets out of your system. The sort of love that takes years to heal. I’m blessed to have that sort of love, I would argue, with my friends and family. To never see them again, to never be able to see them again, would make me unhappy in a way that would lessen, possibly even negate the love I’ve found with this magical person who requires me to give everything up.

When I was eighteen I could have done it no problem. When you’re eighteen you’re still close enough to fourteen to call someone a “murderer of love” and really mean it. When you’re eighteen you can run away from life for love with no idea of what you’re giving up, and by the time you realize it’s too late to change it. But at twenty-eight things are a whole lot less melodramatic, and a whole lot more consequential. Even assuming for a moment that where I went wasn’t this magical town I could never leave (because if that were the case I really wouldn’t ever do it) assuming that perhaps I were traveling to a whole other world that was green and lush, full of arts and education and all the things that offer fulfillment. If, and this is a ridiculous if but we’re already contemplating a ridiculous situation, this other place were my own personal utopia I might do it. But the thing is I don’t think simply being with one person would make it my own personal utopia.

Is that wrong? Selfish? Unromantic? Well, certainly unromantic. But when you’re somewhere you hate, the only thing that makes it tolerable are the people you love. And if you fight or become disillusioned with the person you love sometimes the only thing that keeps you sane while you work through it is the place (if you don’t hate it) or the friends and family--other people you love. But if you’re somewhere you grow to hate, with no friends, no family, and no escape eventually you’re going to fight with this person you love no matter how true and wonderful the love is. And if there is literally nowhere and no one you can talk to there is no way to get distance or perspective and bitterness sets in. Over time (especially if you can only live one day every one hundred years) things are going to get very Tennessee Williams in that relationship until everyone is unhappy and screaming at everyone. The only way to avoid that would be for you, the person who gave up everything, to carry the load of that sorrow. And that would be a very heavy load to carry.

So no...I don’t think I would do it. Now, I admit I’m factoring into this my belief that no love could accrue over a day that I wouldn’t eventually heal from no matter how intense. In my opinion the sort of love that is worth giving everything up for happens over a little more time than that, so that plays a part. The love i have for my friends and family as accrued over years and if that means giving up Gene Kelly I think I might. Further proof of my lack of romanticism.

But I think, at the end of all this musing, what it comes down to for me, is that I actually, truly do believe there are all sorts of loves in life and a person generally needs more than one of them to get by. We can make do if we’re missing one and most people rarely have them all--family and friends can make up for no lover and vice versa; friends for family; family and lover for friends and so on--and sometimes if absolutely necessary we can get by on one. But more than one, at least in my limited twenty-eight years of experience seems to make for the most happiness. None is a sure bet and all take hard work on the part of everyone--these are givens--but realistic knowledge of that hard work makes me achingly aware of the ability of one type to magically buoy while another type fails, breaks, or hurts. So if you have a big fight you have friends and/or family there to catch you. If you’re ridiculously happy you have someone to share it with. If you start to wear on one person or group you can offer relief by visiting another.

But if everyone is stuck in Brigadoon you eventually go crazy and attempt to force mass destruction on the town to end it all. We all know that would totally be my ending.

Perhaps that’s unromantic. Perhaps I’m missing the thrill of this particular fairytale. I freely admit to all of these possibilities while placing equal fault on myself along with the movie. Gene Kelly really was spectacular, but I don’t think I could give up everything even for him.

Well...nope. Maybe 300 Spartans...maybe.

The possibility of little leather panties does add an enticing variable into the mix.