When I was little, I was captivated by the persona of Kevin Costner. I saw Dances with Wolves five times in the theater, and I binge-watched it at home, learning all of the words, even the Native American languages. I read the book too. Often, I dreamed about playing the part of Mary McDonnell, and it all made sense -- I rode horses, and I revered them so much that I wanted to become one, or at least be a part of a culture that included the four-legged creatures. How I longed for a spontaneous, free life in the wilderness, and I suppose Costner became a symbol of that deep desire; I assumed that he had what I wanted, and so I adored the internal image that I created of him.
Unhealthy? Immature? Clinging to nonsense? Taking a character too far? Perhaps, but here’s the strange thing about it all – if he created the art, and I connected to it so deeply, to the point that I wanted to live inside the movie, then I guarantee, if we actually went for a trail ride, we’d at least have a kinship in real life, on real time. No, I don’t think I’d be his partner on the prairie, ha, but the conversation would be interesting to say the least. And I also don’t believe that it was all mere useless obsession. There’s a much deeper thread happening here…
I’d like to call it “imaginary intimacy.”
Later, my musings moved on to Pearl Jam. At first listen, I dug the music. Then I collected pictures, articles, merch, and albums -- even the rare tracks -- and that focus lasted through college and beyond. I was enmeshed in the scene to the point that I even lived in Seattle for a time, because I felt called to be at the heart of the mosh pits. Secretly, I wondered if I'd meet the guys, but then I worried that I would, and that it would ruin the mystique. During this time in my life, I was lost, angry, depressed, and deep into my addictions, and the grunge scene was my outlet. And similar to the situation with Costner, I identified Pearl Jam (and following tours) as a way to escape my inner turmoil. And for me, like the rest of the grunge crew at the time, there was some imaginary intimacy going on. It was as if we looked at each other, took in all of the outside appearances -- the plaid, the faded T-shirts, the shredded, too-long, battle shorts, and the combat boots -- and thought, I know you. I’m in this war with you.
And maybe it was something “out there,” and maybe I was worshipping the unknown; however, today, if I had coffee with the band, I’m sure we’d have a lot to talk about. Perhaps we wouldn’t all become close friends, but at the very least, I could tell Vedder that at one show, I landed on his boot, and I bet there would be a lot of laughs.
Today, I have a sense of humor about it all, but it’s true – at the time, the focus on these people provided me with an escape. And yes, there have been others – horse trainers, professors, musicians, coworkers, actors, and the like. It seems that in each case, certain people became symbols, and they represented whatever was missing in my life, or they provided a distraction from the growth that I didn’t want to face. Imaginary intimacy.
Indeed, I have a vivid imagination, admittedly ferocious at times, and as I grew older, instead of waning, my dreaming grew. It was (and still is, to an extent) easy for me to latch on to someone or something unavailable and dream away, getting lost in it, ignoring my true wants, desires, and the need for change. Sometimes, in the beginning, it gave me a "high" of sorts. Other times, when certain musings fiercely took a hold of my every move, I ended up depressed, raging, or severely sick, because these imaginary characters became more than mere harmless crushes or leaders. Instead, in my mind, the interactions became so real that I felt the entire relationship as if it actually existed. I felt all of the emotions – the excitement, the chase, the friendship, the fight, the makeup, the breakup, all of the noise. Seem far-fetched? People do it all the time – online relationships, text relationships, celebrity worship, following social media influencers, and more.
Therapy and various other treatments ruined the fun, but it curbed the extremes.
But were these mind excursions entirely one-sided? Sure, I suppose the experts would say such words. Indeed, there was no concrete, human, tangible interaction. But what if I said there was something important present? I was in the audience – at the movies, at the shows. I played a part in it. I played a role in their histories, no matter how small a role it may have been. Simply, I was there. My energy was there. We were both there, living and breathing, participating in some kind of common dream.
Remember that crush you had on a teacher? A coworker? That person you wanted as a partner, but he/she only wanted friendship? Perhaps it was a well-known drummer, a painter, or a writer? You felt like you knew them. You cried when they died. How about that time some man broke up with you, and you continued to imagine what he might be thinking a year later, and the possibilities seemed so real, but then you soon found out he had long since moved on? How about following the Dead? Phish? Political affiliations, feeling close to the person with the same sign in her yard? What about when you were sure some woman was into you, so much so that you read into her words and actions in the hopes that it was all true, and after a while, you believed it was, even though nothing ever happened? And again, online relationships? Text relationships? And what about emotional and/or physical affairs? Imaginary intimacy. Same idea.
Don't get me wrong. I’m grateful for my vivid imagination, as it allows me to create stories, poems, and books; however, sometimes, I need to rein it in, because in my personal life, the dreams can become too real, and they take over the reality. And in some cases, they nearly destroyed me. And when I delved into the land of dating, here’s what I did – I picked someone who I knew (subconsciously) wouldn’t work out. Over and over, I was “drawn” to these types, and it was often about sex. Of course I was drawn to them, because deep down, without even consciously realizing it, within a few months’ time, I could control it, and I knew I had an “out.” Then back to Costner or whoever.
So how do I feel now about intimacy? The reality is this: I still maintain a distance. I have many acquaintances, but few really know my insides, other than what they see on the page, and it often feels as if I'm on the outside looking in. I've always been an extreme introvert, and for others, this often proves to be quite unsettling. Sometimes, I still create intimacy in my head, or I distract myself with politics or work, or I latch on to someone I don't even know, and I make it up. Certain days, I run wild with it, but that can get out of hand. But here’s the kicker – now I’m aware of all of it, and these insights push me to grow beyond the pattern because lately, I’ve noticed that when I'm home, and all of the work is done, and I'm resting on the couch, I think, I wish I had this thing, this closeness, this partner who joins me on this tumultuous thing we call life. Interesting. Annoyingly interesting.
And so, I took a break from all of it, stayed solo, and I learned about the patterns. Now, I’m sort of in the middle. Sometimes, I entertain my visions and other times, I fight against them, and when I’m out and about, I maintain some disguise of aloof normalcy. Still nonsense? Sill unhealthy? Hm, perhaps, but there’s more to this mess, because although I pay attention to the experts, I still retain a scrap of my internal magical voice, because my thinking is a culmination of all of my learning – professional, personal, and spiritual – and that’s part of who I am. And I still believe in dreaming, because sometimes the dreams do indeed become real. The old “be careful what you wish for” scenario.
Here and now, the answer doesn’t seem so black and white. Overall, I see grey. In my experience, real, true love with friends, partners, or whoever, reaches far beyond the mere highs and lows; rather, it is deep, hard as hell, and it pushes a person to grow. You see, I may continue to dream about someone “out there,” but now that my eyes are open, and I’m aware of my limitations, as well as the push behind it all, I believe that there’s a whole other possibility that exists within imaginary intimacy, and that is this: I could let go, see the future, continue to grow, and whether a connection comes through someone famous or the milk man, I can rest assured that all is well, because somewhere along the line, there surely exists one strange bird who will dream right back.
C.A. MacConnell
