Genie

Turns out Matt is the person in the house who knows me the best. I know this, because Charlie introduced us to a game that tells you who knows you best. First, you answer a series of questions on your phone. Then you send a link to your friends, who answer those same questions in the way they believe you would have answered them. If they answer the question the way you did, they get it right. The kids each got 9 of 20 right. Matt got 17 out of 20.  

Neither of these goof balls know me as well as their dad does.

I mean, he has known me forever. And we are married, which, you know, can’t hurt. But I think he also has the advantage of sharing with me an adult perspective that the kids just don’t have.  

For example, one question read, “A genie offers to grant you one wish. Do you wish for (a) fame, (b) wealth, (c) love or (d) a car?” 

I wished for love. Matt knew I would wish for love. Both the kids guessed I would wish for a car.  

Then they argued with me. They accused me of cheating. They had it right—I had answered the question wrong.  

Okay, so, there are elements of our current car situation that are deeply unsatisfying to me. But why would I ask a genie for a car when I could ask the bank for a car loan if I was all that serious about it?  

“But why would you pick love?” Charlie is just baffled. “You’re Mom.”  

“Mom’s need love, too,” I said. 

“No.” Philip turned in his chair towards me and leaned forward, putting his head level with mine to explain what Charlie is trying to say as simply as he can: “Mom. You already have our unconditional love. What you need is a car.”   

Huh.  

I already have love. I have enough love. I don’t need to ask for more love. This is a new idea for me. I let it swirl around my head and tell the kids they were right. I should have asked for the car. I’m not sure that’s true, but I need a minute to think. 

I had rejected the genie’s offer of fame because I’m already famous in that small town kind of way. An elderly man at church regularly tells me that he saw me on the news once, and it reminded him that, back in the day, he dated an epidemiologist. But that was “way, way before Ginny.” Recently, a man I didn’t recognize saw me across the coffee shop and said, “Hey! You’re Philip’s mom, right?” This is famous enough.  

I rejected wealth because Matt and I both have jobs, and we have a lovely house just big enough for us to fill with children (2) and dogs (2, serially). I spend hundreds of dollars a year on a garden that last summer produced 30 strawberries and a side salad. I am rich enough to complain about my reliable car. I have enough wealth. 

My life is full of love. I love my husband, my kids, the dog, and all the little birds that visit us. I love our friends. I love our community. I love our family, near and far. And they love me. Even the little birds. Probably. It’s hard to know exactly. Anyway. There’s no such thing as too much love, so no harm in wishing for more. Besides, it’s not like everyone who knows me loves me. I have the kind of job that pretty much guarantees that not everyone at work will love me. And when I was spending more time on COVID communications, I heard from a number of strangers about how much they resent me, the rest of the public health workforce, and the work we are doing. Yes, there’s always room for more love. 

And I didn’t ask the genie for a car for the same reason I haven’t bought a new car—the environmental impacts! I suppose I could have asked for an electric car. One that goes really far on a single charge. I mean it was a genie! I could have asked for anything. How about an electric truck with a camper that still for some reason has incredible battery life and is very light so that it has minimal impact on the roads. And maybe it can transform into a boat. I could have been creative. Inventive. Whimsical. I could have taken a minute to play and to dream. But I didn’t. Because I thought I needed more love. 

I wonder if this happens in real life. Do I focus on wanting people to love me so much that I suppress moments of whimsy? Are there dreams I would be dreaming—or even doing—if I didn’t think someone somewhere would disapprove?  

How would it change the way I meet new people if I started with the perspective that I am already loved? I think I would focus more on them. I would be more curious about who they are and more interested in what it’s like to live their life than in what they are thinking about me. I would put more energy into loving them and less energy into rethinking our interactions wondering if I said or did something shameful, unlovable.  

I wonder what I wouldn’t buy if I knew I already had enough love. Maybe some of the things that help me present myself to the world in a way that seems to me more lovable: the outfits, hair creams, hair removal contraptions, shapewear. And maybe those impulsive purchases, so urgently needed to solve a problem I didn’t even really have until a minute ago, made to fill the hole in my soul. 

I told Matt my realization. There is sufficiency in love. There can be enough. And maybe we should just live in enough rather than looking for more. He said, “That’s how I try to live my life already. I have people who love me. The rest of you can go f--- yourselves...The only thing keeping you from feeling the same as I do is generations of laser-focused oppression.” 

OK. That’s not exactly the realization I thought I was having.  

It’s more that since I know I’m loved and lovable, I don’t have to worry so much about what other people think of me. Freed from my concern about what you think of me, I can see you clearer. And I see you: someone who is also already loved and lovable.  

Imagine if every time we approached one another, we remembered that we are two complete, whole, loved and lovable people, and neither of us can take that from the other, and we don’t need to buy anything, or change or disguise our bodies, or do anything to be loved. We could start an anti-capitalist revolution.  

It would be downright subversive if anytime we approached anyone—whether that person is wearing a mask or has a home to go to tonight or has a mental illness or a background or language we don’t understand—we remembered that we are two complete, whole, loved, and lovable people. And no one can take that away.  

If we could let go of worrying about how we are seen and, instead, we saw every person we met as loved and lovable and deserving of the same basic respect and care that we expect for ourselves and the people we love, it would change the world.  

And that, Genie, is my wish.