I recently watched David Letterman interview John Mulaney on his Netflix show. John Mulaney is a successful stand up comedian who has had a public struggle with drug addiction. In the interview, David Letterman asks him about his 2 year old son, Malcolm. John Mulaney said he wasn’t expecting to have a baby, but when Malcolm came along, he looked at him and just said, well, “there you are.” He didn’t dwell on it too much, but my own imagination filled in his story of being a drug addict, in a constant search for meaning and purpose and a sense of self worth, and when his son came into his life, it was like finding the thing he didn’t know he was looking for. There you are.
I had to pause the show at that point, overcome with emotion. It’s just very sweet, isn’t it? I’ve never been able to watch a birth scene on TV/movies and I’ve been fortunate enough to witness some in real life as well, without being deeply moved. A baby’s arrival can herald so much hope and redemption; a chance to break toxic cycles, a being to expand our love, a person for whom we fight for a better world.
But I thought back to when I had my babies and I did not have that “there you are” experience. I had my babies young, got pregnant on the first tries with my fertile eggs, and my inexperience in life led to more trepidation than excitement upon meeting my kids. It was wonderful, don’t get me wrong, but it was not a starstruck, lights shone from heaven, “there you are” moment.
I started searching my memory bank for whether I’ve ever had a moment like that. My romance with my husband is a beautiful one, a best friend turned lover journey, but again, not love at first sight. I’ve lived in many places in the world and although I’ve fallen in love with many places, there’s not one that stands out to me as wow, this is it. I remember holding the first book I published in my hands, and if I remember correctly, my kids were more excited about it than I was!
Where is my “there you are” moment? I’m so inspired by the people who report their experience of it. Is it just that I’m not wired to be starstruck? Come to think of it, I have crossed paths with some stars and not ever been starstruck. Or perhaps that moment is still to come. I don’t feel like I’m looking for anything in particular, so perhaps that thing will find me and I’ll be like, oh, “there you are.” Could it be at my deathbed?! Morbid, but also potentially beautiful? What if death is more beautiful than I imagined it would be?
Anyway, I’m kind of obsessed with this. I want to glean stories from other people and hear their experiences of that moment. I find it fascinating. But I think what makes it profound is that it cannot be manufactured. So as much as I might desire to have my moment, I know forging the circumstances for it would be counterproductive, it would diminish its power.
In other words, I would rather never have my moment than to try to make it happen. I’ve lived enough years and have a firm enough grasp of the finitude of my life to know that I can’t have it all. I can’t live everything. But the magic of our human imagination and empathy is that I can live vicariously.
So if and until my “there you are” moment comes, I’m perfectly content enjoying other’s accounting of their moment.
I appreciate this sentiment so much. I think a lot of self-inflicted wounds occur from longing for some sort of sensation we perceive we ought to have but haven't yet. Often these sensations don't have words, and are internalized from cultural narratives, media, etc. I've had peace from letting go of chasing that abstraction.
I’ll be thinking about this …. Like you, eager to hear from others!