Other human beings

When we think about the lives of famous people, rock stars, actors or writers, it might be hard to imagine that these people do the same ordinary things that we do. They, too, eat, go to the bathroom, clean the dishes. I guess this is one of the reasons why some people find it enormously entertaining to be served intimate details about celebrities. And, admittedly, that goes for me too.

While standing in the lunch queue at work I was overhearing a conversation between one of the professors at the Uni and her professor husband. She said: "but it's humanism..." Her husband talked a while in exactly the same tone of voice as that of his wife. Couldn't make out the words. I was overwhelmed by a feeling of how distant these people seem to me. But I wasn't able to (for myself) formulate why I felt this way. They are engaged in academic work, just as I am. I've read some of the books that they've read. It could be said that we "have a lot in common". And then I tried to imagine them at home, eating cereal, arguing about who's got to do the shopping. Watching stupid TV shows. It was impossible. But why?

When meeting these types at the library, it's quite OK. I don't pay attention to it. It's normal. Bumping into them in the grocery store is an altogether different matter; it feels unbearingly awkward, independently of whether they happen to know me or not. Just watching them grab a tomato, a newspaper or glancing at them while they are choosing one brand of washing powder over another. During all this I feel extremely voyeuristic. As if confronted with something really, really intimate. But what is intimate about picking up a tomato?

What is this about? Is it that when some people are talking it feels as if they reveal nothing about themselves? I hear them talk but I never hear them. Plans are made, jokes are made, points are made. Etc. The many things we say when we talk about how a person is present in her words. It's not necessarily that these people say nothing about themselves. That I would feel less distant to them were I to become familiar with some revealing details of their lives (but sometimes that changes things). It's more the spirit in which they talk, in which they relate to the things other say.

In contrast: I feel immediately at ease with some people. And this has nothing to do with them having supplied me with details of their lives. What I am thinking about is rather a certain lack of reservation; that you can say anything and the other person will not consider you a fool; she will try to understand; she will not stop talking to you.

But now I have focused too much on the other person, as if this feeling of remoteness has no relation to me. That is not true at all. In fact, some of my best friends are people to whom I, a few years ago, felt just as distant as in the case of the Professor in the lunch queue. But suddenly, or by and by, our relation has changed.