A Love That Chokes

My friend’s wife was younger than him by about twelve years. She was a “good catch” for him, our friends would say, not only because she was bright and very sociable but also because she was really pretty. They met when she interned in the company where he was a section head.

The two then slipped into a world all their own, a world that the guy created for just the two of them, under his close watch. The girl was soon losing her old friends, one after the other, especially the men. Lover boy was so possessive of her that even her own male relatives soon began to keep their distance.

I recently bumped into my friend after a very long time. He looked different. He had shrunk considerably, grown his beard and hair long that I didn’t recognize him until he snatched my hand.

“How are you?” I asked rather cautiously, since he certainly didn’t look okay to me. I was on an important errand at the time, but didn’t mind forgoing with it in favor of an old friend. We went for coffee.

I wanted to ask about his wife. But I thought it better to let him volunteer information about her. It was somewhat unusual to see him alone, without his wife. The last time I’d seen them, they were inseparable.

“She mistook my love for cruelty,” he opened up. I knew what he meant but wanted to hear more. “How could I be cruel to someone who means the whole world to me?” He felt it utterly unfair when he gave so much of himself and yet was faulted for being selfish.

There’s a story about a monkey who found a jar of cherries. He quickly stuck his hand in the jar and grabbed a handful of fruit. But when he tried to withdraw his fistful of cherries, his filled fist no longer fit through the opening of the jar. 

The only way out of the trap was for the monkey to release the cherries and then remove his hand. But the poor monkey wanted the cherries so much and didn’t want to let go. His intense desire for the fruit had closed the monkey’s mind from considering other, wiser options.

What a tricky situation it was! The monkey wanted the cherries so much that he couldn’t let go of the sweet fruit in his hand. Ironically, holding on to the cherries was the very thing that made it impossible for him to have them.

The monkey could have easily pulled his empty hand out of the jar. Now with both hands available, he could have turned the jar over and let the cherries pour out. But he kept his hand in the jar, holding fast to the cherries but never tasted them.

Another story is told of a small boy who had caught a bird and asked an old sage about it. “Wise man,” the boy said, “I want to know if this bird is mine.” The sage beckoned the boy to come closer. Then, he shared his wisdom with the young one.

“Open your hand,” the old sage softly whispered. The boy hesitated, fearing that the bird he was holding might fly away. Sensing the boy’s reluctance, the old man clasped the tense little hand. “My boy, if you really want to know, set it free.”

“Let it go,” the sage repeated. “If it comes back to you, you’ll know it’s really yours. If it doesn’t, then it never was.” The boy’s face lightened. Slowly he opened his hand.

My friend probably didn’t hear of those stories. Or maybe he just couldn’t contain his feelings. Sometimes people get so obsessed with something that they go to the extent of seeking it by force. Maybe it’s the need to be in control. They think that by their own initiative they can get whatever we want, and that there’s no better proof of power than conquest.

Indeed, it runs against reason to let go of something one so much wants to have. But sometimes one’s most valued acquisition is his torment. He constantly worries that he might lose his “cherished possession,” especially when it’s uncertain whether what he has is truly his.