I stumbled upon “Fleabag” by accident last year, late to the party, and I was stunned by how good it was. How had I not heard of it before? It’s expertly written and acted; it’s tragic, subtle and incredibly funny. If you haven’t seen it, I recommend you do (make sure there are no children around you if you do. It would probably be very awkward to watch it with your parents, too).
The unnamed main character has a habit of breaking the fourth wall, looking directly at the camera and telling us her thoughts. It works very well in the context of the show but clearly nobody does that in real life. What I personally do instead is I pretend to write it down in my head as if someone is going to read it. It’s the same idea of an invisible friend who would be interested in everything that happens to us, every smart arse comment, every semi-formed insight we might have. A friend who does not actually exist.
And yet in season 2 Fleabag meets a person who really sees her – a priest. He sees how she disappears into her thoughts and he tries to understand her.
Phoebe Waller-Bridge, the creator of Fleabag, has a speech about why the priest has become known as “hot priest” and why a lot of women seems to have lost their minds longing after him. “It’s because he does this one thing… he listens.” It’s funny and pithy and there’s undoubtedly truth to it, even if there’s inevitably more to it than that: he’s handsome, funny, not afraid to be vulnerable, he’s unavailable as a partner. And yet.
If you ever struggled with small talk (like I used to) and consciously tried to become better at conversations in general, you would’ve inevitably come across advice to listen to other people and to be genuinely interested in them. Almost everyone loves talking about themselves and people will love you for listening. In the context of small talk most people won’t go very deep and it’s a bit weird to be that person who goes “But really, tell me how you REALLY feel”. Trust builds over time and so does intimacy, not of the sexual kind but of the kind that allows you to talk about something deeper than how you spent your weekend. I do like trying to nudge people along a little while not coming across as a total creep. It makes for a much more interesting conversation but also I am genuinely interested in many people and the stories in their heads. It’s not just listening – it’s trying to understand.
Do all people want to be understood? Not just on a surface level but on a level where they most likely don’t even understand ourselves? I think a lot of the time they – we – don’t. It makes us feel vulnerable, especially when we are not ready for it. Fleabag in the show cannot bring herself to open up to the priest about her friend – too painful – and she tell us, the audience, when he tries to understand, “He’s a bit annoying, actually”. I’ve been the annoying friend before and it’s painful to be shut down, too, so people often don’t even try to ask the questions that can be interpreted as prying.
And yet, when it works, it’s like magic. And when it’s reciprocal – which is even more rare – there’s nothing like it. People sometimes avoid it because it feels dangerous, inappropriate (even if it doesn’t end up in forbidden Catholic priest sex). More often though, we just don’t know if it’s even an option, to be understood on a deep level – and accepted for who we are. Not for our social roles or appearances but as complex human beings with our inhibitions and fears and contradictory thoughts. I think we sometimes crave it without realising what it is we want. That desire is easy to mock; it sounds like vapid teenager angst, “Nobody really understands me!” But I think the raw desire for intimacy and understanding expressed in that statement is much better than many layers of self protection we learn to wear every day.
Sails and Commas 