Sunday ramblings

As one gets older, one reflects. As long as the intellect can maintain, that is.

I've been watching The Crown for a second go-round. Or third? Anyway, I decided to start again and work my way through now that the fifth season is on. I stan Claire Foy and Vanessa Kirby so much in their roles. Olivia Colman and HRH Helena Bonham Carter are also awesome, and now I get to see Imelda Staunton unleash her greatness on the role of QEII. It's a shame that so far (two episodes in), Imelda is virtually playing a supporting role to Elizabeth Debicki as Diana, though Elizabeth is utterly knocking it out of the park.

Today's Crown sesh started with "Moondust," the season 3 episode that basically spurned Lizzie and centered on Philip and his midlife crisis. "I'm a prince, married to the most prominent monarch in the world, and I'm perpetually #2, not able to do so much as cough without royal approval," he seems to say. "And now, I'm faced with the astronauts who manned the remarkable mission to the moon, and...wow, they must have so much going on in their brains!" Well, that sentiment falls apart once he realizes they're as much cogs in a system as he is. Moreover, they're just young men, more amused with a harmlessly malfunctioning water cooler on the Eagle than the astonishing accomplishment that has fallen upon them and What It All Means. Philip realizes they're not great thinkers or philosophers, but ordinary human beings, albeit with unique strengths and capabilities, placed in an extraordinary situation. It takes a queen and wife like Elizabeth, who knows a thing or three about how that feels, to express that to him. (It made me think of Jodi Foster's Dr. Arroway from Contact in her amazing trip across the universe, unwittingly expressing the ineffable with the widest of eyes as she repeated, "So beautiful...so beautiful...they should have sent a poet...")

As a man embarking on his middle age, this...well, I guess it didn't hit me as much as it could have. What did hit me was "Dangling Man," the next episode. Here, the former King Edward and Duke of Windsor coughed up blood, received a terminal cancer diagnosis, and faced his swiftly-approaching mortality with an unrepentant yet philosophical eye toward his past. He passed his sentiments in letters along to the Prince of Wales and future King Charles III, who saw much of himself in this individualistic, more colorful, and defiant member of the royal family. The duke refused to back away from his love for the double-divorcée Wallis Simpson, and consequently chose to abdicate the throne; he could not have both the kingship and his marriage in the eyes of the crown and the Church of England. Both he and Wallis passed along their wishes that Charles himself would choose love and be true to his heart, whatever may come.

Ah, if only it were that simple. "The crown wins. The crown always wins." Subsequent episodes detail his doomed courtship with the handsome Camilla Shand, whom the rest of the family regards as a trinket, someone to play with before true wife/princess/queen material comes down the pike. (Oh boy.) Well, we all know the end of that story. And that's largely what The Crown details from this point forward.

Reflections

My reflections on these episodes involve a few things. First, and tangentially, I am way too easily distracted by other things, particularly if they involve a phone or the internet. Second, I sometimes would like to read deeper thoughts. Montaigne came to mind this morning. I remember when I got the Great Books of the Western World all those years ago, and being simultaneously wowed and daunted by them. At some point, I picked up Montaigne, and was pleasantly surprised that it didn't seem all too difficult to understand or enjoy. Unfortunately, I didn't continue much beyond that. I wonder what could come of me reading it more. I might just do that. By extension, it has been a long time since I have read—no, orated. I don't count reading articles aloud for readability; that's just a job. I wonder how it would work if I orated Montaigne. Might elevate my life, make for some fun reading, put some great ideas in my mind.

But I want to set the third apart. It is perhaps inevitable that watchers of The Crown will see themselves in some character or other. The show has even gone so far as to explicate two opposing prototypes in the whole Windsor family. (See the end of "Margaretology" for the best explanation of it.) In a nutshell, you have the dutiful, reserved, quiet Elizabeth on one side; you have the brash, extroverted, individualistic Margaret on the other. This same dichotomy exists for the brothers King George and King Edward. You could easily argue the Princes William and Harry exhibit this dichotomy as well. Charles finds himself a weak character with leanings toward individualism.

In my family, I inevitably end up on the Margaret/Edward/Charles side of things. I covered the three I's: individualistic, iconoclastic, idiosyncratic. Being adopted added another side to it. Clearly, I would have made a terrible royal. Certainly would not have been a good king. Would have been exiled for abdication, or at least would have fought for the right to love who I want. But that's the joy of being a non-royal. At least I know me being true to myself would not be a matter of national security. I don't envy the royals for that.

However, it didn't spare me or the rest of my family grief. Being true to myself put me at odds with my family, who were keen to stay on the side of what they called "1950s family values." And being gay certainly was not part of those. In the end, I found that I had to answer for myself a question that, in an ideal world, should not need to be raised: which is more important—love or family? I'm grateful that for many people, there is a sufficient overlap (and hopefully a complete one) that the question is moot. For me, though, I found that family did not have love for me. Or at least my parents did not—not the love I needed. I had to seek that out elsewhere. In the process, I set on a kind of exile for years afterward, while the rest of the family grew more together, enjoyed more experiences together, became a tighter family without me.

The story has a good, if not great, ending. Maybe as good as can be expected. I returned to the fold, in large part because of the man I'm with now, who was excited to meet the rest of the family and effortlessly put his best, most charming, and friendliest food forward. We've all come around. Even before my dad died, he was thrilled to see Dennis around, and we got to be on...well, if not fully friendly, then at least cordial, respectful terms. Here's hoping this can continue into the future.