Free Love, Store Runs, and Marian the Contrarian
Free love has always sounded like a splendid idea.
It has romance, rebellion, idealism, and absolutely no mention of stopping at the store on the way home.
This is probably why most philosophies work better before groceries become involved.
In the Dizzy Rant on free love, every attempt to reach some grand conclusion about freedom, passion, and human possibility is interrupted by another request to pick something up. Milk. Bread. Probably paper towels. Civilization may collapse, but apparently we are still out of coffee.
That is the trouble with freedom.
Everyone claims to support it in principle.
In practice, they would prefer that you remain available by phone.
Society celebrates individuality right up until the individual starts behaving individually. Then a committee is formed.
This is where Marian the Contrarian enters.
Marian does not fit in. She does not particularly object to fitting in; she simply cannot locate anything worth fitting into.
She wears leather, smiles at the wrong moment, and has an alarming habit of asking whether the status quo was ever in good condition to begin with.
Naturally, this makes people nervous.
Every respectable arrangement depends upon certain questions not being asked. Marian asks them before dessert.
She cannot be bought or sold, which already makes her unsuitable for much of modern life. She cannot be talked into accepting nonsense merely because the nonsense has a long history, a professional logo, or several million followers.
This does not mean Marian is always right.
That would be intolerable.
It means she is willing to be wrong in her own direction.
There is a great deal to be said for that.
Most people imagine freedom as the ability to do whatever they want. Actual freedom may be closer to the ability to notice when somebody else has quietly decided what you are supposed to want.
Love has the same problem.
People say love should be free, then immediately begin issuing terms, conditions, expectations, schedules, and shopping lists.
Free love gradually becomes managed affection with errands.
Marian would notice this.
She would probably ask why a feeling powerful enough to inspire poetry still requires somebody to remember the detergent.
She would not refuse to go to the store, necessarily.
She would simply return with something nobody asked for and a convincing argument that it was what everyone needed.
That is why I need Marian the Contrarian.
Not because she breaks every rule.
Because she reminds us that rules are inventions, consensus is not truth, and the person upsetting the status quo may be the only one who noticed it had fallen asleep.
What would life be without Marian?
Quieter, certainly.
More orderly.
And almost unbearably dull
