Toohey'd

 

I'm coming up on six years sober, two years single, and one day since I finished reading The Fountainhead. I bought the book ages ago, but only got around to reading it a couple of weeks ago.

It’s a great read with key takeaways. First: anyone held in good public standing is a spineless bitch with no real identity. Second, altruistic pursuits are ultimately selfish; create for yourself, not for anyone else. Lastly, don’t care what other people think, because other people don’t think.

The rape thing with Dominique is strange. Her psychotic obsession reminded me of the intersection of my married, drinking, and motherhood nights when I took to cyberstalking an old boyfriend. I think there were moments in those nights when I felt convinced I was reading his mind too. I’m glad it worked out for ol’ Dominique. 

Not so much for me, in that department. I can admit I’ve been unlucky in love. My relationships haven’t exactly been success stories, but that does not define my self-worth. I’m the sum of all my experiences, and when the right person comes along, I’ll know without doubt. These past two years have been pretty fucking amazing, and cliché as it sounds, I’ve been in a relationship with myself, one I never had the space to enjoy before.

Something strange happened while reading the book: Dax Shepard referenced it twice in recent episodes of Armchair Expert. It made me wonder if I’ve been Ellsworth Toohey’d. The book offers a compelling look at how public opinion can be manipulated. I won’t say it’s more relevant now than ever; public persuasion has always been a part of the human experience.

When the kids watch South Park, I cringe and point out that the jokes are offensive, as if they’re stupid. They think the obviousness of my commentary is what’s stupid. The show is on Paramount Plus, the streamer with abusively long commercial breaks. I can make a snack, change the laundry, and wash my face during one string of advertisements. 

The other night, I was tired, so I just let the ads come at me. The first commercial was about suicide. Is their pursuit of suicide prevention really a suggestion of suicide to anyone who hadn’t thought about it? The next two commercials were for pharmaceuticals; pills promising to dissolve suffering. The final one was for KY jelly. I turned to the kids and said, “I don’t think South Park is the problem anymore. It's the damn commercials.”

Society’s fixation with mental health often feels like a distraction from a deeper issue: people living without purpose. That seems clear to me, but I’m a mother, so I worry anyway. Some days when I pick up my kids from school, I am subject to a full-blown manifesto about the injustice of having no control over life as a middle schooler.

My favorite quote is, “This is one moment, but know that another shall pierce you with a sudden painful joy.” I want my kids to hold on to what makes them unique. I don’t want the Howard Roark spirit beaten out of them. Sobriety has helped me get off the roller coaster of highs and lows, but as a mom, I have to jump in that open seat next to my kids and make sure they pull the safety bar down. I want to show them: buckle up, this ride won’t last forever, but it can throw you off course if you don’t accept it and settle in for the damn ride.

Anyway, who’s to say whether these opinions are truly mine, or if I’ve just been Ellsworth Toohey’d into thinking them? I’ll move on to a new book, and with it, a fresh set of ideas. Ones I can attribute to individualism or collectivism. In the end, I guess it’s really about how selfish I am.