I lose my confusion

“What’s the matter? Tell me.”
“Sandra is having an affair."
"So are you.”

“It’s been bad for so long. Not bad, not anything, just–dead. But the funny thing, the crazy thing is, it’s still a shock.”
“She was a big part of your life. You have a son."
"I shouldn’t be telling you this. I…”

“It makes me sad."
"Sad?”
“To see you in pain.”

That’s a pretty unremarkable exchange of dialogue from a pretty remarkable show, and what makes this scene in this week’s episode of The Americans and so many scenes on the show fascinating are the layers of deception the characters have established externally and internally. Here, we know that Nina is also having an affair and reporting on all of her interactions with FBI agent Stan to her other lover, Oleg. But when she says it makes her sad to see Stan in pain, I believe her. The elaborate deceptions can only be pulled off because there are moments of truth in which to root them. But the blending of truth and lies, it seems to me, must carry with it a cost, some degree of confusion about the contents of one’s own heart.
As I was watching the show, I was texting with someone about someone else’s messy situation.

Part of my fascination with The Americans comes from the fact that I spent a long time deceiving myself and others, and at least for me, forming lasting, meaningful connections while pouring so much energy into pretending was just impossible. Now that I don’t maintain that particular facade anymore, I think that there has to be a way to simplify things. Honesty definitely isn’t always easy or simple, but at least (one hopes) it’s somewhat less complicated, less confusing, than the alternative.
Shuffled up on my phone on my way home this evening, something simple and clear and true:
My sadness don’t lie
My feelings can’t hide
I just can’t deny
What I feel inside
Notes
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mashatupitsyn said: “Love is never any better than the lover.” (Toni Morrison)
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