Friend #19 - Mr. Shaw
My high school history teacher
I wrote my 12th-grade philosophy essay on the pursuit of happiness. It started with a quote from the American Declaration of Independence—cliché, I know. Mr. Shaw gave me the highest grade in the class.
Our meeting is delayed because of something unfortunate. Mr. Shaw has recently lost one of his best friends. A fellow teacher, Mr. AppleJohn passed away suddenly at the end of January. “He would come over every Sunday so getting out of that routine is difficult,” says Mr. Shaw.
I was 15 the first time we crossed paths in tenth grade history. I found a sense of peace and collectivism in all of his classes. They were safe spaces where I could be myself. Now, at 25, I sit across from him at a café and as we both sip on tea, I explain that I am on my own pursuit of happiness. Mr. Shaw has recently retired and is spending his time as a Volvo mechanic.
“The woman I was even just a month ago, I can’t recognize her. I was depressed for so long but I’m doing a lot better now,” I say.
“That recent,” he remarks.
When I first got to Miami in October of 2021, I was 24. The city was alluring but there was a constant feeling in me that I could not pinpoint. Today, I understand it was loneliness. To be surrounded by people and friends but to lack the closeness I desired in many relationships.
I dated to pass a lot of my time. “Did you use JDate?” asks Mr. Shaw as he laughs.
“It’s called JSwipe now, but yes,” I reply. “And I use Pascal’s wager on dates to explain my view on God.”
I spent four and a half months in the city and near the end, I reconnected with a guy that I had known. Then I experienced a special kind of torture—feeling lonely in a relationship.
“It was naivety that kept the whole thing going. If we were driving in the same direction he wouldn’t offer to get me and my friends were like ‘What is going on?’’’ I tell Mr. Shaw with a smile.
“This is all funny now. But it wasn’t funny,” I continue. “I came to visit him over a weekend and felt so unwelcome. We were sitting our last night together and he asked me, ‘What are you passionate about?’’’
“That’s a stupid question. It’s a first date question,” says Mr. Shaw.
“Exactly. Everything is passion,” I answer. “He came to my house for dinner one time after not seeing me for six weeks empty-handed.”
“He is not worthy,” says Mr. Shaw. “Bring a bottle of wine at the very minimum.”
“Wine, flowers, cookies,” I say.
“In that order. Wine, flowers, cookies,” says Mr. Shaw.
The most painful thing, I go on to explain, was that I had considered this boy my friend. “To open up to someone and not be liked, that’s painful,” I say. “But to know that an experience that was meaningful for me was shallow for someone else is very painful.”
“Some people don't need depth in their relationships, they move from one to the next,” he says. “Some people sit at a dinner table and talk about day trading and others talk about ideas. You fall into that second category and there were no philosophers in Miami.”
Mr. Shaw was in his late 30s when he met his second wife. After a period of languishing in dating, he met her at a party. “I looked at her and thought ‘Why can’t I meet someone like that’ and then thought ‘Why not’ so I came up to her and we connected again after the party. We’ve been married for 18 years. I’ll say this—marriage is a choice. I don’t like things on my hands but when I wake up in the morning and put on my wedding ring, I see it as a promise of loyalty and love and care and respect. When she comes home from work at the end of the day, I always come to the door to ask her how her day was and that makes me happy. There is a certain satisfaction in duty,” he says.
“I look at some of the Christian girls I went to high school with and I’m a bit jealous of them,” I admit.
“I grew up in a Christian missionary family and my brother followed my parents’ path. He married a girl and has kids and moved to where we grew up. I couldn’t do that. I have bruises and scratches but that’s my life,” says Mr. Shaw.
I take a minute to reflect and realize that if I sit and think about all the things that have happened over the last few years, I would never leave the house. A part of me wishes I had known that part of life was cancer diagnoses and health scares and mental breakdowns and that living requires us to endure those things and prosper regardless.
“People would ask me why my first marriage ended and it wasn’t because of anything specific. It was because we stopped laughing,” Mr. Shaw says.
“The happiest couples have a joie de vivre,” I say.
“That’s a good way of putting it,” he says.
“I recently read that the best romantic relationships are interdependent. Like the tango,” I add.
“That makes sense. They dance together and then someone can twirl away for a bit and come back,” Mr. Shaw laughs.
The conversation then inevitably makes its way to comedy. “I remember when I came to visit you after I graduated, you said that I should be a standup comedian. It’s something that I really struggle with because I feel like I have three sides to me—a softer and quieter side, a businesswoman side, and then a comedian,” I say.
The problem with comedy is that it requires a certain degree of constant sadness. The times in my life when I have been the funniest are also times when I have been the saddest. “Last year I sat with a family I had met in Miami over Shabbat dinner and I made fun of myself over everything that had happened and it was funny in the moment but I went home and cried after,” I share. “But I love it too much to stop.”
“That guy, he didn't understand my humor,” I say.
“How did this man make it past a second date? Your humor, it’s significant,” says Mr. Shaw.
“If things had continued I would have had to lose parts of that,” I say.
“One side of you would have probably come forward more than the other,” he says.
“I think a lot of women like me have this problem. We think that we need to put in a lot of work to get what we want,” I tell Mr. Shaw.
When I reconnected with Marisa, Friend #16, we both admitted that in high school we ran blindly toward the goal of getting the highest mark possible in a class. I studied business because it was practical. A friend of mine studied science because it could mean becoming a doctor and that was honorable.
“I think that if I could go back, I would have gone to McGill for history,” I say. “I don’t think that what we study ends up making that big of a difference as long as we know what we want.”
“That’s my opinion as well. You never know what the demand will be. When I studied teaching everyone told me there would be no jobs. By the time I was done school there were many,” Mr. Shaw says.
“I also think it’s better to leave the house and go away for school,” I add.
“The benefit is that you got to spend more time with your parents and that’s always nice,” says Mr. Shaw.
“I went back to Miami at the end of 2022 and because I missed home, I spent a lot of time at the synagogue,” I say.
“Why hot Rabbi?” jokes Mr. Shaw.
It was a sense of community that drove me there. I tried to understand why I was depressed and the views that could help me fix it. There was a specific class in which I remember the Rabbi sharing a story about brothers Joseph and Reuben from the book of Genesis and he ended the discussion by saying, “People are responsible for each other because without you I am nothing. My accomplishments mean nothing. I am not complete without my brothers and sisters beside me and what I accomplish, imagine how much more I could have accomplished if you were there with me—helping me, pushing me, driving me forward.”
That’s the view I’ve adopted toward life. I think that our happiness lies in the quality of our relationships. In giving and spending time with others. In being the kind of friend who at a base level openly welcomes a friend into their home who may need a place to sleep for the night.
“The question is what is goodness?” says Mr. Shaw.
“For me, I think being more community oriented is good. I have a hard time accepting the other side but there are some people who consider goodness caring exclusively for themselves and retiring by the age of 35,” I say.
I used to think that being close to someone meant that you needed to value what they value. Now I’m not sure that’s always true. I think it means you need to respect what they value.
“Your writing is whimsical,” says Mr. Shaw.
“My dad says I have a very fictional view of things. It’s a French movie attitude,” I say.
“Years ago, we had a Holocaust survivor come to speak at school and she was able to speak about her experiences in a manner that allowed her to control things. She reframed everything to her benefit. I think that’s a great skill,” he says.
“God is dead,” Nietzsche, 1883.
“Nietzsche is dead,” God, 1900.
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