Resentment Bank

 Last night Wifey and I watched "Stutz," a documentary about funny Jonah Hill's longtime psychiatrist. It was well done and interesting, but the whole film can be distilled into Jonah was a fat, awkward 14 year old with Mommy issues who, despite finding huge success in Hollywood, still is a pile of anxieties and self doubt.

His doctor Stutz is a wise, Bronx born Jew, now 74, also with Mommy issues he can never resolve because his is dead. Hill's appeared in the film saying she loved her son and wanted to see him more. Stutz was never married, but had a "complicated" relationship with a woman of 40 years duration (Wifey inferred she may be married to someone else) and is now declining with Parkinson's Disease. Yeah -- no laugh fest, but thought provoking.

And that led to our talks -- about the nature of our lives and marriage. And I returned to one of the visual analogies, like Dr. Stutz employs. The Resentment Bank.

Over a long marriage, each partner makes deposits into the Bank. Maybe  Wifey made me feel badly about something I did for her. Maybe I insulted a friend of hers. Maybe we each wished, over the decades, that we reacted differently to each other's schtick, as my dear late Mom would call it.

Well, it seems to me if enough withdrawals aren't made, the marriage ends, or it should. What good is having a Bank of purely negative assets?

But if you're lucky, and on the same page about the deep issues of life, the withdrawals come in huge chunks -- and make up for a LOT of the insidious deposits.

For Wifey and me, that's meant our Ds, and the manifold blessings they have brought to us. Our Ds' weddings were two of the finest nights of our lives -- hosting just about everyone important to us in our lives with great food and dancing and laughter -- celebrating the Ds finding wonderful life partners.

And now, the grandparent gig -- again sharing those two precious little men, after raising girls -- means everything.

Fortunately, there are plenty of other withdrawals from the Resentment Bank -- delightful trips, which I am typically nonplussed about, Wifey pushes me, and then I have the most wonderful time.

And, of course, being there for each other -- fulfilling the one wedding vow we borrowed from Dylan -- being each other's shelter from the storms of life.

There are periods when it seems the Deposits are all that there are. I used to make them all the time when I would do things I was SURE would make Wifey happy, only to be wildly disappointed when they didn't have that effect.

And then wisdom came. I realized the idea that someone owed us happiness in life is a juvenile thought -- only toddlers and children are owed that by their parents. No -- I came to understand that one person in this big crazy world is responsible for making me happy -- and it's me! Likewise, one person in the same world is responsible for Wifey's happiness -- and despite my huge ego, it AIN'T me -- it's Wifey herself. And that has made a YUUUUGE difference, as Wifey would say in the traces of her Canarsie accent.

Ah, Harry P Schultz was so on point. It's funny how an Organic Chemistry professor could share sage advice having nothing to do with chemistry. He told us "We are ALL students in the study of human nature." Absolutely.

Jonah Hill was asked to share what he was most thankful for in his life, and one thing was "my nephews," and no mention of a romantic partner of kids of his own. I hope he finds those -- the Ds have been the people given to me in my life who have taught me the sacredness of unconditional love. D1 has learned it for herself now, with her toddler and baby.

A basic part of Stutz's pyramid of happiness is a healthy body, and feeling good about yourself in that regard. So I'm off in a bit to see Juan, who I really dig and can't stand at the same time -- he makes me sweat and physically work, which SO goes against my nature of loving to instead eat breakfast and talk.

But I see the rewards -- in mobility, and balance, and strength. I always joke with his other clients, who tend to my 40 to 50 year old attractive women types, that my goal is to get to South Beach in a Speedo. They always spit out their water, and then feel bad that maybe this near 62 year old fat guy is serious. When I assure them I was teasing (and then throw in a line about having naturally brown hair and it appearing gray only because my hairstylist colors it), we all get a laugh. Wifey has figured out I have a repertoir of about 20 jokes and funny lines I use over and over, like telling a server who asks if I want a drink that I would, but that I forgot my ID. 

Wifey's correct. Often I think she's not paying attention, but she truly does know me. And I know her. And we both will work at keeping the Resentment Bank barely solvent.