What does it really mean to care about someone?
Lately, every sort of caring seems to be a variation of self-care.
It is against the nature to care about anyone except yourself. It is unwise, it is ridiculous, it is „way off”.
To be cared for – well, this is even worse. It is the contemporary man’s worst nightmare (and his innermost wish).
These days, looking after someone – or being looked after – is the wildest idea one could come up with: a sad need, something that has to be actively repressed.
So of course we brought pets into our homes. Looking after a pet is our ultimate emotional adventure. A pet is that little cuddly furry rewarding something we can safely care for. We are cowards and misanthropes, but we could just die for our cat.
I have read somewhere that people these days have no problems with revealing their most bizarre sexual and aggressive impulses, but they have real trouble in expressing their agape feelings. I wish Freud were alive to see psychoanalysis reversing itself, like a glove turned inside out.
There are probably too many pets in our flats, and just a few, very lonely people.