You've stumbled upon the blog of Paul Malan. I love my family, I love to write, I love to ride my bikes, and I love to take pictures. Maybe someday I'll think of something clever or arresting to say right here.Before I started kindergarten, a little boy my age lived across the street. I don’t even remember his name or any detail about his family, but I remember I stood crying on his front porch, wearing a cape my mother had made me, as their car drove away for the last time. Partially because I don’t make friends easily and partially because the friends I have usually stay put, that is the only time I remember being upset when a friend moved away.
It’s been 26 years since then, and like all men I’ve learned a few rules society expects me to follow—for example, that men shouldn’t wear capes in public. Additionally, men should never be seen crying at a movie, unless it’s “Brian’s Song,” which gets a free pass based on its football theme. Men shouldn’t drink diet sodas or use blow-dryers. Men should be able to earn money, spit loogies, throw footballs, excel at math and science, fix cars, and urinate effortlessly while standing elbow-to-elbow with other men. (Burly bonus points are awarded for men who can do all these things simultaneously.) There are countless other rules we’re expected to follow, but perhaps none is more widely understood than this: A man must never express emotional appreciation for another man unless the two are related.
But society’s unwritten rules are stupid, so tonight I intend to stand in defiance against them. You may decide it makes me less of a man, but the time has come for me to boldly and unapologetically declare: I sit down to pee. Almost every time.
I know, it’s not masculine. I know, it makes me a little weird. But having been given the option by nature to sit or stand, and having auditioned each method since I left diapers, I can confidently say that I have found the method that I prefer. Society would call me names, but I am a sitter. Deal with it.
As long as I’m ignoring the constraints that society, common sense, and pride typically impose, I should also confess that I was sincerely upset to learn that my friend Merritt will soon be moving to Arizona. I knew he had been considering an opportunity to manage a business down there, and I knew he would be successful if he chose to go, but for entirely selfish reasons I hoped he would not.
Merritt and I talked frequently about the decision over the past few weeks, and I found myself fighting the inclination to tell him what I wanted to hear—that Redmond’s culture, Utah’s mountains, and our friend Soon’s curry can’t be beat. But I didn’t say those things because I was sure he already recognized them. Other things seemed more relevant: A guy who can graduate BYU with a 3.9 and score 740 on the GMAT isn’t going to fail at very much in life. He isn’t wired to spend his entire career at the company he interned with. He would probably regret not going more than he would regret taking the risk.
So he’s going, as I suppose I could have guessed early on, but his final decision this morning stung more than I expected. A four-year-old boy can cry on his friend’s porch, but a 30-year-old man ought to know better, so I sat through a four-hour meeting trying to do long division in my head to keep from crying in front of my coworkers. For reasons I can’t seem to elucidate, Merritt is an irreplaceable friend, and I can’t help feeling genuine sadness at his parting.
Operating under society’s unwritten rules for men, which are aggravated by the Mormon culture in which I live, it is especially rare to find a friend with whom I can discuss self-doubt, religion, philosophy, or any other topic that springs to mind. It is rarer still to find someone willing to challenge even my boldest assertions, who recognizes my weaknesses without excuse and encourages me to overcome them without judgment, who understands my jokes, and who somehow sees more in me than I see in myself. Only my wife has heard me speak more plainly about the topics that matter most. Is it really so unusual that I should cry when I contemplate such a friend moving away?
My wife tried to cheer me up by joking, “You guys IM each other when you’re sitting 10 feet apart at work, right? So keep IMing each other. What’s really going to change?” She doesn’t understand the challenge involved in sending a well-timed IM to get the other person to break the silence of the office with an unbidden laugh, but on some level she has a point. I’m not four years old, which means friendship can endure and even increase by email, blog, and occasional visits. But I know the potential effect of the change, and even at its best it simply can’t be the same as it is now. Frankly, “the same” has really meant a lot to me these past couple of years, more than I had realized before this morning.
Anyway, I am sorry. And a little bit surprised that you pee sitting down. No judgment there, mind you, just surprise. You can still be a man in my book.
(And best of luck to Merritt, who I don't even know, but must be a great guy!)