“Do you see what that meant? Joe had no friends, because he would expect a lesser degree of the same kind of thing from a friend — expect them to be sharp and clear all the time. So I scrapped every last one of my friends, because you had to make all kinds of allowances for them; you couldn’t take them as seriously as all that. I had to completely change my mind not only about my parents, but about my whole childhood. I’d thought it was a pretty ideal childhood, but now I saw it as just so much cottonwool. I threw out every opinion I owned, because I couldn’t defend them. I think I completely erased myself, Jake, right down to nothing, so I could start over. And you know, the thing is I don’t think I’ll ever really get to be what Joe wants — I’ll always be uncertain, and he’ll always be able to explain his positions better than I can — but there’s nothing else to do but what I’ve done. As Joe says, it’s all there is.”
I shook my head. “Sounds bleak, Rennie.”
“It’s not!” she protested. “Joe’s wonderful; I wouldn’t go back if I could. Don’t forget I chose to do this: I could walk out any time, and he’d support the kids and me.”
But it seemed to me that she chose it as I choose my position in the Progress and Advice Room.
“Joe’s remarkable,” I agreed, “if you go for that sort of thing.”
“Jake, he’s wonderful!” Rennie repeated. “I’ve never seen anybody anything like Joe, I swear. He thinks as straight as an arrow about everything. Sometimes I think that nothing Joe could think about would ever be worth the sharpness of his mind. This will sound ridiculous to you, Jake, but I think of Joe like I’d think of God. Even when he makes a mistake, his reasons for doing what he did are clearer and sharper than anybody else’s. Don’t laugh at that.”
“He’s intolerant,” I suggested.