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Being wanted and needed sustains enduring marriages in extended families, but is denied to us in our nuclear isolation. It motivates the actor and the artist, but again is denied to those who perform mechanical functions and can easily be replaced by others. Even the supposedly superficial admiration inspired by appearances is at the heart of the fashion, cosmetic and sex industries. And how superficial is it anyway? By what standards can it be asserted that talent or intellect, say, again accidents of genes compounded by hard work, are more estimable than looks or charm?
Maybe there are some who so far rely on their personalities and their virtues that they need never worry whether they are wanted or not. They sound disgustingly smug to me, and should probably be very worried indeed.
The fact is that once we were needed by merit of our places in society, our roles as providers, parents, kinsmen and servants of a community.
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Today, we are too often left with no peculiar individual roles, and the only acknowledgment which we receive comes in a pay-cheque.
In a role such as mine until that date – a wife but not a mother, nor performing any essential function for anyone – the simple fact of being wanted, of seeing eyes brighten as I entered, men preening, women bridling, the simple sight of myself at last dressed to express something more than ‘I exist’ – was, no doubt pathetically, like a great big refreshing draught from the fount of youth.
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