I’m a Miranda.
If you don’t know what that means, well, no point reading this post.
“Miranda, she kind of strikes the dark note.
I had to find a way to give full vent to her anger and her pain but still have her be be somebody you wanted to watch. Not like ‘Oh my God, I can’t see that woman, she’s always unhappy. Lets go look at Charlotte.’
To give full vent to it but still make her a person you cared about and worried about and empathized with.”
Cynthia Nixon, New York Times, 2008-05-30
Ms. Nixon, brilliant as she is, has just explained the challenge that each of us Mirandas has, though we don’t have the luxury of not really being Miranda, the luxury of having good writers, great designers and a director to keep us clear.
I “kind of strike the dark notes.” And while I am not always unhappy, I know it is easy for people to see me that way.
And yet, like Miranda, who, as a lawyer, has to be solid and businesslike all day, serious and heads-down, I know that my situation also blocks me from expressing that happiness. I have to be that serious, that focused, that non-indulgent in a way that Carrie, Charlotte and Samantha just don’t do.
Miranda is empathetic because you see her sweetness & joy when she is with her friends, in the moments when she is not working. In the movie, she sees her marriage as work to be done, and that means she loses the joy and delight and comfort in it, that it gets dry and brittle.
But without those moments of sweetness & joy, as Ms. Nixon knows, Miranda is easy to leave. That’s why since Southern Comfort 2007, my own quest has been exposing my own vulnerability.
I keep my head down so much. And I don’t have that circle of friends to celebrate with, even celebrating our own pain by being allowed to feel it.
And that keeps me suffering and separated.
Unless, of course, I am actually able to show my sweetness & joy.