Born in New York City, raised and educated in California, a world traveler, moving in power circles for much of my professional life, I have had a great deal of exposure to famous people. Governors, Mayors, academic super stars, film and stage personalities, I have met and known a lot of famous people. Some times they are pleasant and competent, and some times they are cardboard figures, propped up by their celebrity or office. Always, they are just people, replete with the foibles of you and me. I have never met a single one who commanded my passion, or dedication, or sacrifice based on their status, or fame.
I never became a fan. Even when young, I never understood the screaming, fainting, and hysteria surrounding Frank Sinatra, or the Beatles. I knew Frank as a pathologically generous and caring man with an enormous talent. I viewed the Beatles as creating a remarkable new form of music, sophisticated and complex. But I never screamed.
I never deluded myself into thinking that I was important in the life of Jerry Brown, or Ed Rendell. I never imaged that Bill Clinton would call and ask for my opinion on Bosnia. I never stood on a street corner to watch them pass. Indeed, I often turned away, hoping to provide a bit of privacy in the public space that they are so often denied by their fans.
I would never rush to crowd around a public figure, assuming that if they were to pat my hand or mutter a phrase in my direction that I would have garnered a bit of that star quality.
I really do not understand the whole process of fandom.
What need creates the belief system that people whom you do not know, value your opinion and views? What allows anyone to wrap themselves in such intensity of feeling for a stranger that they invest that person with such an intent?
These unrequited love affairs with celebrities, or politicians, are doomed to disappointment. They quickly move beyond admiration or respect to obsessive monitoring of every action. They encourage the fan to attribute motives, and interpret actions, that have nothing to do with the fans existence, to people who know nothing at all about the demands and expectations you make.
They create a set of rigid expectation that cast that figure as a direct extension of your own beliefs and views. They create the delusion that you are the star, and that other fellow is just acting on your behalf. They allow you to imagine that any public violation of your personal values is a violation of you - for after all, having adopted the mantle of over identification, the person who is the object of a fan's adoration has become you. It is easy to confuse the decisions made with the decisions you would make.
It is easy to forget that you know almost nothing about the goals, demands and plans of that other, to whom you have linked your very existence. It is easy to express your righteous indignation, your anger, and your frustration with the object of your adoration. You may even decide that you have been betrayed. You may "break up". You may seek "divorce". Interestingly, that scorned other never knows, nor painfully, cares about your sense of betrayal. Your snit. Your tantrum. They are other than you and will never share your world view, or values, to the extent you demand. They are other.
"Tain't right, McGee", said Molly.
It makes no sense to invest so much of your emotional and intellectual energy in the behavior of strangers. It makes no sense to confuse your life with that of famous people who live, unaware of your existence.
Step back. Take a deep breath. Think. Evaluate. Consider. Offer support. Donate, if you can. Vote.
But cut the umbilical which has you linked to the life and identity of someone who you do not know.