Navigating our way through early twenties, most conversations with friends have been about jobs, relationships, future aspirations and lowering expectations. As a ‘hangout’ seems to last longer than 2 hours, these conversations with friends turn into a rant on philosophy, life and the need to escape from this world. Most often, beyond 4 hours, these conversations with friends turn into those about longing and nostalgia. I had a conversation with a friend just last night, where we talked about how sometimes, you don’t miss people – you miss the relationship you had with them, which cannot be salvaged anymore – and that’s okay. This morning, I found myself at a café with another friend, reading a book I am planning to write my midterm essay on next week. The conversation from last night had escaped my mind but came rushing back as a read A Dialogue on Love by Eve Sedgwick with occasional but cherished “oh my gods” from my friend whose Russian class is blowing her mind.

For my last semester at Berkeley, I chose to take a class on Psychoanalysis and Jewish Literature. While I was expecting no less than to be amazed by this class, I think it has introduced me to my new favourite piece of contemporary literature. We read works by Melanie Klein, Winnicott, and several other clinicians and psychologists. We’ve also read Jewish authors like Ronit Matalon and David Grossman, which are beyond insightful. However, A Dialogue on Love by Eve Sedgwick is a book with gorgeous form, simple language and complex concepts that not only force you to think but also to laugh, and to just take a step back to understand yourself. The book is majorly a dialogue between Eve and her therapist, Shannon, with occasional haikus making an appearance and Shannon’s notes on Eve added at regular intervals. Going back to my opening thoughts, I would like to quote a part of the book here and talk about it:

My ambivalence. After the session, Shannon writes down his home phone

number on his card–I’m supposed to call from the Midwest if I feel awful again this weekend. I put it in my pocket and sort of forget about it. Getting home an hour or two later, I reach into my pocket, happy to find his card there. What a comforting thing to have and hold. I take it out and look at his round handwriting with pleasure, then put it back in my pocket. Immediately I think: gee, these pants are dirty; since I am leaving for Notre Dame at seven A.M., if I am going to wash then it had better be right this minute.

A Dialogue on Love, Eve Sedgwick

This part of the book really got to me. He is her therapist, that she seems to most often be annoyed with or suspicious about, but what I just discovered was the presence of Ogden’s Analytic Third here. The Analytic Third is a concept that draws attention towards the presence of an unconscious space of understanding between two people, where although they might not understand each other entirely, there is a space of mutual understanding between the two where unconscious thoughts are exchanged without verbal expression. Here, the analytic third seems to be this card that he has annotated and given to Eve, to have and hold. The relationships that I was talking about with my friend last night, they perhaps did have that analytic third, they provided the comfort that you cannot find within yourself, neither can you find in someone else – you find it in a space in between where both parties have made equal effort to present themselves. While I am no expert on the subject and have broadened the horizons of the third from a therapist-client relationship to any other, I truly believe it exists. It provides a safety net. Why do we call some people for help only when we’re sick? Some others only when we want to go out and have a good time? And some others who just exist in our lives are as omniscient presence – always there, knowing exactly how we feel?

I genuinely suppose that we are so distracted by our insecurities and problems in this day and age, that genuine human connection is oftentimes majorly ignored. Perhaps my perspective differs from those of yours, dear readers, but I think my experience also stems from being an international student, far away from home. Home being a 24-hour journey away, you are forced to make a home with yourself it in. Friends can be a part of that home, but when you are culturally different with a massive gap in how you’ve been brought up, there’s a learning curve to understand how people exist around you. However, this home that we create far away from home, requires us to be alert at all times. Alert, awake, functioning and responsible. This is when you don’t miss the people but the relationships that feel like home. I was lucky enough to be living with the kind of people who felt like home in my early years at Berkeley – being the “baby” of the apartment. I don’t miss those people in my life because we are still very much in touch, but you miss their presence. You miss the late night calls from that one friend saying, “Get dressed, I want dutch bros and you’re coming with me.” Similarly, I suppose, despite Eve has a husband, a strong group of friends, she finds a different form of comfort in having her therapist’s number with her in case she feels “awful”. I love the use of that word here, mainly because it really reflects upon the intensity of the feeling, and the depth of a relationship with is so professional but also, oh so intimate.

Yes, I suppose that was it for my brain talking itself out to understand what I should write my essay on. Back to work. Thanks for reading, and I hope you cherish your analytic thirds with people as much as you should.

Muskaan Darshan

7th March, 2025