Proud to Be a Washington Has-Been
I'd rather be a could-be if I cannot be an are; because a could-be is a maybe who is reaching for a star. I'd rather be a has-been than a might-have-been, by far; for a might have-been has never been, but a has was once an are. ~ Milton Berle
A clearly troubled and uncultured misanthrope recently wrote a scathing review of my Amazon bestseller, The Foreign Circus: Why Foreign Policy Should Not Be Left in the Hands of Diplomats, Spies and Political Hacks, denouncing me as "a classic Washington has-been." The previous year a p.c.-addled culture-warrior dismissed me as a "Male, Pale, and Yale misogynistic, self-centered, and angry FS officer." I confess to the first two failings; but substitute "Columbia" for "Yale" on that last one, even though it doesn't rhyme. Misogynistic, I am not, but I could perhaps be a tad self-centered as well as angry on occasion. We authors can also be thin skinned. Sulphuric reviews deflate our egos and get our imaginations all worked up in very unconstructive ways. I mean neither of these individuals knows me. How would they know I am a "has-been" much less an angry, self-centered, male, pale and Yale misogynist? As I read the older review, I pictured a mirthless, 30-something virgin who reads biographies of Gloria Steinem and Noam Chomsky, wickedly tapping out her vicious book review in her sack cloth moo-moo while devouring a pound of Kit Kats. She dreams of being appointed ambassadress to Papua New Guinea by age 59 as the crowning achievement of her plodding career in the depths of bureaucracy. As for the last reviewer, who also derided me as a "narcissist," it is crystal clear to me that she combines the social skills of Carrie Nation with the moral leanings of Lorne Malvo. Her idea of a productive pastime is collecting the fecal leavings of other people's dogs in public parks.
Oops. See what I mean about thin skinned and unconstructive? A thug might act on such verbal attacks with physical force. Writers, on the other hand, marshal their arsenal of mental weapons and deploy them on paper and pixels. Did you know that the riled brain produces natural steroids which, in turn, stimulate extreme, contorted thoughts? Yeah, true. Google it.
But I digress.
I want Comrade Sack Cloth, Citizen Carrie Malvo and the world to know that I am proud to be a Washington has-been. I view being a has-been as far more worthy than being a never-was. Given my humble origins, I actually should've remained a never-was. My tenth grade geometry teacher, utterly frustrated with my impenetrable math mind, drove this point home when he gathered up my book and lessons and hurled them into a waste basket, spluttering, "Bruno. The only thing you're good for is picking berries and onions on a muck farm. Get out of here!" He was one of many childhood mentors who gave me encouragement to realize my dreams. Others were my third grade teacher, Mrs. Robinson, who, a spiritual heir to Torquemada, delighted in delivering regular corporal punishment on eight-year old boys. And then there was my hard-of-hearing high school guidance counselor who'd never even heard of any of the schools on my college target list. Perversely, however, this dearth of early positive guidance compelled me to show them all up, to propel myself to strive to be at least a might-have-been in the great outside world far from my podunk hometown. A might-have-been is far better than a never-was. Better yet, an ambitious young man like myself could perhaps even attain that vaunted position on the karmic cycle, a wannabe!
So, after college, I made my career hegira to Washington as an aspiring-wannabe. On the scale of Life's Hope, aspiring-wannabe lies just above never-was, but on the road to the jackpot "arrived." The latter, of course, is interpreted liberally by legions of self-styled Beltway arrivistes. A 23-year old Hill staffer in the employ of a powerful member of Congress displays his/her "arrival" status by pushing around sub-Cabinet-level officials and their aides. Self-styled arrivees inside the federal bureaucracy demonstrate their graduation from wannabe status through ruthless turf wars with other bureaucrats, sucking up to the powerful and incessantly bragging. Ted Cruz wrote the book on arrivalism in DC.
Having decided upon marrying and having kids to jump off the DC merry-go-round, I eagerly embraced becoming a has-been. I would join an illustrious list of losers who had served in public service, including the likes of John Edwards, Anthony Weiner, Arnold Schwartzenegger, Elliott Spitzer, Buddy Cianci and Rod Blagojevich. Not that I'd ever achieved anything near their fame/notoriety mind you. As a career civil servant, I add "nobody" to my title of "has-been." But coming from a long line of distinguished and honorable peasants, I am content with my lot.
My models are reconstructed has-beens like Jimmy Carter and David Petraeus as opposed to unreconstructed has-beens like George W. Bush and Reagan's shamed National Security Advisor, John Poindexter. Of course, there is always hope for the latter. Over time, Bush-43, for example, could ascend to pre-reconstructed has-been.
And then there are the future has-beens, which include everybody running for president on the Republican ticket. Keep a close eye on that lot.
I don't know who the patron saint of has-beens is, but I hope that holy figure is looking over me. Meanwhile, I need to work on my narcissism, self-centeredness, anger and misogyny.