Notable—And Just Like That, Carrie's 2nd act is turned into a redemption story
But does she need to be redeemed?
When I moved to India in 2006, I was desperate for redemption. It had been almost a year since my other half had gotten on a plane, flown eight time zones away, and then let me know he wanted a divorce.
Certain that I alone had torpedoed my marriage, I wanted to get to the bottom of what was so wrong with me it drove my ex to plot in secret to leave. I sure as hell never wanted that to happen again. In the years that followed, much of what fueled my frenzy for transformation was the knowledge, the fear, that if I were to run into a carbon copy of my ex — or worse, my the man himself — I’d fall for him all over again.
There is evidence. My first piece of writing to appear in a book is an imagined fantasy wherein he takes me back. I sensed this was toxic, even if I didn’t know why. And this is why, the redemption I long for now is for Carrie to snap out of whatever rabbit hole she fell into where the only possible man for her is her old boyfriend, Aidan.
Recycling exes — according to me and Esther Perel — is typically more about staving off anxiety than entering into a new relationship. The way Carrie is handling this situation shows this is no exception. When Aidan’s behavior is unreasonable, Carrie doesn’t object. She changes her expectations.
(Some spoilers ahead, if you can call them that.)
Let’s start with the first, obvious plot fail. The pair agrees to meet at a restaurant, then something like a half-hour passes before either pulls out their phone to hunt up the other. No. This is 2023. At the five-minute mark, you’re checking your phone every ten seconds. By minute twenty, you leave. Old friends get in touch before fifteen minutes pass.
As for their chemistry, fine. Carrie taking him back to her place immediately, I endorse! But just as they’re about to go upstairs— oopsie— Aidan realizes they’re at Carrie’s same old apartment and refuses to go in. We have to assume it’s been a while since either of them has had sex, and yet, he is not joking. Unfazed, Carrie accepts this information and turns to climb up six flights of steps in stilettos, catapulting two hurdles that zero percent of women over fifty would trifle with.
Stopping mid-flight, Aidan turns and offers, “Hey, New York has hotels!” (Not an exact quote but he sounded just that lame, trust.)
Also, come on.
First, how did he not realize until arriving at the apartment that they were heading to that apartment? New York is not that difficult to figure out. The West Village, that street, tiny. More importantly, why is a grown-ass woman okay with this childish behavior? He’s not making a grand romantic gesture. He’s saying, “I will not darken that doorstep. You can’t make me.”
Would sticking out his tongue have made the point clearer to Carrie?
Sure, if our TV heroes didn’t behave badly there would be no shows. My problem is that this development is turning Carrie’s second act into a redemption story. Apparently, she was a real dick to Aidan twenty years ago, so, following that logic, now she must atone.
Nope.
I despise everything about this plot turn. I didn’t tune in to see these iconic figures grappling with trivia. This woman does not need to prove herself worthy to him or anybody she didn’t murder. She needs to find her self-worth.
And yes, I know why this tweaks me. It’s exactly how I failed to move on after my divorce. But all that going doggedly at my flaws? It was like digging in quicksand.
For my personal growth needle to move, I had to look at the story I was telling about my relationship. After getting involved with someone and then losing interest, I finally saw that there was nothing I could’ve done differently to save my marriage. More specifically, that nobody did anything wrong.
What does Carrie do? She asks buddy Miranda, “Was Big was a big mistake?”
And what does Miranda say? Nothing. Literally, no words. Again, like zero close friends over fifty.
The reasonable response would be, “Why do you say that?” I’d give a pass to our flawed Miranda voicing her clear disbelief and saying, “You cannot mean that.” Instead, they make plans for a group dinner.
Meanwhile, the ongoing hotel shenanigans have turned into an Airbnb story where the two are shopping for kitchenware together. Oh, money! Couples never argue about money! La-dee-dah! And at this point, they don’t even pretend to give Carrie a job other than walking up those six flights of steps in stilettos.
Speaking of money, the grand finale build-up hinges on Carrie selling her apartment radically under market value. Now Carrie will be fully unemployed, but at least she and Aidan will be able to live together as one. The untold wealth from she inherited from her husband’s estate enabling her to purchase Aidan’s acceptance.
Except, Aidan still has his whole life, ex-wife, children, and work in, well I’m not exactly sure where. They refer to it often enough, like, wavy arm gesture — Virginia — but the cameras never leave Manhattan. Cute and all but, foreshadow much?
Obviously, I don’t have to beg Carrie, or the writers, to give us a break. This couple is going well off the rails. They will likely have a rending realization that circumstances preclude togetherness again, blech. The real problem is, they’re radically mismatched as a couple. AND THAT’S OKAY!
I didn’t change myself to fix my past. I recast that history to live more fully in the present. Part of that was figuring out how not to turn my back on love that once existed. My ex was not a mistake. Nor was he The One. There is no One. Just possibilities and what I do with them. That allows me to live in a world where I can be open to love without spurning anyone.
What I’m desperate for this show to do is something more interesting. Let’s get Samantha back.
Sam could show up, listen to Carrie blah blah blah into confessing her “mistake” again, and then talks some sense into her.
“Sweetie, you’re thinking with your nethers, here. If it’s hysterical, it’s historical,” in my version, Sam’s been in Al-Anon for years now. “You’re telling me your boyfriend can’t go in your apartment? Not even to help you pack? That’s not a partner, that’s a ghost. You’re worth so much more.”
Then next season, once Carrie has come back into herself by cracking out her typewriter, she writes about her reckoning in her next book, causing a Lillian Hellman/Mary McCarthy-style showdown between our heroine and Aidan’s ex-wife (who asked the author to spare her children her poison pen, but—in my version—this was only because she secretly wanted the narrative to herself). But sigh, I know that plot would be anathema to the show’s girl-power-activate dynamic.
Whatever they do, I want it to be a more nuanced recognition of maturing. Something as sharp and smart as the first iteration.
It’s not that getting back with an ex is impossible, but it has to be an upcycle. In my case, that was only about proving myself to me.
BLISSFUL UPDATE!
And yes! My book is coming out. I’m over on Instagram telling the world. Help an author out? You can preorder your own copy here.
FREE EXCERPT DOWNLOAD:
My friend, author Kathy Ramsperger, has written a beautiful novel based on her work as a journalist in Africa and the Middle East, A Thousand Flying Things.
In the 1990s, Southern Sudan was struggling with disease, a corrupt government, and war. Dianna, an American humanitarian working in the thick of the war-ravaged country, longs to save a mysterious young boy, but her passion for helping others is complicated when chance reunites her with a long-lost love from Beirut. Faced with the choice to pursue integrity and justice or reconnect with the man she still holds dear, Dianna must make the most difficult decision of her life. Or must she? For things are not what they seem.
"A bird in the hand is better than a thousand flying things." -- a Sudanese Proverb
She was NEVER supposed to be with AIDAN!