natalie's exciting life

I had a realization when I finished re-reading Gatsby yesterday.

We write Jay Gatsby off as delusional, the tragic centerpiece of a cautionary tale. The truth is, we have all suffered (or will suffer) from the Gatsby complex at some point in our lives. It is so easy to become enamoured with a person or an idea to the point at which our infatuation moves beyond the reality of the subject and explodes into a fantastical illusion. We see what we want to and the things we fall for inevitably transform into canvases on which we project our ideal world, our deepest desires. Gatsby took his to the extreme, but we’d be lying if we claimed to have lived without at least one Daisy Buchanan in our lives, one object of desire that transcends its original form and moves to some green light on a dock across the bay.

I suppose Fitzgerald’s novel is an instruction manual on how not to handle your green light. So the question remains, how do we deal with it? How do we prevent our fondness for someone or something from spiraling out of our—not to mention their—control? And once it has, how do we stop it?

I’d like to read a novel about that.