He files away the fact about Peggy being the one who could tell he was inventing, though whether it's through knowledge about Ginsberg's past or an ability to tell when he's lying, Ned doesn't know.
That downward spiral sounds eerily, even unsettlingly familiar to Ned. He wouldn't have thought, for any problems he might have, that Ginsberg would have felt that kind of radical, fundamental self-doubt. He's never met anyone who has before, or who has admitted to it. Oh, there were plenty of folks with their identity crises, not wanting to be who their parents wanted them to be, feeling lost in an indifferent world that had no place for their unique selves. But they took for granted certain assumptions about themselves that Ned couldn't. He wonders what it is about Ginsberg that makes him different from the rest. But he's not here to solve the other man, like some kind of puzzle. He's here to help him out of the dark, to re-ravel him.
"It sounds a lot less crazy than you'd think." He pauses, choosing his words with care, "I can see why you'd want to come here, and why you wouldn't want to leave. There are no distractions in here, and no one watching you, which is good when you feel like you don't even know which way is up or down, right?"
Ned might have shared a similar doubt, but that doesn't mean he has a solution at hand, some method of dealing with it to recommend. He wishes he did. Truth is, when he started to think too much about his life or his identity or the impossibility of it all, he made pies until he ran out of ingredients. That's not gonna work, for Ginsberg. But neither is just sitting here in the dark, letting that momentum carry him further down the spiral.
"Is it any help if I tell you I'm pretty sure you exist?" He holds out his hand in offer, to reinforce that solidity, to give Ginsberg something to hold onto. "Even if everything else is a bit undecided, that's somewhere to start, isn't it?"
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That downward spiral sounds eerily, even unsettlingly familiar to Ned. He wouldn't have thought, for any problems he might have, that Ginsberg would have felt that kind of radical, fundamental self-doubt. He's never met anyone who has before, or who has admitted to it. Oh, there were plenty of folks with their identity crises, not wanting to be who their parents wanted them to be, feeling lost in an indifferent world that had no place for their unique selves. But they took for granted certain assumptions about themselves that Ned couldn't. He wonders what it is about Ginsberg that makes him different from the rest. But he's not here to solve the other man, like some kind of puzzle. He's here to help him out of the dark, to re-ravel him.
"It sounds a lot less crazy than you'd think." He pauses, choosing his words with care, "I can see why you'd want to come here, and why you wouldn't want to leave. There are no distractions in here, and no one watching you, which is good when you feel like you don't even know which way is up or down, right?"
Ned might have shared a similar doubt, but that doesn't mean he has a solution at hand, some method of dealing with it to recommend. He wishes he did. Truth is, when he started to think too much about his life or his identity or the impossibility of it all, he made pies until he ran out of ingredients. That's not gonna work, for Ginsberg. But neither is just sitting here in the dark, letting that momentum carry him further down the spiral.
"Is it any help if I tell you I'm pretty sure you exist?" He holds out his hand in offer, to reinforce that solidity, to give Ginsberg something to hold onto. "Even if everything else is a bit undecided, that's somewhere to start, isn't it?"