I love that people tell me their stories. My head is full of these memories, details, and endings that I've decided shouldn't stay locked in my head. Therefore, with no specific number in mind, I'll post one a day until I don't feel like doing it anymore or you beg me to stop. I say they'll be mostly true because I will change names and other details that would reveal the subjects' identities. I might also embellish to fill in details where the memory has gotten fuzzy. Before you ask, yes - some of the stories are mine, and while you're welcome to guess, I won't tell which they are. If you know me well and already know the stories, I'll ask you to just bear with me and not rat me out!
Mostly True Story #5: The Best Laid Plans?
Olivia was doing a study abroad semester in the United States. Being the incredibly beautiful girl with an accent, she didn't want for attention from the guys in her classes. Despite the abundance of attention, she had eyes only for Jake. He was far from indifferent to her, and the pair formed an attachment that was to last beyond the semester and continue after Olivia had returned to Italy.
Because this was before most people had Internet at home and overseas telephone calls were a luxury reserved for very special occasions only, Olivia embraced what she thought of as an old-fashioned romance. She wrote to Jake often, at least once a week, but frequently more. She awaited his letters with eagerness, and when they arrived, and they did regularly - albeit less so than Olivia's letters to him, she was happy and looked forward more and more to summer break, when she was planning to return to America to see him.
Finally, the time drew near, and she wrote to Jake to tell him she would be buying her plane ticket soon, and she asked him to confirm that the dates she was looking at were good for him too. A week went by with no response. Then another week went by. The end of the third week finally brought a response.
Jake's conscience had gotten the better of him, and the pages and pages of his letter explained to Olivia how he just couldn't allow her to spend the money on the trip, knowing that he really didn't feel anything for her. You see, her letters really boosted his ego. Reading them felt good, and so he wrote back just enough to ensure that the letters kept coming. It wasn't that he didn't care about her at all; it was just that he had no romantic desire for her, and as the months carried on, he couldn't ever seem to make himself tell her. He'd been sitting there hoping that she'd lose interest or that some other catalyst would take care of the deed for him, sparing him the necessity of hurting a friend.
At first, Olivia was heartbroken. She cried to every girlfriend she knew. Then, she got mad. She spent hours composing responses, then crumpling them up and throwing them away. Eventually, in a fit, she called the travel agent and bought a plane ticket. She knew where Jake hung out and had this beautiful plan all laid out in her head. She imagined herself strolling into the bar in her sexiest outfit, ordering a drink, and after taking one long, slow sip of it as she approached him, throwing it directly into his face and then leaving without a word.
Well, she put on that sexy outfit and showed up at the bar. She ordered a pomegranate mojito and spotted Jake at a booth on the far end of the bar - and he was with a girl, all the better. She grinned as she wound up for the toss, but then stopped in her tracks when her ears picked up the thread of conversation coming from Jake's mouth.
"...so trust me," he was saying to his female companion, who was tearstained and surrounded by a pile of tissues, "men are scum. No listen - I let this amazing girl, Olivia, think I was into her for way too long just because she stroked my ego. I'm not proud of it, but it happens, and that's what this guy is doing to you. We can smell our own kind and I'm telling you..." The rest of his sentence was cut off by the sputtering he'd succumbed to as ten ounces of top-shelf liquor and mint leaves hit him full in the face.
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
14 January, 2010
13 January, 2010
Mostly True Stories #4
I love that people tell me their stories. My head is full of these memories, details, and endings that I've decided shouldn't stay locked in my head. Therefore, with no specific number in mind, I'll post one a day until I don't feel like doing it anymore or you beg me to stop. I say they'll be mostly true because I will change names and other details that would reveal the subjects' identities. I might also embellish to fill in details where the memory has gotten fuzzy. Before you ask, yes - some of the stories are mine, and while you're welcome to guess, I won't tell which they are. If you know me well and already know the stories, I'll ask you to just bear with me and not rat me out!
Mostly True Story #4: The Cow Whisperer
The "my big, fat..." jokes were not spoiled on Claire when she started dating Aristaeus, who was just about as Greek as they come. They dated off and on for several months, but around the time Ari cited his not having been held enough as a child (did I mention that Ari was a psychology major?) to explain his intimacy issues, Claire was ready to accept that it was over.
Still, like you do when your love life isn't what you'd like it to be, Claire came upon Ari's name in her mental Rolodex and told me she was thinking of calling him up. She had, as the mind cruelly allows us to, romanticized the memory of her time with him and talked herself into believing he really hadn't been that bad. In fact, his little... quirks... had even begun to seem charming.
This is where I felt the need to remind her not only of the "not held enough as a child" thing, but of the last time he got drunk while they were dating. First of all, he drank and drove. Big no-no. If that weren't bad enough though, while he was driving drunk through some farmland, he had what he would later describe as a deep, spiritual experience. You see, he came across this cow... just standing there by the road, and well, all that wine Ari had drunk allowed him to really connect with the cow and see the cosmos in a whole, new... you get the idea. Maybe I'm naïve, but I like to think that most people, upon waking up the next day realizing that they'd had some drunken conversation with livestock, would either be embarrassed or at least work it into a funny story. Is that what Ari did, though? Noooo no no no no, he did not. He really thinks that cow was some kind of messenger of the gods.
The moral of the story: Beware the Cow Whisperers, the ones your mind turns to out of loneliness or sexual frustration, and not because they'd actually be the partner you're trying to convince yourself they could be.
Mostly True Story #4: The Cow Whisperer
The "my big, fat..." jokes were not spoiled on Claire when she started dating Aristaeus, who was just about as Greek as they come. They dated off and on for several months, but around the time Ari cited his not having been held enough as a child (did I mention that Ari was a psychology major?) to explain his intimacy issues, Claire was ready to accept that it was over.
Still, like you do when your love life isn't what you'd like it to be, Claire came upon Ari's name in her mental Rolodex and told me she was thinking of calling him up. She had, as the mind cruelly allows us to, romanticized the memory of her time with him and talked herself into believing he really hadn't been that bad. In fact, his little... quirks... had even begun to seem charming.
This is where I felt the need to remind her not only of the "not held enough as a child" thing, but of the last time he got drunk while they were dating. First of all, he drank and drove. Big no-no. If that weren't bad enough though, while he was driving drunk through some farmland, he had what he would later describe as a deep, spiritual experience. You see, he came across this cow... just standing there by the road, and well, all that wine Ari had drunk allowed him to really connect with the cow and see the cosmos in a whole, new... you get the idea. Maybe I'm naïve, but I like to think that most people, upon waking up the next day realizing that they'd had some drunken conversation with livestock, would either be embarrassed or at least work it into a funny story. Is that what Ari did, though? Noooo no no no no, he did not. He really thinks that cow was some kind of messenger of the gods.
The moral of the story: Beware the Cow Whisperers, the ones your mind turns to out of loneliness or sexual frustration, and not because they'd actually be the partner you're trying to convince yourself they could be.
10 July, 2009
The Stars Agree
As a quick addendum to yesterday's post, my horoscope for today says:
Aries: You often push the envelope when you become excited about what you are doing. But now your enthusiasm might be less about what you do than what you say. Although you could be slow to discuss your ideas for fear of rejection, once you start talking it may be tough for you to stop. Don't overplay your hand. Share what's most important and then be quiet.
So there.
Aries: You often push the envelope when you become excited about what you are doing. But now your enthusiasm might be less about what you do than what you say. Although you could be slow to discuss your ideas for fear of rejection, once you start talking it may be tough for you to stop. Don't overplay your hand. Share what's most important and then be quiet.
So there.
09 July, 2009
I'm Just Not That Into This Advice
After yesterday's post, I got an interesting response Direct-Messaged to me on Twitter. To paraphrase, it said, "Did you read that book He's Just Not That Into You? If a guy's interested, he'll say so, and there won't be all those mixed-signals and difficulty."
I understand that this advice was kindly meant, but I can't help but find it to be tragically flawed. The responder (who was female) seems to have this misconception that somehow maleness negates things like confusion, uncertainty, apprehension, fear of rejection... need I go on? If I have hangups and haven't had the guts to come out and tell the boy "you know what? I know this complicates things, but I like you in a more-than-friends way and I really think we should explore where this could lead," then why should I assume, simply because he is male, that he's exempt from the same things that make me hesitate?
I have baggage, so I get weighed down. Well, if you remember from yesterday, if the goal is to find someone with baggage that compliments mine, then it's only natural to assume he's going to get weighed down too, and by a set of experiences that might give him altogether different reasons to keep his mouth shut. None of this means, however, that one or the other won't eventually get to a point where the timing and level of trust are right to take the risk and speak up, and I want to ask the advice-giver if she ever stopped to think that often the things you have to wait for and work for are the most rewarding.
Oh yeah, and while I do appreciate it when a guy acknowledges my femininity (such as it is), I'm not missish enough to expect that in the year 2009, it falls on the man to call, ask for a date, or otherwise make a move first. Personally, I think it's about timing, confidence, and readiness to accept consequences of taking that action (and being prepared for it if the outcome isn't the one you were hoping for) and again, I don't see that as being limited to one gender or another.
Maybe I'm wrong though. What do you think, gentlemen? Feel free to comment anonymously, but I know you're out there. Please tell me if I'm right and you're also just not that into the notion that girls are the only ones allowed to be afraid of getting hurt.
P.S. before you comment - yes, I do make room for the possibility that one reason for a guy not saying he's interested could very well be that he is not interested.
I understand that this advice was kindly meant, but I can't help but find it to be tragically flawed. The responder (who was female) seems to have this misconception that somehow maleness negates things like confusion, uncertainty, apprehension, fear of rejection... need I go on? If I have hangups and haven't had the guts to come out and tell the boy "you know what? I know this complicates things, but I like you in a more-than-friends way and I really think we should explore where this could lead," then why should I assume, simply because he is male, that he's exempt from the same things that make me hesitate?
Oh yeah, and while I do appreciate it when a guy acknowledges my femininity (such as it is), I'm not missish enough to expect that in the year 2009, it falls on the man to call, ask for a date, or otherwise make a move first. Personally, I think it's about timing, confidence, and readiness to accept consequences of taking that action (and being prepared for it if the outcome isn't the one you were hoping for) and again, I don't see that as being limited to one gender or another.
Maybe I'm wrong though. What do you think, gentlemen? Feel free to comment anonymously, but I know you're out there. Please tell me if I'm right and you're also just not that into the notion that girls are the only ones allowed to be afraid of getting hurt.
P.S. before you comment - yes, I do make room for the possibility that one reason for a guy not saying he's interested could very well be that he is not interested.
08 July, 2009
I brought you flours.
I have had several conversations in the past week or so (in person, via email, on Twitter and Facebook) that have, in some form or other, touched on the subject of romantic relationships - the potential for them, what to do in various situations once they've been entered into, whether this or that is worth putting up with, working through, fighting over, or fighting for - concerning myself, various friends, and even my mom. If the run-on nature of that sentence isn't enough to convey how dizzying it all is, then you are probably very stable, level-headed, and smug-married with boring friends.
This Wednesday's Stranger Than Fiction topic: Love.
Do you know the word stumblejohn? I didn't until recently, when I learned that that's the word for what I am when it comes to expressing matters of the heart. Harold Crick, for example, is a classic stumblejohn, though not an irredeemable one. He does manage to go from sitting alone while the beautiful Ana hates him with all her might on the other side of the window, to living happily ever after on a diet of cookies and love, and all it took was the constant threats of impending death issued by a disembodied voice to give him some perspective.
I'm not sure where Harold's hangups came from, but for me, I think it has to do with trying to balance the desire to be honest and take a risk that might be worth it versus the desire to not be exposed to heartache or embarrassment. Oddly enough, this holds true for both potential beginnings and endings, if the ending is one of those "we just grew apart" kinds of things. Sometimes the feelings that suddenly need to be discussed are our own; sometimes, the issue is that we're getting a vibe from someone else. Sometimes, it's a combination of the two, and that, my friends is the kryptonite of the quixotic stumblejohn.
To quote another fictional expert on relationship ruination, Greg House, M.D. issued one of my favorite lines when it comes to this sort of debacle. He said, "it might not be easy, but it is simple," or something to that effect, and I couldn't agree more. The simplicity lies in having to choose from one of only two options: speak up, or don't. The hard part comes after that. If you decide to speak, there comes the agonizing over choosing the right words to say exactly what you mean with the right levels of class and dignity. This is especially difficult if there's a friendship you want to preserve - whether you're wanting to remain friends after breaking up, or you want to remain friends in spite of the other person possibly not sharing your more-than-platonic feelings. If you stay silent, then you have to watch the opportunity pass you by and wonder what might have happened if you'd had a little more courage.
Harold, of course, gets it just right. Ana is a baker who deals in blunt honesty but has a sense of humor, so his one-two combo of "I brought you flours," and "I want you" is a solid win. Hell, that'd work on me.
Despite the title of their movie, this I feel is too strange to be anything but fiction. Harold and Ana are clearly a couple of messed-up individuals, but neither of them really seems to have any baggage. I just listened to the audio recording of David Sedaris's When You Are Engulfed In Flames, and in one of the stories, he hit on a point that pretty much sums it all up. Once you've experienced heartache, you are then officially in posession of Relationship Baggage, and your only real hope of a successful relationshp in the future lies in finding someone whose baggage goes with yours, so you can have a complete set.
I actually think that's a fairly realistic hope, and I suppose that's why I do eventually manage to muster just barely enough courage to speak up, even if my best efforts tend to wind up nowhere near as clear and sophisticated as I'd like them to be. Instead, the outcome seems to effectively be the same as if I'd tried to ask someone how many quarts are in a gallon, and getting a response informing me that the square root of 4 is 2. Both parties are most likely wondering what the hell the other is talking about, and not entirely sure where to go with it.
This is why it amazes the hell out of me when I realize that I actually know quite a few happily paired couples. I wonder what would happen if I go back to:
This Wednesday's Stranger Than Fiction topic: Love.
Do you know the word stumblejohn? I didn't until recently, when I learned that that's the word for what I am when it comes to expressing matters of the heart. Harold Crick, for example, is a classic stumblejohn, though not an irredeemable one. He does manage to go from sitting alone while the beautiful Ana hates him with all her might on the other side of the window, to living happily ever after on a diet of cookies and love, and all it took was the constant threats of impending death issued by a disembodied voice to give him some perspective.
I'm not sure where Harold's hangups came from, but for me, I think it has to do with trying to balance the desire to be honest and take a risk that might be worth it versus the desire to not be exposed to heartache or embarrassment. Oddly enough, this holds true for both potential beginnings and endings, if the ending is one of those "we just grew apart" kinds of things. Sometimes the feelings that suddenly need to be discussed are our own; sometimes, the issue is that we're getting a vibe from someone else. Sometimes, it's a combination of the two, and that, my friends is the kryptonite of the quixotic stumblejohn.
To quote another fictional expert on relationship ruination, Greg House, M.D. issued one of my favorite lines when it comes to this sort of debacle. He said, "it might not be easy, but it is simple," or something to that effect, and I couldn't agree more. The simplicity lies in having to choose from one of only two options: speak up, or don't. The hard part comes after that. If you decide to speak, there comes the agonizing over choosing the right words to say exactly what you mean with the right levels of class and dignity. This is especially difficult if there's a friendship you want to preserve - whether you're wanting to remain friends after breaking up, or you want to remain friends in spite of the other person possibly not sharing your more-than-platonic feelings. If you stay silent, then you have to watch the opportunity pass you by and wonder what might have happened if you'd had a little more courage.
Despite the title of their movie, this I feel is too strange to be anything but fiction. Harold and Ana are clearly a couple of messed-up individuals, but neither of them really seems to have any baggage. I just listened to the audio recording of David Sedaris's When You Are Engulfed In Flames, and in one of the stories, he hit on a point that pretty much sums it all up. Once you've experienced heartache, you are then officially in posession of Relationship Baggage, and your only real hope of a successful relationshp in the future lies in finding someone whose baggage goes with yours, so you can have a complete set.
I actually think that's a fairly realistic hope, and I suppose that's why I do eventually manage to muster just barely enough courage to speak up, even if my best efforts tend to wind up nowhere near as clear and sophisticated as I'd like them to be. Instead, the outcome seems to effectively be the same as if I'd tried to ask someone how many quarts are in a gallon, and getting a response informing me that the square root of 4 is 2. Both parties are most likely wondering what the hell the other is talking about, and not entirely sure where to go with it.
This is why it amazes the hell out of me when I realize that I actually know quite a few happily paired couples. I wonder what would happen if I go back to:
31 May, 2009
Mirror, Mirror
When I was in high school, I had a friend who, despite being pretty, kind, and interesting, had the worst taste in boyfriends you could imagine. Seriously, it got to the point where we were no longer surprised to get collect calls in the middle of the night from Inmate du Jour.
One afternoon, this friend - we'll call her Adora - had invited another friend - and we'll call her Jerrica - and me over to hang out so she could lament the precarious status of her relationship with a boy we'll refer to as Zartan, the current ankle-bracelet-bedecked jackass who was wasting her time. We let her go on for a while, until finally, Jerrica and I could stand it no longer. We were tired of seeing Adora teamed up with some scumbag who wouldn't deserve to kiss her feet, much less treat her like the dirt beneath them. Our solution was simple. From that point forward, whenever Adora would mention his name, we forced her to look in the mirror and recite:
"I am beautiful. I am wonderful. Zartan is a pig."
This went on for weeks. We really did drag her to the nearest shiny surface and make her say the words every time. Eventually, it became something of a mantra for us, long after Zartan had been replaced by another winner.
There will always be people who don't deserve our attention, but get it anyway. There will be things that shouldn't bother us, but do.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find something reflective. Where's Destro when I need him?
![[AFord_Baroness+Destro.jpg]](//1.bp.blogspot.com/_M3O3Oe3M-Nc/SUrMSQHraKI/AAAAAAAAA2o/ipAfyudi4pg/s1600/AFord_Baroness%2BDestro.jpg)
One afternoon, this friend - we'll call her Adora - had invited another friend - and we'll call her Jerrica - and me over to hang out so she could lament the precarious status of her relationship with a boy we'll refer to as Zartan, the current ankle-bracelet-bedecked jackass who was wasting her time. We let her go on for a while, until finally, Jerrica and I could stand it no longer. We were tired of seeing Adora teamed up with some scumbag who wouldn't deserve to kiss her feet, much less treat her like the dirt beneath them. Our solution was simple. From that point forward, whenever Adora would mention his name, we forced her to look in the mirror and recite:
"I am beautiful. I am wonderful. Zartan is a pig."
This went on for weeks. We really did drag her to the nearest shiny surface and make her say the words every time. Eventually, it became something of a mantra for us, long after Zartan had been replaced by another winner.
There will always be people who don't deserve our attention, but get it anyway. There will be things that shouldn't bother us, but do.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to find something reflective. Where's Destro when I need him?
![[AFord_Baroness+Destro.jpg]](http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_M3O3Oe3M-Nc/SUrMSQHraKI/AAAAAAAAA2o/ipAfyudi4pg/s1600/AFord_Baroness%2BDestro.jpg)
24 May, 2009
Little Souvenirs of a Colorful Year
There's this episode of the Golden Girls (what, you got jokes?) where Dorothy is attempting to explain to Blanche how she's been feeling lately, and having a hard time describing it.
"Magenta," says Blanche. You're a little sad, but you wouldn't say you were blue, and a little jealous, but not quite green with envy, and somewhat scared, but not so much that you're yellow... and she hates that feeling, and she hates the color magenta, so that's why she calls it that.
I'm with Blanche. Most of the time, I try to think positive, have faith that everything is going to work out, look at the glass as half-full. I get magenta sometimes, though, but like the Girls, I'm also lucky enough to have friends to get me through it and put up with me during it.
This year has so far brought lots of endings - professional, personal, and otherwise. Since most of them weren't of my choosing, it's really easy to get depressed about it if I think of it that way. I'm hoping that nature will take its course though, and have some new beginnings to follow the endings.
I wasn't happy in my old job, and I've applied for some I think could be rewarding in ways other than just paying enough Green to squeak by on the bills. It could happen that I have to settle short-term, but I've sort of rededicated myself to my professional goals. I've done some networking, and made some good contacts and feel good about how I'm putting my skills and education to work, even if I'm not seeing that green yet.
I've loved and lost, but I've also learned. In past loves, either I couldn't really be myself, or I lost myself and lost sight of what else there was to life, so that my entire world seemed meaningless when it was over. Now I know better. Now I know it's worth it to hold out for the guy who (may not actually exist, but) will neither just put up with me nor completely eclipse me. If I can't be with a guy who is a true equal - in support and understanding as well as affection and music libraries - then, I'll just wait. I'll be Brown. Sally Brown, hanging out in the pumpkin patch, waiting for someone Great.
I've been quasi-nomadic, feeling like neither of the places I could refer to as home really are. Don't get me wrong, my mom's house will always be home, where I'll always know I have a place and be accepted. The thing is, I want home to also mean a place that's really mine, where I can grow and make a life for myself. Some people think I'm crazy when I talk about how badly I want to move to California. My friend Joel, who lives there already, warned me that when I came to visit, I'd never want to leave. I argued, but in the end, he was so right. If I'd had the means to just stay and send for my things, I'd have done so. Now? I'm back on the opposite side of the country, but when I build my list of steps I have to take next, with the summit being the move to the Golden State, it just feels right.
So, here's to new beginnings... may they begin soon!
"Magenta," says Blanche. You're a little sad, but you wouldn't say you were blue, and a little jealous, but not quite green with envy, and somewhat scared, but not so much that you're yellow... and she hates that feeling, and she hates the color magenta, so that's why she calls it that.
I'm with Blanche. Most of the time, I try to think positive, have faith that everything is going to work out, look at the glass as half-full. I get magenta sometimes, though, but like the Girls, I'm also lucky enough to have friends to get me through it and put up with me during it.
This year has so far brought lots of endings - professional, personal, and otherwise. Since most of them weren't of my choosing, it's really easy to get depressed about it if I think of it that way. I'm hoping that nature will take its course though, and have some new beginnings to follow the endings.
I wasn't happy in my old job, and I've applied for some I think could be rewarding in ways other than just paying enough Green to squeak by on the bills. It could happen that I have to settle short-term, but I've sort of rededicated myself to my professional goals. I've done some networking, and made some good contacts and feel good about how I'm putting my skills and education to work, even if I'm not seeing that green yet.
I've loved and lost, but I've also learned. In past loves, either I couldn't really be myself, or I lost myself and lost sight of what else there was to life, so that my entire world seemed meaningless when it was over. Now I know better. Now I know it's worth it to hold out for the guy who (may not actually exist, but) will neither just put up with me nor completely eclipse me. If I can't be with a guy who is a true equal - in support and understanding as well as affection and music libraries - then, I'll just wait. I'll be Brown. Sally Brown, hanging out in the pumpkin patch, waiting for someone Great.
I've been quasi-nomadic, feeling like neither of the places I could refer to as home really are. Don't get me wrong, my mom's house will always be home, where I'll always know I have a place and be accepted. The thing is, I want home to also mean a place that's really mine, where I can grow and make a life for myself. Some people think I'm crazy when I talk about how badly I want to move to California. My friend Joel, who lives there already, warned me that when I came to visit, I'd never want to leave. I argued, but in the end, he was so right. If I'd had the means to just stay and send for my things, I'd have done so. Now? I'm back on the opposite side of the country, but when I build my list of steps I have to take next, with the summit being the move to the Golden State, it just feels right.
So, here's to new beginnings... may they begin soon!
07 March, 2009
Emotional Witch-ducking, part 2: The Next Adventure
At the end of the last adventure, you were asked to choose whether or not you'd tell your new friend if you had more-than-friends feelings for him or her.
Now, we're going to switch the point of view.
Now, suppose you're the one who gets the "I need to tell you something" phone call. Because the plot becomes much simpler if you reciprocate the feelings, assume instead, for the purposes of this adventure, that you do not. What do you do? How do you react?
Choose your adventure:
Close the book and sell it on Craigslist, or leave it on a park bench, or hide it in the bottom of the bottom drawer of your desk if - for whatever reason - you choose to end the friendship in the wake of this new development.
OR
Stay on this page to try to work it out.
The problem, as I see it, is that unfortunately, the next page is blank. There are no instructions for this situation, which is probably what makes it so terrifying, so much like being accused of witchcraft in coastal Virginia in the 16-1700's. What are we to do? I only wish I had an answer.
Here's where I admit that I've tricked you with this line of reasoning. Enter the deus ex machina, Grace Sherwood, the so-called Witch of Pungo. She got thrown in the Lynnhaven River, managed to swim and survive, and was consequently imprisoned for a few years, then was released to live to the age of 80, which was quite old indeed in the early 18th century. When thrust into a situation that can only end in death or condemnation, she was given a third option: temporary imprisonment, then the ability to just go on with her life.
For the record, I've been on both sides of this situation and experienced a myriad of results. I have made that phone call. I've dealt with having to tell my friend I wanted more, knowing that I could be killing a friendship that was very important to me. I've answered the phone, the door, and opened my email to find confessions from friends. Only one of those situations resulted in the end of a friendship, and that was the time a guy I'd once been good friends with, but drifted apart from showed up at my front door, told me he was in love with me (which astonished me since we hadn't spoken in over a year), and then ran away before I could even open my mouth to respond.
In spite of this track record, every time the situation arises anew, I experience discomfort on a scale from minor anxiety to petrifying, stupifying paranoia. When I'm the one faced with deciding whether to make that call, it's like I forget that the object of my friendship and affection is an adult, and one I respect and admire for all kinds of reasons. I forget that he is kind and intelligent and cares for my well-being (otherwise, why would I be interested in him?). For reasons I may never understand (perhaps, just part of the human condition?), the Grace Sherwood option never occurs to me. I become convinced that doing anything to expose my secret will only result in one of the two less-than-desirable outcomes mentioned above.
I forget that once in a witch trial, and once in my own life, the punishment was harsh, but ultimately short-lived and surviveable. Maybe it's because for all of my experience with this type of issue, not one of these encounters resulted in a romance. The best-case-scenario has always been the friendship eventually going back to normal once the injured party has finished licking his (or my own) wounds.
Maybe what it all comes down to is simple fear of rejection, coupled with the desire to do the Right Thing and having no idea what that is. There is the other person to consider, after all. Is it more fair to spare him the burden of my feelings, or to give him all of the facts? Is it wrong to keep him in the dark, or is it a courtesy?
At any rate, I've decided that Grace Sherwood is my new role-model, in her capacity as a legend, anyway. I have no idea who she was, what things she liked, or if she was ever in love. I do know that life once dealt her a crap hand, and that whatever else she did, she survived.
Now, we're going to switch the point of view.
Now, suppose you're the one who gets the "I need to tell you something" phone call. Because the plot becomes much simpler if you reciprocate the feelings, assume instead, for the purposes of this adventure, that you do not. What do you do? How do you react?
Choose your adventure:
Close the book and sell it on Craigslist, or leave it on a park bench, or hide it in the bottom of the bottom drawer of your desk if - for whatever reason - you choose to end the friendship in the wake of this new development.
OR
Stay on this page to try to work it out.
The problem, as I see it, is that unfortunately, the next page is blank. There are no instructions for this situation, which is probably what makes it so terrifying, so much like being accused of witchcraft in coastal Virginia in the 16-1700's. What are we to do? I only wish I had an answer.
Here's where I admit that I've tricked you with this line of reasoning. Enter the deus ex machina, Grace Sherwood, the so-called Witch of Pungo. She got thrown in the Lynnhaven River, managed to swim and survive, and was consequently imprisoned for a few years, then was released to live to the age of 80, which was quite old indeed in the early 18th century. When thrust into a situation that can only end in death or condemnation, she was given a third option: temporary imprisonment, then the ability to just go on with her life.
For the record, I've been on both sides of this situation and experienced a myriad of results. I have made that phone call. I've dealt with having to tell my friend I wanted more, knowing that I could be killing a friendship that was very important to me. I've answered the phone, the door, and opened my email to find confessions from friends. Only one of those situations resulted in the end of a friendship, and that was the time a guy I'd once been good friends with, but drifted apart from showed up at my front door, told me he was in love with me (which astonished me since we hadn't spoken in over a year), and then ran away before I could even open my mouth to respond.
In spite of this track record, every time the situation arises anew, I experience discomfort on a scale from minor anxiety to petrifying, stupifying paranoia. When I'm the one faced with deciding whether to make that call, it's like I forget that the object of my friendship and affection is an adult, and one I respect and admire for all kinds of reasons. I forget that he is kind and intelligent and cares for my well-being (otherwise, why would I be interested in him?). For reasons I may never understand (perhaps, just part of the human condition?), the Grace Sherwood option never occurs to me. I become convinced that doing anything to expose my secret will only result in one of the two less-than-desirable outcomes mentioned above.
I forget that once in a witch trial, and once in my own life, the punishment was harsh, but ultimately short-lived and surviveable. Maybe it's because for all of my experience with this type of issue, not one of these encounters resulted in a romance. The best-case-scenario has always been the friendship eventually going back to normal once the injured party has finished licking his (or my own) wounds.
Maybe what it all comes down to is simple fear of rejection, coupled with the desire to do the Right Thing and having no idea what that is. There is the other person to consider, after all. Is it more fair to spare him the burden of my feelings, or to give him all of the facts? Is it wrong to keep him in the dark, or is it a courtesy?
At any rate, I've decided that Grace Sherwood is my new role-model, in her capacity as a legend, anyway. I have no idea who she was, what things she liked, or if she was ever in love. I do know that life once dealt her a crap hand, and that whatever else she did, she survived.
Emotional Witch-ducking - A Choose Your Own Adventure Story
You know about witch-ducking, I'm sure, even if you didn't know that's what it was called.
Something like this happens: you're accused of being a witch, likely because your neighbor's crops failed or their cat died. They call the law, and you're hauled off, tied up and thrown in the river. The thought process is that if you manage to slip your knots and swim to safety, you're clearly a witch and are therefore either jailed or executed. If you drown, however, happy day! You're innocent and your name is cleared. Oh, except... you have to be dead. Details, details...
What does that have to do with anything outside a history lesson, you ask?
Only that I've been thinking a lot about how we do this very thing to ourselves all the time. We get into these situations, where it looks like drowning is the only possible scenario that allows us to save face.
For example, a parable:
Once upon a time, a boy meets a girl. It doesn't matter how, but suppose their eyes meet over the last copy of the last issue of the Neil Gaiman Eternals run. There's only one copy, and both have run all over town looking for it, because they're both great big nerds. Eyes narrow, resolve is strengthened, but eventually boy, girl, and comic book all adjourn together to the diner next door. Coffee is drunk, the book is discussed, and a friendship is born. By the time they've reached the third or fourth cup of coffee, they've learned some things about each other and realize they have enough in common to hang out again. Phone numbers are exchanged, and tentative plans are even made to toilet-paper the gates at Skywalker Ranch in retribution for the latest animated Star Wars fiasco.
Just like that. Just that simple, right?
Maybe, but then again, maybe not. What if the boy gets home that night and realizes that he's met the woman of his dreams? What if the girl calls her best friend right away and tells her that if she'd ordered one from a menu, she could not have found a guy she'd like more? What if only one of them is having their heartstrings tugged, while the other "only" feels quite lucky to have made a new friend?
Now it's time to choose your adventure!
Whether you're the boy or the girl, the options are the same.
If you are romantically interested in your new friend, you can:
Flip to page 143 to take the risk and tell your friend how you feel, knowing that they'll either reciprocate or not, and that it could either ruin your new friendship or not.
OR
Stay on this page to keep silent, keep your friend, and hope you can keep your feelings under your hat either until they go away or until your friend speaks up first.
To be continued...
Something like this happens: you're accused of being a witch, likely because your neighbor's crops failed or their cat died. They call the law, and you're hauled off, tied up and thrown in the river. The thought process is that if you manage to slip your knots and swim to safety, you're clearly a witch and are therefore either jailed or executed. If you drown, however, happy day! You're innocent and your name is cleared. Oh, except... you have to be dead. Details, details...
What does that have to do with anything outside a history lesson, you ask?
Only that I've been thinking a lot about how we do this very thing to ourselves all the time. We get into these situations, where it looks like drowning is the only possible scenario that allows us to save face.
For example, a parable:
Once upon a time, a boy meets a girl. It doesn't matter how, but suppose their eyes meet over the last copy of the last issue of the Neil Gaiman Eternals run. There's only one copy, and both have run all over town looking for it, because they're both great big nerds. Eyes narrow, resolve is strengthened, but eventually boy, girl, and comic book all adjourn together to the diner next door. Coffee is drunk, the book is discussed, and a friendship is born. By the time they've reached the third or fourth cup of coffee, they've learned some things about each other and realize they have enough in common to hang out again. Phone numbers are exchanged, and tentative plans are even made to toilet-paper the gates at Skywalker Ranch in retribution for the latest animated Star Wars fiasco.
Just like that. Just that simple, right?
Maybe, but then again, maybe not. What if the boy gets home that night and realizes that he's met the woman of his dreams? What if the girl calls her best friend right away and tells her that if she'd ordered one from a menu, she could not have found a guy she'd like more? What if only one of them is having their heartstrings tugged, while the other "only" feels quite lucky to have made a new friend?
Now it's time to choose your adventure!
Whether you're the boy or the girl, the options are the same.
If you are romantically interested in your new friend, you can:
Flip to page 143 to take the risk and tell your friend how you feel, knowing that they'll either reciprocate or not, and that it could either ruin your new friendship or not.
OR
Stay on this page to keep silent, keep your friend, and hope you can keep your feelings under your hat either until they go away or until your friend speaks up first.
To be continued...
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