A Scary Love Story

Phone calls and messages come in asking if I have to try to be a jerk or if it’s accidental.

I ask them if they know you’re not required to put on 25 pounds during quarantine or if their mother has admitted to drinking during pregnancy.

A few respond with comments about my lineage and promises to beat some sense into me. I thank them for acknowledging we all come from apes and tell them I am sure they could kick my ass.

“You haven’t set the bar particularly high. You must be really insecure.”

The responses make it clear I have touched more than one nerve and if my intuition is correct they are fired up and I am ambivalent.

Later on I’ll have a conversation with a teen about how it is possible to have a scary love story and demonstrate how far a little life experience can go.

“Scary doesn’t mean there is physical danger. It can mean your heart is in your throat because you don’t know what she is thinking or what she’ll do.

Even if you have lived a little bit it might be scary starting over. Might be scary taking a risk with someone you think is a better match but can’t know for certain without dating.”

No One Showed Up

The teen and I are still talking when I share the tale of a failure.

I tell him about the time I arranged a program for a group I was part of. Secured a speaker and a location, sent out invitations and made arrangements for food.

The night of the event comes and I get there early to help set up. A short while later the speaker arrives and we help them get set up in the room we’ll use for the presentation.

Five minutes after it is supposed to start there is no one there but the speaker, myself and the owners of the home who agreed to host it.

I check my phone and wonder if it is working because there are no voicemails, nor texts nor emails. It is blank.

Surely someone would call to say they have to cancel. Surely there would be a text or some sort of communication but there is none and there won’t be.

No one will ever contact or communicate with me about this unless I reach out and ask what happened.

It is embarrassing and I am not interested in chasing people so I only do it once.

I tell the teen it is rare that I chase anyone, especially if I happen to have remembered this moment.

“Does that happen often? Do you think about it?”

“Almost never, but there are things that remind me and if I think I about it there is usually some irritation tied in. I remember the moment and remind myself that people who want to be around will make an effort.”

He and I sit in silence and then I tell him to be aware there are moments where you might have to reach out anyway.

“Know the difference between intentional silence and unintentional. Have the strength to be the bigger person and reach out or walk away.”

Riding The Bull

Still working on the monster. Still trying to ride the bull, to stay on its back even as it tries to buck me off.

Got more than a million reasons to hold on and a millions emotions tied into it. This sucker is a beast and it would be so much easier to let go and walk away.

If it goes south and I end up getting thrown I could find myself under it is hooves and have little time/ability to scramble for cover.

But if I stay on and find a way to not let it throw me I will be rewarded. Some have already said things to suggest it is heroic and legendary but I don’t like hearing it because the task isn’t done.

There is so much left to do that it feels overwhelming.

For a moment I felt my grip loosening and I made a mental note to “stick the landing.”

And then I heard someone say it couldn’t be done. I heard them tell me no and well, those two letter sometimes motivate me to show the speaker I generally don’t take on bets unless I feel confident I’ll win.

So tonight I write here and there so that I may clear my head to more effectively see the board.

I can beat this beast. I just need another moment.

(Visited 9 times, 1 visits today)

Comments

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

  
Please enter an e-mail address

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

You may also like
%d bloggers like this: