A few days ago, I spent the evening with a group of friends. There was much laughter, as a friend sculpted a butter cat, we all sniffed the lavender handsoap, the guys confessed their love for Julie Andrews as Maria in The Sound of Music, we tried to guess one another's middle names, and answered random Loaded Questions cards that led to disclosures about the embarrassing things we own.
We also discussed various ways to interpret the Old Testament, talked about why we were Liberal, or Republican, or Libertarian, whether or not our country needs the Federal Reserve, and what is the true nature of the Christian gospel and how do we treat those Christians who profess belief in a different gospel version.
I left that evening absolutely invigorated by both the frequent tear-inducing laughter and the depth of our theological and political conversations. I thought about how rare it must be to experience those two different types of interactions throughout hours of discussion, but then I realized that such a dichotomy is false because the two share the same origins.
Both are facilitated by the abandonment of pretense and judgement, the comfort with oneself that allows for complete openness, and the true acceptance of others the embraces both their utter silliness and their complete honesty in sharing their opinions about weighty matters. Both the light-hearted and the weighty matters spring from the same spirit of authenticity, and when the two are freely shared, the light-hearted utterances are given more weight as they represent the freedom to be and the weighty matters become lighter as we are allowed to laugh at ourselves and question our beliefs even while expressing deeply held convictions.
I crave more times like these, times when I can engage with others both in our utter absurdity and profundity.
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label honesty. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Monday, November 17, 2008
word vomit AKA 3 posts condensed into one
Self-compassion. It's the idea of realistically loving oneself. Not just self-esteem which could turn arrogant by only focusing on the good, but being humble enough to recognize one's faults and mistakes and forgive oneself, not punishing oneself, but caring for the self. Not self-indulgence, but self-care. I see so many ways that when I'm stressed or lonely or sad I become self-indulgent, eating ice cream, watching television, drinking lots of coffee, drinking alcohol, staying up late on the internet, many of those deliberate behaviors because, "I deserve this." When really, the most caring thing to do for myself would be to go to bed, eat healthier, exercise, and engage in activities that truly refresh my body and spirit, like prayer, journaling, reading. But often I choose indulgence because my flesh craves it, and these things seem to promise satisfaction, but they are empty and only occupy me for moments, and leave me still wanting. But where is the line between treating myself and enjoying life's simple pleasures and acting self-indulgently? Maybe it's the motivation. If I'm filling my body and mind with something because I think it will help me to escape sadness, stress, or loneliness, then it's probably self-indulgent. If I'm doing something because it's loving and caring toward myself, because it truly feeds my soul and refreshes me, then it's probably self-care. God, grant me discernment. My friend recently said that often how we treat others is how we treat ourselves. I want these two things to be congruent. I don't want to treat myself better than I treat others or to treat others better than I treat myself. I want to forgive others and self, and I want to feed and water and care for others and self.
An agent of change. Or maybe a conduit of change, a vessel through which real and transformation can occur. As a counselor, I want to be this. I'm great at being empathic, at providing a warm, safe place for others to share their pains and thoughts and feelings and feel understood and not judged. This is a great quality about me, and that's the first step. But I want to move from that, I don't want to be indulgent of my clients and those around me either, I want to help move them toward change. Which I don't really effectively know how to do. When I do see change in others, it seems random, and motivated by outside forces. I don't know. And it's frustrating too when so many people, myself included, don't really want change, but just want to feel better. I say that I want to change certain things about myself, my life, and my relationships, but often, the familiar is comfortable. Even if it's stressful and sad and disconnected and unsatisfying, changing it would be icky and messy and maybe this little pit will get a little more warm if I lay here a bit longer, maybe not, but the climb up is strenuous, why don't you make the climb first and throw down a rope and pull me up? I do feel myself growing and changing, but I also feel myself resisting the growth. What am I resisting? What am I avoiding? Responsibility? Accountability? Awareness that yes, I really am a dirty, ugly sinner?
Who reads this blog? When I started this over two years ago, I had this plan to stay anonymous. I'll be crackers and cheese instead of my name, and I'll post cryptic poetry that no one will ever know what events and what people in my life inspired the poems. But the anonymity quickly faded, and my posts became more personal, more real, more genuine. And I made friends through this blog, Martha, Ben, Anton, I'm so glad that this blog brought you into my life. I am thankful for you. And it's allowed me to keep up with old friends, Cara, Britt, and Laura especially. I love you deeply. And there are other friends, and I enjoy you too. But it's still stayed a tight, somewhat exclusive circle. I still don't use my name. I don't have a link on facebook. Until about a month ago, if you're reading this, it's because you have a blog too, and we're somehow connected in that way. Recently, my friend from high school, Emily, started a blog to chronicle her year in Bangladesh, and she started reading my blog. Since then, a couple of other dear, close friends who don't have blogs have discovered my blog and started reading. I never was deliberately hiding this from you, it just seemed so separate, this blog life, different from the life that I share with you. But it's the same in a way, so it seems natural and good and right that you are reading this now and that this blog circle is opening up more.
But I somewhat like having this blog stay somewhat exclusive. It gives me a freedom to write in honest, real ways that I might not if I knew that anybody who knew me on facebook would find this blog. But I do wonder . . . many of my church members, including pastors, have blogs. Occasionally I browse them, and recently found that a couple of neat girls who I really like also have blogs, so I added them to my google reader. But I'm scared to comment on their blogs, to open the floodgates for my brothers and sisters from church to read this blog. Somewhat, I'm afraid of what they may think when they read these words. Which is silly, because with this church family, for the first time I've really embraced openness and honesty and light and rejected darkness and secrecy and fakery (it's a real word, even if google doesn't recognize it). This church knows me more intimately than any church ever has, and I rejoice in that. When someone asks, "How have you been?" I answer completely honestly. If it's been crappy, I tell them that, and if I say, "It's been really good." or "I've been doing well, lately," oh believe me, I mean it, and let's rejoice and celebrate that together. But that kind of intimacy is still kind of frightening, and it's tempting to hide a little now and then or to worry that I'm sharing too much.
But mainly, I'm afraid to expand my blog community to include my church community because I compare myself to their blogselves. So many of their blog posts focus on spiritual topics that it seems like they write about godly things all the time, so they must be thinking about God more than I am. And I write about roach spray and weddings and weird dates and cultural identity and applications and movies and bars and music. Things that seem so worldly, so not-glorifying to God. I'm afraid that if you compare our blogs, I won't look like a good Jesus-follower. I somewhat take pride in being a good Jesus-follower, because if I wasn't, I'd be a bad friend, a bad daughter, a bad sister, a bad girlfriend, not worthy to give advice and counsel, not worthy to be a wife. Gosh, these have got to be lies, but they feel so true sometimes. That's probably my biggest fear, that if you read this blog, my final mask would be torn down, and you would see me as someone who isn't completely devoted to God, at least, not in the way that you seem to be. As I write this, I know this is a lie, that none of us are worthy, all of us stray, but it's easy to think that I stray further than you do, that you are closer to the Father than me, that you love Him more or better. And I know that God is in these writings about weddings and dates and bars and applications, because God is big and complex and I shouldn't limit his involvement in only things that traditionally seem godly.
As I write out these honest fears, I feel close to making the leap to include you, my church, in this blog life of mine. And I feel like I can do that without changing the content of my blog, while still writing what I want to write. So, if I do take that step and you are reading this, know that I love you, you are welcome here, you are welcome into my life.
An agent of change. Or maybe a conduit of change, a vessel through which real and transformation can occur. As a counselor, I want to be this. I'm great at being empathic, at providing a warm, safe place for others to share their pains and thoughts and feelings and feel understood and not judged. This is a great quality about me, and that's the first step. But I want to move from that, I don't want to be indulgent of my clients and those around me either, I want to help move them toward change. Which I don't really effectively know how to do. When I do see change in others, it seems random, and motivated by outside forces. I don't know. And it's frustrating too when so many people, myself included, don't really want change, but just want to feel better. I say that I want to change certain things about myself, my life, and my relationships, but often, the familiar is comfortable. Even if it's stressful and sad and disconnected and unsatisfying, changing it would be icky and messy and maybe this little pit will get a little more warm if I lay here a bit longer, maybe not, but the climb up is strenuous, why don't you make the climb first and throw down a rope and pull me up? I do feel myself growing and changing, but I also feel myself resisting the growth. What am I resisting? What am I avoiding? Responsibility? Accountability? Awareness that yes, I really am a dirty, ugly sinner?
Who reads this blog? When I started this over two years ago, I had this plan to stay anonymous. I'll be crackers and cheese instead of my name, and I'll post cryptic poetry that no one will ever know what events and what people in my life inspired the poems. But the anonymity quickly faded, and my posts became more personal, more real, more genuine. And I made friends through this blog, Martha, Ben, Anton, I'm so glad that this blog brought you into my life. I am thankful for you. And it's allowed me to keep up with old friends, Cara, Britt, and Laura especially. I love you deeply. And there are other friends, and I enjoy you too. But it's still stayed a tight, somewhat exclusive circle. I still don't use my name. I don't have a link on facebook. Until about a month ago, if you're reading this, it's because you have a blog too, and we're somehow connected in that way. Recently, my friend from high school, Emily, started a blog to chronicle her year in Bangladesh, and she started reading my blog. Since then, a couple of other dear, close friends who don't have blogs have discovered my blog and started reading. I never was deliberately hiding this from you, it just seemed so separate, this blog life, different from the life that I share with you. But it's the same in a way, so it seems natural and good and right that you are reading this now and that this blog circle is opening up more.
But I somewhat like having this blog stay somewhat exclusive. It gives me a freedom to write in honest, real ways that I might not if I knew that anybody who knew me on facebook would find this blog. But I do wonder . . . many of my church members, including pastors, have blogs. Occasionally I browse them, and recently found that a couple of neat girls who I really like also have blogs, so I added them to my google reader. But I'm scared to comment on their blogs, to open the floodgates for my brothers and sisters from church to read this blog. Somewhat, I'm afraid of what they may think when they read these words. Which is silly, because with this church family, for the first time I've really embraced openness and honesty and light and rejected darkness and secrecy and fakery (it's a real word, even if google doesn't recognize it). This church knows me more intimately than any church ever has, and I rejoice in that. When someone asks, "How have you been?" I answer completely honestly. If it's been crappy, I tell them that, and if I say, "It's been really good." or "I've been doing well, lately," oh believe me, I mean it, and let's rejoice and celebrate that together. But that kind of intimacy is still kind of frightening, and it's tempting to hide a little now and then or to worry that I'm sharing too much.
But mainly, I'm afraid to expand my blog community to include my church community because I compare myself to their blogselves. So many of their blog posts focus on spiritual topics that it seems like they write about godly things all the time, so they must be thinking about God more than I am. And I write about roach spray and weddings and weird dates and cultural identity and applications and movies and bars and music. Things that seem so worldly, so not-glorifying to God. I'm afraid that if you compare our blogs, I won't look like a good Jesus-follower. I somewhat take pride in being a good Jesus-follower, because if I wasn't, I'd be a bad friend, a bad daughter, a bad sister, a bad girlfriend, not worthy to give advice and counsel, not worthy to be a wife. Gosh, these have got to be lies, but they feel so true sometimes. That's probably my biggest fear, that if you read this blog, my final mask would be torn down, and you would see me as someone who isn't completely devoted to God, at least, not in the way that you seem to be. As I write this, I know this is a lie, that none of us are worthy, all of us stray, but it's easy to think that I stray further than you do, that you are closer to the Father than me, that you love Him more or better. And I know that God is in these writings about weddings and dates and bars and applications, because God is big and complex and I shouldn't limit his involvement in only things that traditionally seem godly.
As I write out these honest fears, I feel close to making the leap to include you, my church, in this blog life of mine. And I feel like I can do that without changing the content of my blog, while still writing what I want to write. So, if I do take that step and you are reading this, know that I love you, you are welcome here, you are welcome into my life.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
cappucinos and Kierkegaard, in which our heroine falls for a philosophizing fellow
Once again, Cara said this was good blogging material, so here goes . . .
This past April, on the heels of a breakup, a new guy, erm man, actually, moved into town and started working at the coffee shop that I frequent. At the sight of his baby blue eyes behind those black plastic-rimmed glasses, paired with a big bright smile, I knew that I had to find out more about this pearl-snap wearing hipster. Turns out this hipster-looking dude is also a huge nerd, trying to get into a doctorate program here to study philosophy. We talked a little Freud, existentialism, Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, and theology, and I was licking my intellectual-loving lips. Could it be? An intellectual who writes papers and smokes cigars who actually has a personality and sense of humor and fashion sense and loves Jesus and plays Guitar Hero, and he's working at my coffee shop? How could I not be swooning?
Fortunately for my poor confused heart at the time, I didn't see him again until June, but I still remembered the impression that he made on me. Over the past month, we've continued to have more conversations, mostly about philosophy, theology, religion, or psychology, but also about coffee, music, movies, fashion, the fourth of july, television, education, and sometimes about things from our personal life, our family, or friends. I learned that he was living on his sister's couch, frequently awoken by his two year old niece, and is waiting to find his own place until he gets officially accepted into this doctoral program. I learned that he has a younger brother who was previously a meth addict, whom he cared for over several years, starting when he was 23, which quickly matured him. In this same conversation, I learned that he was significantly older than I realized, when he mentioned that he just moved here from living in Abilene for 12 years, where he spent "almost a third," of his life. I learned that his parents were divorced when he told me that his dad and stepmom came to visit for the fourth of July.
Most of the time, these conversations occurred with him on the other side of the counter, but often he would come approach me at my table where I sat and studied, and twice he sat down with me before or after his shift and talked to me for almost an hour. Mostly he talked about his latest philosophical revelation and I questioned and listened and tried to relate it to my experiences. Not gonna lie, a lot of it went over my head, and a lot of the conversations were rather one sided, but he would get so happy and animated about these things, that I just got sucked right in. One time during one of these conversations, his sister came up and I met her.
We soon built a friendly rapport with one another, and frequently joked and made one another laugh. I wasn't getting strong signals of interest from him, but occasionally he would do things that could border on flirtation, like last week when he came over to my couch, complimented my shirt, made me origami out of a napkin, which made me laugh, then returned to his counter saying, "Well, if you have any questions about Heidegger, you know where to find me!" Friendly? Very. Flirty? Meh, possibly. A few of my friends observed our interactions together, and agreed that he was very friendly with me, possibly flirty, possibly interested in me, but maybe just being friendly.
I was crushing on him, but definitely had my reservations. The biggest problem I had was how much he talks about his own ideas versus how little he asks me about my life and my thoughts. Not only was this a sign that he wasn't interested in me, but also not a quality that I admire nor want in a relationship. Because of this, I had a hard time actually picturing myself in a relationship with him, but crushes can be pleasant distractions, and I was enjoying the attention, so I continued the interactions, with several prayers throughout.
This past Friday, I was planning on going to a concert on Saturday, but hadn't found anyone to go with me yet. I'd told several friends about it, so he was discussing a concert, so I told him about it and asked if he wanted to go. "Actually," he replied, "I sort of have a concert of my own Saturday evening." "Oh really?" "Yeah, my sister just got the Aerosmith version of Guitar Hero, so she's having some friends over, and it's my duty to unlock all of the songs for them." That was it, and I was frustrated. Does he not realize that I had just asked him out? The cute smart blond customer who he's been talking and laughing with for the past month just asked him to go to a concert, and it didn't even phase him? Believe it or not, but it takes a lot for me to ask a guy to do something with me. I always prefer the man to make the first move, but based on a recent conversation with a friend, I decided that it was ok to make the first move, if he picked up the ball and ran with it. If he didn't grab the ball, then I'd know that he either wasn't interested or wasn't worth bothering with. I decided that I better accept what I'd felt all along in my gut - he really just isn't interested in me as more than a customer to chat with. He doesn't like me, he just likes having someone to talk with. But throughout the weekend, he was there when I arrived, and we continued having nice, fun, interesting conversations, and his friendliness continued, and the crushing continued.
Last night I arrived to work on a paper, and he was there, as friendly as ever, "Hey, I have to tell you something that I realized today!" and he began discussing Fear and Trembling across the cash register. At the end of his thoughts, smile stretching ear to ear, he stated, "I'm so glad I could share that with you!" I just laughed and said, "Yeah, I can tell that you really love this and really enjoy these conversations, you're in the right field for you!" A little later in the evening, I told him more about the case presentation I was working on, and we hypothesized a little about one of my clients. Some Mormon missionaries came in, and he told me that they witnessed to him. "Oh, are you converted now?" I asked. "No, I decided I don't want to have more than one wife." "Me neither. Actually, I don't want to have a wife at all." He laughed, "Yeah, I was wondering." "Actually, I wouldn't mind having a wife, someone to do my cooking and cleaning for me would be nice." "Yeah, it seems that in my relationships, we've always joked that I was the wife because I wound up doing most of the cooking and cleaning." My classmate Keisha came in, and sat at a table next to me, "How are things with the cowboy?" (He sometimes wears a straw cowboy hat). "Oh, I don't know, we've still been chatting, but I asked him to go to this concert, but he had other plans." "Did he tell you what those plans were?" "Yeah." "Well, that's better than just saying, 'Oh, I have plans,' and being vague about it. I say you ask him to hang out one more time, and if he doesn't respond well, that's it, you drop him." Yes mam.
The shop closes at 11, and around 10:20 I walked out the door to go grab a book from my car. He was having a conversation with another guy, but he stopped to ask me, "Are you leaving?" "No, not yet, I've just got to grab something from my car." "Ok, good. You're not allowed to leave yet. I won't let you." I smiled, "I'm just going to get a big scary book called the DSM-IV-TR." "Oh yeah, I've read it." "You've read it?" Why would anyone but a mental health professional read the diagnostic and statistical of mental disorders? This confused me, but in no way did I anticipate his response, "Yeah, my wife was a psychology major."
My wife. Was a psychology major. I can think of dozens of things he could have said that would have shocked me less than that statement. "I was committed to a psychiatric ward once," "I'm a convicted felon," "I think I'm gay," "I sacrifice lambs," or "Let's have a threesome," would have shocked me less. "My wife." I wonder if I looked like a deer in headlights. He continued talking but I didn't hear a word he said because my thoughts were spinning. He has a wife. No wedding ring. Sleeps on his sister's couch. Never mentioned her. He has a wife. I finally snapped out of the whirlwind of cognitions to ask, "So, your wife was a psych major, what does she do now?" "Actually, haha, she works at Wal-Mart. That's what happens when you switch from psychology to English without finishing either."
I soon found myself outside, trying to process all of this. All of our conversations, and no mention of the wife until now? There would be plenty of appropriate times for him to have mentioned it. "Oh, you study counseling psychology. My wife studied psychology." "Yeah, it seems that in my relationships, we've always joked that I was the wife because I wound up doing most of the cooking and cleaning. Now my wife and I take turns cleaning." "Yes, I had a great Fourth of July! I stayed here, but my dad and stepmom came down to visit. My wife had the day off too." "So, I can't come to the concert, I actually have other plans. My wife and I are playing Guitar Hero with my sister and her friends." "Yeah, this band plays there every Thursday night. It's also ladies' night, which means that ladies get in free. My wife loves it when she can get in free." "No, the Mormons didn't convert me, I've got one wife and that's enough for me!" "I can't wait to have my own place, have my own privacy again so I can throw wild parties and have wild sex with my wife." Ok, that last one wasn't such appropriate coffee shop talk, but you get the picture.
I paced around the parking lot, feeling a disappointed, but mostly shocked, confused, and angry. Have I just been stupid, completely misreading him? Did I bring this upon myself? Was he leading me on? Why didn't the little bugger tell me he was married? Why doesn't he wear a ring? Why has he been so friendly toward me? I texted Keisha. She was shocked, I wanted to say something to him, but she assured me this was a bad idea. I finally went back inside, and sat next to Keisha, who told me, "That is wack! This dude is really suspect. Even when you walked out, he was checking you up and down!" "I don't know, this is crazy, but I used to work at a coffee shop, and all the time guys would mistake my friendliness for something else. Maybe that's what I've done. I've just misinterpretted him. He's just friendly to his customers, and I took it too far." "No, listen, he's friendly to me, ok? But he's really friendly with you. He doesn't come over here and have little chats with me." And sure enough, he soon came over, and wanted to look at my DSM. He thumbed through it, and told me a story about how his wife had diagnosed a character from a novel, though he couldn't remember the diagnosis. When he first walked up, I wished he would walk away, but there he started, smiling, telling his story, and I got into it and wanted to listen to him. It was nauseating. After he left, Keisha started off again, "See? He has a wife and he does not need to be coming over here."
This was so distracting, I left soon afterward. I said by to him and the other dude behind the counter. "Alright," he told, "You can leave now, I wasn't going to let you leave before 10:45." Part of me thought that was really cute, but a bigger part of me was screaming, "You perv!" So, this is weird. I definitely don't have a crush on him anymore, and I'm not even that sad or disappointed, more just confused, feel stupid, and feel really annoyed at him. I definitely need to change my interactions with him, and probably should stay away from this coffee shop for a little while. When I do return, I can talk to him at the counter, but that's it. No more wandering over to the counter to continue our conversations, and if he comes to my table, I can ask him about his wife or something. Boundaries need to be set up, if not for him, definitely for me.
I can be appropriately friendly with married men, but only when I know the boundaries in my head and in my heart. The owner of this coffee shop is married, but I knew this from the beginning, and I know his wife too, so we talk, we laugh, he invited me to go see the Dark Knight with them, but none of this is weird because I knew all along that he was married. He is attractive, but I've never once felt attracted to him because knowing that he was married created boundaries for me. I think about and act differently toward men that I assume to be single than toward men that I know to be married. But when a married man presents himself as single, or at least doesn't present himself as married, I treated him like a single man, which involved being attracted to him and flirting with him. Ugh, the whole thing just leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
So there we go, another little glimpse inside my romantic universe that some of my friends like to live vicariously through (why? it's so weird in this section of the cosmos!). Apparently I'm no better at judging the relationship status of men than I am at judging their ages. Worst crush ever? Yes. Worse than crushing on an ex-boyfriend, or crushing on an ex-boyfriend's best friend or roommate, or crushing on the boy that then tells me he wants to date my best friend, or crushing on the pot-smoking atheist in my high school stats class, or crushing on the skater guy who dropped out of a college and has family issues, who also probably smoked weed. Crushing on the married 30-something year old tops them all. And because it's probably my worst crush ever, and because Cara told me that this would be good blog material, and that it would help me feel better about things, I've just written a ridiculously long post about it. I feel like my blog could become some sort of Sex and the City-esque column. Minus the sex, unfortunately. I hope you found this entertaining, because in the midst of the weirdness of it all, I find myself very entertained at the absurdity. I hope you don't think I'm a silly pathetic girl, because I kind of am, but I sure don't want to be. I hope you feel annoyed at this dude and want to grab his adorable plastic-framed glasses, and smash them between his copies of Time and Being and What Would Jesus Deconstruct, and then pour espresso all over the mess, and then run over it with his ugly truck with the "Don't Mess with Texas" bumper sticker on the back window, because I sorta do, but I'd rather someone else do it for me.
This past April, on the heels of a breakup, a new guy, erm man, actually, moved into town and started working at the coffee shop that I frequent. At the sight of his baby blue eyes behind those black plastic-rimmed glasses, paired with a big bright smile, I knew that I had to find out more about this pearl-snap wearing hipster. Turns out this hipster-looking dude is also a huge nerd, trying to get into a doctorate program here to study philosophy. We talked a little Freud, existentialism, Nietzsche, Kierkegaard, and theology, and I was licking my intellectual-loving lips. Could it be? An intellectual who writes papers and smokes cigars who actually has a personality and sense of humor and fashion sense and loves Jesus and plays Guitar Hero, and he's working at my coffee shop? How could I not be swooning?
Fortunately for my poor confused heart at the time, I didn't see him again until June, but I still remembered the impression that he made on me. Over the past month, we've continued to have more conversations, mostly about philosophy, theology, religion, or psychology, but also about coffee, music, movies, fashion, the fourth of july, television, education, and sometimes about things from our personal life, our family, or friends. I learned that he was living on his sister's couch, frequently awoken by his two year old niece, and is waiting to find his own place until he gets officially accepted into this doctoral program. I learned that he has a younger brother who was previously a meth addict, whom he cared for over several years, starting when he was 23, which quickly matured him. In this same conversation, I learned that he was significantly older than I realized, when he mentioned that he just moved here from living in Abilene for 12 years, where he spent "almost a third," of his life. I learned that his parents were divorced when he told me that his dad and stepmom came to visit for the fourth of July.
Most of the time, these conversations occurred with him on the other side of the counter, but often he would come approach me at my table where I sat and studied, and twice he sat down with me before or after his shift and talked to me for almost an hour. Mostly he talked about his latest philosophical revelation and I questioned and listened and tried to relate it to my experiences. Not gonna lie, a lot of it went over my head, and a lot of the conversations were rather one sided, but he would get so happy and animated about these things, that I just got sucked right in. One time during one of these conversations, his sister came up and I met her.
We soon built a friendly rapport with one another, and frequently joked and made one another laugh. I wasn't getting strong signals of interest from him, but occasionally he would do things that could border on flirtation, like last week when he came over to my couch, complimented my shirt, made me origami out of a napkin, which made me laugh, then returned to his counter saying, "Well, if you have any questions about Heidegger, you know where to find me!" Friendly? Very. Flirty? Meh, possibly. A few of my friends observed our interactions together, and agreed that he was very friendly with me, possibly flirty, possibly interested in me, but maybe just being friendly.
I was crushing on him, but definitely had my reservations. The biggest problem I had was how much he talks about his own ideas versus how little he asks me about my life and my thoughts. Not only was this a sign that he wasn't interested in me, but also not a quality that I admire nor want in a relationship. Because of this, I had a hard time actually picturing myself in a relationship with him, but crushes can be pleasant distractions, and I was enjoying the attention, so I continued the interactions, with several prayers throughout.
This past Friday, I was planning on going to a concert on Saturday, but hadn't found anyone to go with me yet. I'd told several friends about it, so he was discussing a concert, so I told him about it and asked if he wanted to go. "Actually," he replied, "I sort of have a concert of my own Saturday evening." "Oh really?" "Yeah, my sister just got the Aerosmith version of Guitar Hero, so she's having some friends over, and it's my duty to unlock all of the songs for them." That was it, and I was frustrated. Does he not realize that I had just asked him out? The cute smart blond customer who he's been talking and laughing with for the past month just asked him to go to a concert, and it didn't even phase him? Believe it or not, but it takes a lot for me to ask a guy to do something with me. I always prefer the man to make the first move, but based on a recent conversation with a friend, I decided that it was ok to make the first move, if he picked up the ball and ran with it. If he didn't grab the ball, then I'd know that he either wasn't interested or wasn't worth bothering with. I decided that I better accept what I'd felt all along in my gut - he really just isn't interested in me as more than a customer to chat with. He doesn't like me, he just likes having someone to talk with. But throughout the weekend, he was there when I arrived, and we continued having nice, fun, interesting conversations, and his friendliness continued, and the crushing continued.
Last night I arrived to work on a paper, and he was there, as friendly as ever, "Hey, I have to tell you something that I realized today!" and he began discussing Fear and Trembling across the cash register. At the end of his thoughts, smile stretching ear to ear, he stated, "I'm so glad I could share that with you!" I just laughed and said, "Yeah, I can tell that you really love this and really enjoy these conversations, you're in the right field for you!" A little later in the evening, I told him more about the case presentation I was working on, and we hypothesized a little about one of my clients. Some Mormon missionaries came in, and he told me that they witnessed to him. "Oh, are you converted now?" I asked. "No, I decided I don't want to have more than one wife." "Me neither. Actually, I don't want to have a wife at all." He laughed, "Yeah, I was wondering." "Actually, I wouldn't mind having a wife, someone to do my cooking and cleaning for me would be nice." "Yeah, it seems that in my relationships, we've always joked that I was the wife because I wound up doing most of the cooking and cleaning." My classmate Keisha came in, and sat at a table next to me, "How are things with the cowboy?" (He sometimes wears a straw cowboy hat). "Oh, I don't know, we've still been chatting, but I asked him to go to this concert, but he had other plans." "Did he tell you what those plans were?" "Yeah." "Well, that's better than just saying, 'Oh, I have plans,' and being vague about it. I say you ask him to hang out one more time, and if he doesn't respond well, that's it, you drop him." Yes mam.
The shop closes at 11, and around 10:20 I walked out the door to go grab a book from my car. He was having a conversation with another guy, but he stopped to ask me, "Are you leaving?" "No, not yet, I've just got to grab something from my car." "Ok, good. You're not allowed to leave yet. I won't let you." I smiled, "I'm just going to get a big scary book called the DSM-IV-TR." "Oh yeah, I've read it." "You've read it?" Why would anyone but a mental health professional read the diagnostic and statistical of mental disorders? This confused me, but in no way did I anticipate his response, "Yeah, my wife was a psychology major."
My wife. Was a psychology major. I can think of dozens of things he could have said that would have shocked me less than that statement. "I was committed to a psychiatric ward once," "I'm a convicted felon," "I think I'm gay," "I sacrifice lambs," or "Let's have a threesome," would have shocked me less. "My wife." I wonder if I looked like a deer in headlights. He continued talking but I didn't hear a word he said because my thoughts were spinning. He has a wife. No wedding ring. Sleeps on his sister's couch. Never mentioned her. He has a wife. I finally snapped out of the whirlwind of cognitions to ask, "So, your wife was a psych major, what does she do now?" "Actually, haha, she works at Wal-Mart. That's what happens when you switch from psychology to English without finishing either."
I soon found myself outside, trying to process all of this. All of our conversations, and no mention of the wife until now? There would be plenty of appropriate times for him to have mentioned it. "Oh, you study counseling psychology. My wife studied psychology." "Yeah, it seems that in my relationships, we've always joked that I was the wife because I wound up doing most of the cooking and cleaning. Now my wife and I take turns cleaning." "Yes, I had a great Fourth of July! I stayed here, but my dad and stepmom came down to visit. My wife had the day off too." "So, I can't come to the concert, I actually have other plans. My wife and I are playing Guitar Hero with my sister and her friends." "Yeah, this band plays there every Thursday night. It's also ladies' night, which means that ladies get in free. My wife loves it when she can get in free." "No, the Mormons didn't convert me, I've got one wife and that's enough for me!" "I can't wait to have my own place, have my own privacy again so I can throw wild parties and have wild sex with my wife." Ok, that last one wasn't such appropriate coffee shop talk, but you get the picture.
I paced around the parking lot, feeling a disappointed, but mostly shocked, confused, and angry. Have I just been stupid, completely misreading him? Did I bring this upon myself? Was he leading me on? Why didn't the little bugger tell me he was married? Why doesn't he wear a ring? Why has he been so friendly toward me? I texted Keisha. She was shocked, I wanted to say something to him, but she assured me this was a bad idea. I finally went back inside, and sat next to Keisha, who told me, "That is wack! This dude is really suspect. Even when you walked out, he was checking you up and down!" "I don't know, this is crazy, but I used to work at a coffee shop, and all the time guys would mistake my friendliness for something else. Maybe that's what I've done. I've just misinterpretted him. He's just friendly to his customers, and I took it too far." "No, listen, he's friendly to me, ok? But he's really friendly with you. He doesn't come over here and have little chats with me." And sure enough, he soon came over, and wanted to look at my DSM. He thumbed through it, and told me a story about how his wife had diagnosed a character from a novel, though he couldn't remember the diagnosis. When he first walked up, I wished he would walk away, but there he started, smiling, telling his story, and I got into it and wanted to listen to him. It was nauseating. After he left, Keisha started off again, "See? He has a wife and he does not need to be coming over here."
This was so distracting, I left soon afterward. I said by to him and the other dude behind the counter. "Alright," he told, "You can leave now, I wasn't going to let you leave before 10:45." Part of me thought that was really cute, but a bigger part of me was screaming, "You perv!" So, this is weird. I definitely don't have a crush on him anymore, and I'm not even that sad or disappointed, more just confused, feel stupid, and feel really annoyed at him. I definitely need to change my interactions with him, and probably should stay away from this coffee shop for a little while. When I do return, I can talk to him at the counter, but that's it. No more wandering over to the counter to continue our conversations, and if he comes to my table, I can ask him about his wife or something. Boundaries need to be set up, if not for him, definitely for me.
I can be appropriately friendly with married men, but only when I know the boundaries in my head and in my heart. The owner of this coffee shop is married, but I knew this from the beginning, and I know his wife too, so we talk, we laugh, he invited me to go see the Dark Knight with them, but none of this is weird because I knew all along that he was married. He is attractive, but I've never once felt attracted to him because knowing that he was married created boundaries for me. I think about and act differently toward men that I assume to be single than toward men that I know to be married. But when a married man presents himself as single, or at least doesn't present himself as married, I treated him like a single man, which involved being attracted to him and flirting with him. Ugh, the whole thing just leaves a sour taste in my mouth.
So there we go, another little glimpse inside my romantic universe that some of my friends like to live vicariously through (why? it's so weird in this section of the cosmos!). Apparently I'm no better at judging the relationship status of men than I am at judging their ages. Worst crush ever? Yes. Worse than crushing on an ex-boyfriend, or crushing on an ex-boyfriend's best friend or roommate, or crushing on the boy that then tells me he wants to date my best friend, or crushing on the pot-smoking atheist in my high school stats class, or crushing on the skater guy who dropped out of a college and has family issues, who also probably smoked weed. Crushing on the married 30-something year old tops them all. And because it's probably my worst crush ever, and because Cara told me that this would be good blog material, and that it would help me feel better about things, I've just written a ridiculously long post about it. I feel like my blog could become some sort of Sex and the City-esque column. Minus the sex, unfortunately. I hope you found this entertaining, because in the midst of the weirdness of it all, I find myself very entertained at the absurdity. I hope you don't think I'm a silly pathetic girl, because I kind of am, but I sure don't want to be. I hope you feel annoyed at this dude and want to grab his adorable plastic-framed glasses, and smash them between his copies of Time and Being and What Would Jesus Deconstruct, and then pour espresso all over the mess, and then run over it with his ugly truck with the "Don't Mess with Texas" bumper sticker on the back window, because I sorta do, but I'd rather someone else do it for me.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
what I am not
In becoming a more honest and genuine person, it's good to admit what you are. I believe it is equally beneficial to admit what you are not. I've often fallen into a trap of trying to be someone that I was not - sometimes because I thought others expected it of me, but more often because I just wanted to be someone different. By admitting that I am not these things, I hope it will help me to avoid trying to be something that I'm not. Here goes . . .
I am not . . .
1. A Fajita Eater. For years, I've gone to Mexican restaurants with my mom and split fajitas with her, when I would much rather eat enchiladas. Fajitas are fine, but every time I order them, I'm disappointed. About a year ago, I realized this disappointment might be because *ta-dah* I don't like fajitas! This was a revolution, and since that moment, I have stopped ordering them.
2. A Beachgoer. I've always preferred the mountains to the beach. I don't really like the sand, I'm not huge on swimming, and I sunburn easily. I enjoyed my time at the beach this past spring break, but I went on that trip for the ministry opportunities, not for the beach. Beaches are pretty and relaxing, but after about an hour or two, I've had my fill.
3. A Camper. This came up recently in a conversation. I like the outdoors, I like forests and mountains, I just don't like spending the night in them. I like the idea of camping much more than the actual experience. I don't mind not showering, but I'm rarely comfortable sleeping in a tent and often frightened of the animal noises outside.
4. A Music Guru. Man, I sure wish I was! I love music more than some people, but less than others. Most of the new music I listen to is from recommendations from others - though I have fallen in love with some good tunes playing on the local college radio station. I say I love going to concerts, but then friends invite me to go see bands that I've never heard of - reminding me, that as much as I love music, or as much as I would love to love music, I am not a music guru.
5. A Teetotaler. I mostly avoided alcohol until I turned 21, but not because I didn't like it. I'm a social drinker, I enjoy having a beer or margarita at a concert or a rum and coke when I'm out at dinner with my manager and coworkers. I've also recently enjoyed smoking hookah, and wouldn't mind trying a cigar sometime either or even *gasp* marijuana in a country where it was legal. But, I've also never gotten drunk. I believe almost anything can be enjoyed in moderation.
6. Maternal. I love babies, and I volunteer with preteens, yet, I just don't connect well with children. Babysitting has always been awkward - I don't know how to stop a baby from crying and I don't really know how to talk to a four year old without going crazy. While some of my friends dream of being mothers, I dream of having a husband, a career, traveling, and plan at some point to have children. My mom was this way too, before she had me, she wondered, "What's the big deal? It's just a baby." Then I was born, and all that changed. I think it'll be that way with me too.
7. A Bible Scholar. Despite having led Bible studies four semesters at TCU, I do not consider myself a Bible teacher. I have memorized scripture, I have a basic familiarity with most books of the Bible (though I haven't read all of them), and I'm comfortable having conversations about the Bible, but I think that sometimes I have portrayed myself as having more knowledge, and more dedication to studying the word of God that I actually do.
8. A Researcher. Then why oh why am I getting my Ph.D? I must be a masochist. No, I have many valid reasons for pursuing a doctoral degree, none of which is my love for research. I will research, I will complete a dissertation, but research is not my career goal. I hate literature reviews, I dislike hypothesizing and designing experiments, and I dislike scientific writing. I sorta like running experiments, I like analyzing data, and I enjoy the conversations that research sparks with faculty who are much more knowledgable than me. I had a love/hate relationship with my undergraduate thesis.
9. A Promise Keeper. I all too easily let commitments slide. I know it's irresponsible, but when I get sick of something, I'd just prefer to drop it quietly and hope no one mentions anything. Also, I need to stop telling my friends, "I'll give you a call this afternoon, and then not call them until two days later." I think the less promises I make, the better.
No worries Martha, I'm glad you tagged me! I had already written this post, and while many of these may fall into the category of "things that make me weird," I'm sure I can easily think of 6 things that are even stranger . . .
I am not . . .
1. A Fajita Eater. For years, I've gone to Mexican restaurants with my mom and split fajitas with her, when I would much rather eat enchiladas. Fajitas are fine, but every time I order them, I'm disappointed. About a year ago, I realized this disappointment might be because *ta-dah* I don't like fajitas! This was a revolution, and since that moment, I have stopped ordering them.
2. A Beachgoer. I've always preferred the mountains to the beach. I don't really like the sand, I'm not huge on swimming, and I sunburn easily. I enjoyed my time at the beach this past spring break, but I went on that trip for the ministry opportunities, not for the beach. Beaches are pretty and relaxing, but after about an hour or two, I've had my fill.
3. A Camper. This came up recently in a conversation. I like the outdoors, I like forests and mountains, I just don't like spending the night in them. I like the idea of camping much more than the actual experience. I don't mind not showering, but I'm rarely comfortable sleeping in a tent and often frightened of the animal noises outside.
4. A Music Guru. Man, I sure wish I was! I love music more than some people, but less than others. Most of the new music I listen to is from recommendations from others - though I have fallen in love with some good tunes playing on the local college radio station. I say I love going to concerts, but then friends invite me to go see bands that I've never heard of - reminding me, that as much as I love music, or as much as I would love to love music, I am not a music guru.
5. A Teetotaler. I mostly avoided alcohol until I turned 21, but not because I didn't like it. I'm a social drinker, I enjoy having a beer or margarita at a concert or a rum and coke when I'm out at dinner with my manager and coworkers. I've also recently enjoyed smoking hookah, and wouldn't mind trying a cigar sometime either or even *gasp* marijuana in a country where it was legal. But, I've also never gotten drunk. I believe almost anything can be enjoyed in moderation.
6. Maternal. I love babies, and I volunteer with preteens, yet, I just don't connect well with children. Babysitting has always been awkward - I don't know how to stop a baby from crying and I don't really know how to talk to a four year old without going crazy. While some of my friends dream of being mothers, I dream of having a husband, a career, traveling, and plan at some point to have children. My mom was this way too, before she had me, she wondered, "What's the big deal? It's just a baby." Then I was born, and all that changed. I think it'll be that way with me too.
7. A Bible Scholar. Despite having led Bible studies four semesters at TCU, I do not consider myself a Bible teacher. I have memorized scripture, I have a basic familiarity with most books of the Bible (though I haven't read all of them), and I'm comfortable having conversations about the Bible, but I think that sometimes I have portrayed myself as having more knowledge, and more dedication to studying the word of God that I actually do.
8. A Researcher. Then why oh why am I getting my Ph.D? I must be a masochist. No, I have many valid reasons for pursuing a doctoral degree, none of which is my love for research. I will research, I will complete a dissertation, but research is not my career goal. I hate literature reviews, I dislike hypothesizing and designing experiments, and I dislike scientific writing. I sorta like running experiments, I like analyzing data, and I enjoy the conversations that research sparks with faculty who are much more knowledgable than me. I had a love/hate relationship with my undergraduate thesis.
9. A Promise Keeper. I all too easily let commitments slide. I know it's irresponsible, but when I get sick of something, I'd just prefer to drop it quietly and hope no one mentions anything. Also, I need to stop telling my friends, "I'll give you a call this afternoon, and then not call them until two days later." I think the less promises I make, the better.
No worries Martha, I'm glad you tagged me! I had already written this post, and while many of these may fall into the category of "things that make me weird," I'm sure I can easily think of 6 things that are even stranger . . .
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