Fear’s Nickname is Insecurity and Selfishness is Her Friend

I’ve been saying for the longest that I wanted to make my life my own.  I feel like I’ve let so much pass me by.  There are and have been so many things that I’ve wanted to do and have not done.  Sometimes, I haven’t done those things because of laziness, particularly when it comes to planning.  I’m big on making sure I’ve done what I need to do before doing what I want to do because I experience the worst guilt when I don’t.  At other times, I waste my down time on things that don’t bring me enough satisfaction.

But there’s this other problem that I’ve been slow to acknowledge: I don’t have a squad. As a 40-year-old, single, childless, entrepreneur who despises surfacey conversations, chronic complainers, and long lines, it seems that I need to shop in a rather exclusive boutique for friendship. For the longest, this reality made me sad and set me up for some rather stale commentary from well-meaning people who say things like, “All you need is a man” as their assumption is that only somebody who is romantically involved with me would go along with (as opposed to enjoy) my ideas of fun. I guess it would give them challenges anew if I explained that the men I meet typically don’t have the ability to roll with me either. It appears that nearly every 40-something year old man I know is an active parent (I don’t intend to parent, co-parent, or step-parent), is separated (which still means unavailable), simply doesn’t enjoy the things that I do, or fails to think that I am the best thing since sliced bread.

In an attempt to have a social life despite not having a squad, I invited two friends to go to a festival with me.  Before the event, I’d told them what I wanted to do and thought we were on the same page; I was wrong.  I said that I wanted to go to the event to check out the vendors and do the wine tasting part; but, I didn’t plan on carrying a chair around for hours so that I could sit later.  Therefore, (I’d) just leave when later came.  Essentially, I thought we were going to taste wine, eat, spend, and go. At the last-minute, I learned that my companions actually wanted to hang out for the music festival and didn’t mind carrying chairs for hours.

No big deal, right? WRONG!  At once, I was annoyed about the change in plans and really hate lugging crap around!  Further, these two friends have more in common with one another than with me; thus, I also knew sitting for the festival was going to mean drinking bad wine (it tasted like Robitussin), listening to crude and harsh language (I despise gratuitous profanity), and trying really hard to keep the conversation light so that they wouldn’t think I was drag.  Frankly, that prospect didn’t motivate me.

Because I knew what I knew about our vibe differences and my preferences, it is beyond me why I stayed once they began hunting for a spot to park themselves for the festival, especially since we drove separate cars! Then, it occurred to me that part of my squad problem is fear. Yup, good ole fear. I realized that I am often reticent about embracing my authentic self when I’m with others. I want to be thought of as the perfect hang out buddy and fear being kicked out of the cool kids club for not being that. Essentially, I sold myself out at the festival (and countless times in the past).  I chose to frustrate myself for no good reason because I was afraid that they would decide that my friendship wasn’t worth it.

Of course, I needed to explore why I was so conflicted over something so simple. I mean, do I really think they’d “quit me” over it? When it came down to it, I had to acknowledge that I do think people tend to resist relationships with individuals who require additional or atypical effort (or don’t go along with the group). Bluntly, I believe people prefer relationships where they don’t have to bend to others’ preferences and boundaries simply because such is inconvenient and doesn’t let them be their proverbial selves.

(On that day and during times in the past, I had, in fact, asserted my preferences.  In particular, my “vibe boundaries” were clear (I cannot articulate how much I hate the crude language.).  Simply put, sometimes they’re respected and sometimes not.) 

My real belief about people is that they say they want love and acceptance when what they actually want is pacification. They want somebody to be part of their agenda. The only real question here is whether people believe they’ll get enough reciprocity to make the pacification worthwhile.

Then, it hit me: I, too, am people! I am just as self-centered as those who I pacify, and much of my resentment about unfulfilling relationships should be directed back to me for two reasons. First, I want a “Yes!” squad, too. I want people to go along, enthusiastically and genuinely, with my agenda. On the other hand, I have yet to master not pouting when I’m asked to do the same.  And when I do refuse, I feel guilty (Why this foolishness?) Second, I’ve failed to articulate what makes the give and take of relationships worth it: studies say that a person needs a 4:1 give to take ratio (4 positive experiences for every 1 negative one) to remain vested in a relationship. By quantifying what I want in general and what I get from a particular relationship, I am forced to acknowledge what I value as well as what I have to lose when managing the connection.

So, my challenge is to free myself of the pressure to be the perfect super-conforming friend which also means freeing them from being so as well.  Then, my goal is to train myself to get what I want by first giving what I want:  genuine interest, love, and respect so that I can leave the festival without guilt.

What is the source of your problems in your relationships?
Are you mad at them when you should be angry with yourself?

#siftedlessons
#maturity

Is it Laying Up, Marriage, or Yellow Love?

^^^^Listen to this while you read^^^^

I’ve spent my entire life around creative, resource wonderful women with deep hearts and tremendous sisterhood circles…and a seeming acceptance of lives sans romantic connection. Here’s the thing, some were married and some weren’t. The married ones spent their time either fussing about their husbands and grinning and bearing a whole lot of stuff while the single ones were keeping company with somebody as I have a lot of cousins.  The weirdest thing about these women, they behaved as if they were unphased by it (Mind you, I was a kid; thus, I’m sure some things were either hidden from me or beyond me).  Frankly, I feel like I’m going down that same road, making my way through life without the kind of romantic connection that I want, and I don’t like it. So, for a minute, I want to lift the mask and look at it.

I want to cater to my softer, more feminine side (all this really means is painting my toe nails and flirting more). Seriously, I love the feeling of being in love.  I enjoy planning romantic interludes. Besides, that’s an easier space to be in. It’s carefree. It’s light. It’s fun. It’s sensual. It’s titillating. And it gets overshadowed by fear. Nevertheless, I miss it. Gladys Knight once said she could live the rest of her life without sex, but that she couldn’t live without romance. I don’t know about the first part of that statement (I’d be one disappointed chick), but I do miss romance. I miss who I turn into when under its spell.

But here’s my challenge: I don’t think I want to be married, and I believe in divorce.  However, I’m hesitant to tell a man that I don’t want to be married because I think that’ll land me in the category of “women you do things with who you think aren’t marriage material”. It’s one thing to choose not exercise an option and quite another to be deemed ineligible. On the other hand, I feel ashamed about it when I’m among other women because marriage is the goddamn goal. When I’m among certain friends and dare utter my thoughts, they often turn into old Baptist Church men and are clearly at a loss for engagement that isn’t based on, “What is wrong with you?” Yes, they frame the question as delicately as they can, but the flawed me angle is still there.

Perhaps I ought to silently pursue the “situation” that suits me. I do know people who are unmarried and in long-term monogamous relationships (not necessarily cohabitating). Curiously, they seem to be mute about their relationships. Yes, you could say that they don’t want everybody in their business; but, I wonder if there is shame attached to being single and over 39. If so, at what point is that shaming, both external and internal, over?  Or do those unmarried, but loved and loving people just avoid the circumstances that make them feel judged, including those that shine a light on the tender spots where they judge themselves? Frankly, I believe a lot of different choices would be made if people weren’t so worried about the opinions of others. Personally, I am afraid of the elders in my family and offending the church culture I grew up in ALTHOUGH it doesn’t seem to be working in an ideal fashion for most of the folks I see subscribing to it (I think I’m more afraid of the people than God).

I resist marriage because I am happily stuck in my ways and lack the ability to believe in the fairytale. I see the imposition of duty. I believe the work of a relationship should be a choice made over and over again everyday instead of somebody just paying bills while the other person serves up duty-booty. I think this is the same taking-for-granted that occurs in families:  somebody always assumes that something is owed to them because of their connection. Thus, they make selfish choices just because they think they can. In my mind, this is divorce-worthy because it’s like persistent water wearing down a rock over time. Moreover, it terrifies me. I can’t even think of a way to string together enough profanities to show just how much that is not my idea of “till death do us part”!

On top of my reservations about the obligatory situation that marriage seems to disintegrate into, the idea that my selection process and criteria could be flawed and leave me with a man who isn’t good for me, a man I don’t complement, or can’t grow with is significant. The divorce rate doesn’t hover around 50% for no reason, and I know more than one widow who says she isn’t doing it again. Frankly, a man who doesn’t live at all like I do, who hasn’t made choices similar to those I’ve made, or who doesn’t seem to be moving in a similar direction as I am is scary. Sure, we consume cute clichés like, “opposites attract”; however, I believe it takes commonalities, a lot of them, to stay together.  The problem is that there seems to be nobody like me, not even close.

#SiftedLesson:  I need to decide on what I value in romantic connection and ask myself whether I am choosing or copping out if I engage and accept something besides what Aunt Hattie and Uncle John had.

Okay, putting mask back on now.

 

 

If I Should Die Today: Sifted Lessons

I swear to God that I believe you’re tired of me talking about the trauma of 40 (although I did punk a 21-year-old yesterday by telling her that I could be her mama); but, I’m hoping that you’ll bear with me.

As I’ve been thinking about what’s going on with me, I looked at two things.  First, what would be my final words to the people who came to see me off, to bid me a final adieu?  How would I wrap this thing up??  Second, I considered the people who constitute my community because I’m having different versions of the same conversations in multiple sister circles.

I wrote my obituary as my way of asking myself whether I was spending my time on things that matter.  It was also my way of being honest about what I am willing to work on (or not), a type of #unapologetic self-acceptance.  I will admit that this exercise was probably the one of the saddest self-inflicted experiences of my life.  It totally changed my perspective on grief.  I wrote it from the vantage point of, “If I should die today”.  In that instant, I felt somewhat frozen.  It took me a minute to get started.  I saw all of the unfinished business of my life.

In the days following this exercise and after I finished crying over myself, I realized that grief is greater than missing the person who died; it is lost opportunity.  Everything that is unsaid or unfinished is just that.  There is no more fixing it.  There is no more working on it.

In evaluating the unfinished business of my life, I perceived anew the bitterness of being undisciplined, the sour taste of fear, and the haunting questions regarding risks of the heart that I should’ve taken.  Since nobody gets to finish everything, it gave new weight to enjoying the work as well as the reward of finishing.  It also seems to me that much of life is process rather than conclusion; thus, learning to enjoy the process is more important than I thought before I imagined my death.

Despite feeling like I’m violating my own privacy….here you go!

Remember, I said I looked at two things.  Check back for the second thing :).