Counterintuitive
Written for therealljidol 8.9 "Counterintuitive"
I had coffee with Christina last week. The last time we really connected with one another was four years ago, so her call, when it came, was quite out of the blue.
"Tonia!" she exclaimed. "I love talking to you! You always make me feel so peaceful."
I had to bite back my retort. If I made her feel so peaceful why on earth had it been so long since she had attempted to contact me? I was always the one initiating contact. Lately, I had just let things slide to see if she would call me back. Ever. Well, she did. But only when she was physically in town and not states away where she currently lives.
The conversation that ensued was strange. Not for her, but for me. We were best friends back about a decade ago. She was the one who helped me with some of my deeper issues and confided in me about her own. Listening to her speak now, it was abundantly clear: she remained largely the same, while I had changed in almost every way.
It was tough to be in contact with her again because my gut had me wanting to overshare at every turn - because at one time - we had been so close. I talked another friend, who told me what her husband often does in these types of situations. Politely answer the question put to you, and only the question put to you. As simple as this sounds, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to do it.
At the coffee shop, later that week, I was glad for the advice. We sat down - her with some caffeinated beverage and me with a hot chocolate - and she began telling me how she drinks so much coffee that it affects her mood and makes her depressed at times. When that happens, she has to stop for two weeks before she goes back to it.
"It's like an addiction," she said flippantly. "You know, that's what addicts do, don't you?"
I couldn't hold back the sigh that escaped.
"Wait. What's wrong? Why did you sigh like that?" she asked, her own intuition working overtime.
"Nothing. It's just that I'm not surprised."
She kept pressing.
Finally, I gave in.
"It's just that we're still going through that with So-And-So, I said, naming a loved one who has been dealing with addiction for a long time.
Christina was incredulous. "Still?" she gasped.
"Yeah. Still," I said, remembering the previous conversations I'd had on the subject with her. Conversations that made it clear to me that she had no idea what it like to deal with a loved one's addiction.
She continued talking about how, where she lives, certain drugs are legalized. How, where she lives, some of a certain harder drug is mixed with drain cleaner so it's more lethal than usual.
"So many people have relapsed or died because of the drugs where I live. How will you do it? I mean, what will you do, if..." she hedged, unwilling to say what I knew she was thinking.
"I honestly don't know."
"You know, I really love your hair long!" Christina said after a pause. "What made you decide to grow it out?"
"Well, Jake was the first to suggest it," I said, referring to my 17-year-old cousin, who regularly visits and makes it his duty - when we are not watching Glee - to style my hair, and once, even reprimanded me for "not choosing to look as beautiful as he knows I can look!"
"Oh, Jake..." Christina said fondly.
"But then, with Malia fighting cancer at the time, I got the idea of growing it out to donate it..." I trailed off, a little uncomfortable at the change in Christina's expression.
The warm smile fell off of her face. "So, you're just going to grow it out to cut it all off again?" Christina demanded, clearly disappointed.
"Yeah. Pretty much," I answered, not backing down.
Later on, the subject of going to visit her aunt and uncle, who are missionaries in Central America came up. "I really want to go back," she said. "Oh, wait. If I go there, I'll have to take out my nose ring. I guess I won't be going then. Maybe I'll go somewhere in the States instead..."
"Well, whatever works for you," I told her honestly.
"That's very politically correct of you," she responded, stopping me short.
I hadn't said it to be politically correct, I had said it because I meant it.
When the conversation ended abruptly, upon my return from the restroom, I tried not to be offended. She had gone from not being in a rush, when we spoke a few days earlier, to now needing to leave to meet another friend, as soon as possible.
The entire conversation was punctuated by statements like, "And then God told me..." or "And then God gave me this dream..." or "I was watching that show Up All Night, and I just started crying because it was like God was telling me..." When she quoted a Bible verse and I said I hadn't read the Bible in quite sometime, she had to quench her desire to turn me back to reading it. She finally settled on, "You really should. There's some good stuff in there. But I'm not going to preach."
When we left, I noticed her footwear. It was winter and I live in the Midwest. There was snow in the parking lot, and there was Christina wearing what looked like tiny slippers that my great-grandma might have worn...and no socks...leaving most of her feet and her ankles completely bare.
"Aren't you cold? Your feet are going to freeze right off! Where are your socks?"
She looked at me like the answer was obvious. "Well, I can't wear socks with skinny jeans. People will see my sock line."
Later, I told Jake about the sock comment. He understood completely. Somehow, his knowledge of fashion and tolerance for ridiculous trends is more acceptable to me. Maybe it's his age.
Or maybe, it's the knowledge that Jake truly loves me for who I am and does not try to change me when I do not measure up. Maybe it is knowing that when he makes me over - as he has done since he was 9 years old - he is doing it because it's he loves it. Because I have literally watched him walk a circle around Tara, in the "hair chair" and tried to visualize a hairstyle, or told us, "Hold on! I just have to get this out!" before he begins styling. With Jake, it doesn't feel like vanity that drives him. It feels like passion.
It was easier to be at peace with how weird things ended up with Christina than it has been in the past to admit that a friendship that is changing. That it's not what it used to be. Maybe that comes with growing up.
Or maybe it's because I have people like Jake in my family, to remind me of what is really important.
*Names have been changed and information omitted to protect privacy.
I had coffee with Christina last week. The last time we really connected with one another was four years ago, so her call, when it came, was quite out of the blue.
"Tonia!" she exclaimed. "I love talking to you! You always make me feel so peaceful."
I had to bite back my retort. If I made her feel so peaceful why on earth had it been so long since she had attempted to contact me? I was always the one initiating contact. Lately, I had just let things slide to see if she would call me back. Ever. Well, she did. But only when she was physically in town and not states away where she currently lives.
The conversation that ensued was strange. Not for her, but for me. We were best friends back about a decade ago. She was the one who helped me with some of my deeper issues and confided in me about her own. Listening to her speak now, it was abundantly clear: she remained largely the same, while I had changed in almost every way.
It was tough to be in contact with her again because my gut had me wanting to overshare at every turn - because at one time - we had been so close. I talked another friend, who told me what her husband often does in these types of situations. Politely answer the question put to you, and only the question put to you. As simple as this sounds, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to do it.
At the coffee shop, later that week, I was glad for the advice. We sat down - her with some caffeinated beverage and me with a hot chocolate - and she began telling me how she drinks so much coffee that it affects her mood and makes her depressed at times. When that happens, she has to stop for two weeks before she goes back to it.
"It's like an addiction," she said flippantly. "You know, that's what addicts do, don't you?"
I couldn't hold back the sigh that escaped.
"Wait. What's wrong? Why did you sigh like that?" she asked, her own intuition working overtime.
"Nothing. It's just that I'm not surprised."
She kept pressing.
Finally, I gave in.
"It's just that we're still going through that with So-And-So, I said, naming a loved one who has been dealing with addiction for a long time.
Christina was incredulous. "Still?" she gasped.
"Yeah. Still," I said, remembering the previous conversations I'd had on the subject with her. Conversations that made it clear to me that she had no idea what it like to deal with a loved one's addiction.
She continued talking about how, where she lives, certain drugs are legalized. How, where she lives, some of a certain harder drug is mixed with drain cleaner so it's more lethal than usual.
"So many people have relapsed or died because of the drugs where I live. How will you do it? I mean, what will you do, if..." she hedged, unwilling to say what I knew she was thinking.
"I honestly don't know."
"You know, I really love your hair long!" Christina said after a pause. "What made you decide to grow it out?"
"Well, Jake was the first to suggest it," I said, referring to my 17-year-old cousin, who regularly visits and makes it his duty - when we are not watching Glee - to style my hair, and once, even reprimanded me for "not choosing to look as beautiful as he knows I can look!"
"Oh, Jake..." Christina said fondly.
"But then, with Malia fighting cancer at the time, I got the idea of growing it out to donate it..." I trailed off, a little uncomfortable at the change in Christina's expression.
The warm smile fell off of her face. "So, you're just going to grow it out to cut it all off again?" Christina demanded, clearly disappointed.
"Yeah. Pretty much," I answered, not backing down.
Later on, the subject of going to visit her aunt and uncle, who are missionaries in Central America came up. "I really want to go back," she said. "Oh, wait. If I go there, I'll have to take out my nose ring. I guess I won't be going then. Maybe I'll go somewhere in the States instead..."
"Well, whatever works for you," I told her honestly.
"That's very politically correct of you," she responded, stopping me short.
I hadn't said it to be politically correct, I had said it because I meant it.
When the conversation ended abruptly, upon my return from the restroom, I tried not to be offended. She had gone from not being in a rush, when we spoke a few days earlier, to now needing to leave to meet another friend, as soon as possible.
The entire conversation was punctuated by statements like, "And then God told me..." or "And then God gave me this dream..." or "I was watching that show Up All Night, and I just started crying because it was like God was telling me..." When she quoted a Bible verse and I said I hadn't read the Bible in quite sometime, she had to quench her desire to turn me back to reading it. She finally settled on, "You really should. There's some good stuff in there. But I'm not going to preach."
When we left, I noticed her footwear. It was winter and I live in the Midwest. There was snow in the parking lot, and there was Christina wearing what looked like tiny slippers that my great-grandma might have worn...and no socks...leaving most of her feet and her ankles completely bare.
"Aren't you cold? Your feet are going to freeze right off! Where are your socks?"
She looked at me like the answer was obvious. "Well, I can't wear socks with skinny jeans. People will see my sock line."
Later, I told Jake about the sock comment. He understood completely. Somehow, his knowledge of fashion and tolerance for ridiculous trends is more acceptable to me. Maybe it's his age.
Or maybe, it's the knowledge that Jake truly loves me for who I am and does not try to change me when I do not measure up. Maybe it is knowing that when he makes me over - as he has done since he was 9 years old - he is doing it because it's he loves it. Because I have literally watched him walk a circle around Tara, in the "hair chair" and tried to visualize a hairstyle, or told us, "Hold on! I just have to get this out!" before he begins styling. With Jake, it doesn't feel like vanity that drives him. It feels like passion.
It was easier to be at peace with how weird things ended up with Christina than it has been in the past to admit that a friendship that is changing. That it's not what it used to be. Maybe that comes with growing up.
Or maybe it's because I have people like Jake in my family, to remind me of what is really important.
*Names have been changed and information omitted to protect privacy.