Sometimes, I have the hardest time talking to this one girl friend of mine. Whenever one of us is doing really poorly, we get along great, giving solid advise, support and humor to one another in turn - bad weather friends I guess you could say - but otherwise we tend to live in such disparate worlds that finding commonality relevant to the moments of our daily lives can be a real strain. I remember one time we were at a bookstore trying to chat, but the conversation was flawed with awkward silences that were only alleviated by a surprise run-in with one of her other friends. The two of them immediately hit it off, chatting and giggling about pajama pants and the anticipation of the primping process for her friend's up-coming first date. I watched my friend’s entire demeanor change from one of lethargy to exuberance upon her entrance. Back and forth they went like two little school girls, as my friend ranted about how she couldn’t believe how ratty and hole-filled her friend’s pajama pants were, and her friend giggled and shouted back about how proud she was of them. On they went, back and forth, and back and forth, with me as the reluctant audience for their two-person farce. I wasn’t amused, but mustered a forced half-smile as I thought to myself that maybe I’m just too serious to enjoy the little things in life. I feigned mild interest, but really was just trying to think up excuses to leave as they started discussing plans for us leaving the bookstore and doing movie night instead.
What are the sources of our awkwardness? Is it genuinely unconquerable differences alone?
Act I. I had just started reading Ulysses. As I began telling her how excited I was with it, she told me how she'd wanted to read it too and now maybe she would, especially since she was going to Ireland soon. I saw her a couple weeks later and again, she asked how my book was going. I got really excited, relaying examples of Joyce's style and telling her how rough it was to get through, but how completely worthwhile of an experience it was becoming. This time her response was to say that she thought she read it back in high school and liked it a lot too. I catch her all the time telling little fibs to either sound like she knows something she doesn't or to get out of something by being polite. I didn't respond to the remark directly. A month or so later I went to pick her and her boyfriend up from the airport after their trip to Ireland. During the car ride, she started telling me how every time she saw something referencing James Joyce or Ulysses, she thought of me. And again, she said that she thought she might have read it in high school but couldn’t remember. Her boyfriend laughed and said that no one who’s actually read Ulysses has forgotten that (s)he’s read it. Now why couldn’t I just say that? I didn’t want to offend her so instead I silently passed judgment, maintaining awkwardness.
Act II. [weeks later] We walked into her apartment and I noticed a copy of Foreign Policy magazine on her coffee table. In a tone that implied my assured doubts, I asked if she subscribed to it. Defensively she said she cared a lot about foreign policy, but again I responded suspiciously, saying I didn’t think that sentiment was strong enough within her to urge actual investment, especially since picking it up revealed a copy of Cosmo beneath it. Curtly she confessed that the top magazine was her roommate’s and then continued defending her shared interest in global issues, all the while giving me the impression that she was trying to convince herself much more so than she thought she was convincing me. I dropped the subject.
Act III. That same day, we got onto the subject of adolescent sexuality and she started telling me about an interview she heard on NPR with the director of Towelhead. I bit my tongue and reframed from sidetracking the issue at hand when she called his film "art" and talked about it with admiration, but instead chose to focus on what bothered me most: she kept using the word “normal” when comparing typical sexual experiences with those less common. Every time she said it I’d interject, reminding her that there is no such standard and that that is just a limiting term used to justify mainstream insularity. She would immediately agree, saying that it was just a bad word choice, only to slip and use the term again a couple sentences later. Long after the conversation had ended, as we were about to part ways for the day, she made a point of reiterating that she didn’t believe that there is such a thing as normal and it really was just a poor word choice. Vaguely, I told her I knew what she said versus what she had meant and left it at that. I don't think she liked my response.
In fact what I meant by such a statement was that I know that she doesn’t want to think in such rigid terms but in actuality she still does. I catch her repeatedly trying to justify herself in front of me, and me repeatedly backing down from creating conflict. Though the progression of these three incidents may be subtle, my mentality and tone changed increasingly in each. Whatever awkwardness we may have comes from me not saying what's on my mind and her knowing me well enough to be suspicious of my thoughts and hence defensive, if not self-righteous.
Is it mean of me to be openly critical? Do I too sometimes fake knowledge and know-how or just plain slip-up and say what I don't mean at times? I think my falsely playing into it or not saying anything at all is even more contemptuous than my speaking out. I prefer my friends pointing out my faults, otherwise I’ll continue fooling myself into thinking I’m something I’m not. At this point if I have to risk my friends thinking that I’m being judgmental, then so what; I’d rather be honest with them in the hopes that they’ll pause for a moment and think about how close their self-perception is to actuality. I’d rather them think I'm condescending or just plain wrong than not think at all. And I very well could be wrong; they’re just open-ended observations. But this is my new way of dealing with people; no more playing into their perceptions, acting as the passive observer, when I knowingly see contradictions.
I think I’ve already pissed off two of my friends now with my not-so-subtle comments. But it's not that I'm being outright confrontational with them because despite what they think, I’m not judging them. I want my friends to be who they are; it’s not my place to tell them what that is. I just think it’s important for people to step back every now and then to make sure that who they think they are is really what they are. And I hope they do the same for me.
What are the sources of our awkwardness? Is it genuinely unconquerable differences alone?
Act I. I had just started reading Ulysses. As I began telling her how excited I was with it, she told me how she'd wanted to read it too and now maybe she would, especially since she was going to Ireland soon. I saw her a couple weeks later and again, she asked how my book was going. I got really excited, relaying examples of Joyce's style and telling her how rough it was to get through, but how completely worthwhile of an experience it was becoming. This time her response was to say that she thought she read it back in high school and liked it a lot too. I catch her all the time telling little fibs to either sound like she knows something she doesn't or to get out of something by being polite. I didn't respond to the remark directly. A month or so later I went to pick her and her boyfriend up from the airport after their trip to Ireland. During the car ride, she started telling me how every time she saw something referencing James Joyce or Ulysses, she thought of me. And again, she said that she thought she might have read it in high school but couldn’t remember. Her boyfriend laughed and said that no one who’s actually read Ulysses has forgotten that (s)he’s read it. Now why couldn’t I just say that? I didn’t want to offend her so instead I silently passed judgment, maintaining awkwardness.
Act II. [weeks later] We walked into her apartment and I noticed a copy of Foreign Policy magazine on her coffee table. In a tone that implied my assured doubts, I asked if she subscribed to it. Defensively she said she cared a lot about foreign policy, but again I responded suspiciously, saying I didn’t think that sentiment was strong enough within her to urge actual investment, especially since picking it up revealed a copy of Cosmo beneath it. Curtly she confessed that the top magazine was her roommate’s and then continued defending her shared interest in global issues, all the while giving me the impression that she was trying to convince herself much more so than she thought she was convincing me. I dropped the subject.
Act III. That same day, we got onto the subject of adolescent sexuality and she started telling me about an interview she heard on NPR with the director of Towelhead. I bit my tongue and reframed from sidetracking the issue at hand when she called his film "art" and talked about it with admiration, but instead chose to focus on what bothered me most: she kept using the word “normal” when comparing typical sexual experiences with those less common. Every time she said it I’d interject, reminding her that there is no such standard and that that is just a limiting term used to justify mainstream insularity. She would immediately agree, saying that it was just a bad word choice, only to slip and use the term again a couple sentences later. Long after the conversation had ended, as we were about to part ways for the day, she made a point of reiterating that she didn’t believe that there is such a thing as normal and it really was just a poor word choice. Vaguely, I told her I knew what she said versus what she had meant and left it at that. I don't think she liked my response.
In fact what I meant by such a statement was that I know that she doesn’t want to think in such rigid terms but in actuality she still does. I catch her repeatedly trying to justify herself in front of me, and me repeatedly backing down from creating conflict. Though the progression of these three incidents may be subtle, my mentality and tone changed increasingly in each. Whatever awkwardness we may have comes from me not saying what's on my mind and her knowing me well enough to be suspicious of my thoughts and hence defensive, if not self-righteous.
Is it mean of me to be openly critical? Do I too sometimes fake knowledge and know-how or just plain slip-up and say what I don't mean at times? I think my falsely playing into it or not saying anything at all is even more contemptuous than my speaking out. I prefer my friends pointing out my faults, otherwise I’ll continue fooling myself into thinking I’m something I’m not. At this point if I have to risk my friends thinking that I’m being judgmental, then so what; I’d rather be honest with them in the hopes that they’ll pause for a moment and think about how close their self-perception is to actuality. I’d rather them think I'm condescending or just plain wrong than not think at all. And I very well could be wrong; they’re just open-ended observations. But this is my new way of dealing with people; no more playing into their perceptions, acting as the passive observer, when I knowingly see contradictions.
I think I’ve already pissed off two of my friends now with my not-so-subtle comments. But it's not that I'm being outright confrontational with them because despite what they think, I’m not judging them. I want my friends to be who they are; it’s not my place to tell them what that is. I just think it’s important for people to step back every now and then to make sure that who they think they are is really what they are. And I hope they do the same for me.
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