Sometimes, I avoid confrontation. I suppose I do it for a lot of reasons, depending on the situation but most of it is due to my laziness or having already moved on to occupy myself with something else.
Just yesterday, I was walking down the street and turning to go into a store. The store owner was standing in the doorway, talking to another patron. She seemed to be upset about something and the store owner was apologizing. As I approached the door, the unhappy customer had turned to leave and the owner, less than two feet away from me, let go of the handle and headed back inside. She let the door shut in my face. There, in that single second I decided that store had nothing for me. I turned to the friend I was walking with and said “never mind” and we walked away.
The store owner, apparently having seen this, came back out the door and said “we’re open, come in.” Obviously, she thought nothing of what she did. “No thank you,” I said. And part of me wanted to walk back in there and tell her why. But that other part, that avoid it, it’s hard and will make you uncomfortable for no reason part, just kept walking.
I do this too much, though. With things I think are unimportant, inconsequential. I did it when I was younger, when I didn’t want to hang out with someone anymore- I’d just distance myself, until we drifted apart. I don’t do that now, but the problem is, the attitude seeps into other areas. Areas it shouldn’t. Some things, you have to confront.
We’d been out twice. Once, for drinks, that turned into dinner. It was nice, but I was worried. “No spark,” I’d told a friend. She convinced me to give it another chance. I opened an email from him. If I were a celebrity with a fan club, I’d want a letter like this. I’d want a hundred of them. He was a fan. So we went out again. I was tired, just back from a trip. And a marathon. He was anxious, obviously so. I had a hard time engaging and I blamed it on being tired. At the end of the evening, I hugged him and said sure to another phone call, another meeting.
I knew better. Somewhere, and not-so-deep down, I knew what it was. That elusive “spark” I’d wondered about before, it still wasn’t there. It wasn’t going to be. Something was off, something just didn’t flow. It would have been missing, even if the interests weren’t romantic. No click, no chemistry. None of those descriptions we use to talk about something good. Someone good.
But the phone calls came anyway. One, two, then three. I’d legitimately missed only one of those, avoided the others. I was ashamed of myself. What was I doing, practicing something this childish, at twenty-seven? So I decided, I had to make the call. And just like that, it was easy. The words came to me, I dialed the numbers. I gave him the explanation, the honest explanation. None of that “I’m so busy” or “you don’t want to date me” crap. I said genuine words. Adult words. Call it nerve, call it gutsy, call it about time. What I’m going to call it, though, is growing the hell up.
Filed under: 
