3-2-1 Conflict

The few of you who have been reading this blog since its inception know that it started as a therapy project. I don’t go to therapy anymore, but this is still a good place for mental and emotional cleaning. The reasons for going to therapy were many, but there is no point boring anyone with all of those reasons. One reason is boring enough.

My therapist helped me understand that a major problem of my psyche was the avoidance of conflict. I would do anything to make sure conflict didn’t happen and messed a lot of things up as a result. It could be anything. If my friends and I were deciding on a restaurant, then I would go where they wanted to go – even if I hated the place. If there was something going on in a relationship, then I would keep it inside to not hurt her feelings. As you can see, I stayed away from conflict in minor and major situation.

All the time, I thought I was protecting the people around me. I was not arguing with them. I was not hurting their feelings. I was keeping everything calm. My therapist helped me understand that I was ripping myself apart by holding the conflict inside. I was ignoring situations that would eventually come to the surface. Instead of preventing conflict, I was putting off the inevitable and making things worse.

Here is a good example. I had been dating this lady for a while, but I was beginning to feel that it should end. Simply, it was a relationship that I didn’t want to be in anymore. I didn’t want to break up with her and hurt her, so I held on to those thoughts. Instead of breaking up with her, I started seeing someone else. Before I knew it, I was dating two people at once. Nice way to solve the issue wasn’t it?

It all blew up when they found out about each other. Instead of hurting one person a little, I hurt two people a lot. Wait, make that three people. I hurt myself, too.

That’s the problem with avoiding uncomfortable conversations, and that is what my therapist taught me. She also taught me that my voice is important and should be heard.

I hate conflict, and I hate uncomfortable conversations.

I hate telling a student that they are going to make a bad grade.

I hate hurting the feelings of the people I love.

I hate telling someone I don’t want to go to a certain restaurant.

I hate it, but I do it. I do it because it is the healthy thing to do. It may not feel good at the moment, but it will pass. Everyone will be happy again – most of the time. I do it because in real life conflict and uncomfortable situations cannot be avoided. I do it because it’s what people do, and the last time I checked I am a person. It took me a long time to understand that.

Shock the World

A couple of posts ago, Dark Cargo noticed a change in terminology from one post to the next. Instead of writing about my girlfriend, I wrote about my fiance. Those of you who know me through this blog are probably thinking, “Hey, that’s great!” However, those who have known me all of my life probably sat there stunned for a second before realizing what they were hearing. In this little corner of Tennessee, I pulled a Muhammad Ali and shocked the world.

You see, I am in my mid-40′s and have never been married. In fact, I have never seriously considered getting married. I ventured from one relationship to the next and burned a lot of bridges along the way. Most people, most importantly my parents, thought I would wander from one woman to the next until there wasn’t a next. If I was being honest with myself, then I would say that I thought the same thing.

Then, Necole came into my life. Actually, I should say that Necole returned to my life.

I first met Necole in our high school years when she was on a date with my best friend. He took her to the governor’s inaugural ball, and I showed up to prove to him that I could get an invitation to the inaugural ball, too. When I walked into the gala with my date, my goal was to find him, and I found him with this really hot cheerleader. I can’t remember what happened the rest of that night, but I remember where we were standing at our introduction.

Over the next several weeks, we would run into each other in the hallways of school, but I was too dumb to ask her out. She kept hinting, and I kept missing the hints. One afternoon, I was cruising through Sonic Drive-In when she hopped in my car and said something along the lines of “we should do something sometime.” We went out some, but I was still too dumb to know what I was doing.

I went to college and learned the ways of the world. She moved away and learned some of the same things. A few years later, we reconnected but were on different paths. We were both restless and needed to find out what was going on in the world that we were just learning about.

As I said, I moved from relationship to relationship, and I took a perverse pride in not really caring. I was out to have a good time and let the wreckage fall where it may. I hurt a lot of people but discovered somewhere along the way that I hurt myself, too. I hid this by convincing myself that I was different. I didn’t need anyone because the freedom and independence was too important to me. Why would I want to be with one person for the rest of my life when I could have the world to choose from?

Necole took a different path, but it is not my story to tell. However, I will say that she has a beautiful daughter who fills both of our lives with joy.

A few years ago, I walked into my office and found a text from Necole. She wanted to see me and asked if I would like to see her. We met at a place in Nashville and talked about the years that had passed since we had last sat across a table from each other. The time passed too quickly, and it wasn’t long before we had to go. I walked Necole to the valet stand and, before she got away, I kissed her. There was no way I was going to let her drive off without doing that.

We have been together ever since, and a few weeks ago I shocked the world by proposing to her. I never thought I would love someone like I love Necole. I never thought I would get married. It seems that I shocked myself, too. The guy who tried hard not to care found someone, both Necole and her daughter, who he can’t imagine not caring about.

Expanding the Palate

In my last post, I mentioned an episode at F. Scott’s, a very nice restaurant in Nashville. This post goes into a little more detail.

For a couple of years, I dated Anna, a professional woman who considered herself an expert of fine cuisine. Now that I think about it, she considered herself a wine expert, as well. She always wanted us to dine at the best restaurants and always said that I should expand my palate. I am always up for a good meal, and my palate was already well expanded. I’ll eat anything that doesn’t involve mushrooms.

Anyway, she was no more of a food and wine expert than I was. In fact, I would classify her as a food snob, and there was nothing better than to watch her stumble over her perceived expertise. However, it was embarrassing at times. She once made the wine guy bring out ten tastings before she found one that paired well with her meal.

Another time, we were at a new restaurant, and Anna kept going on and on about the Charleston influence in dishes. She asked to meet the chef and asked him where he worked in Charleston. He said that he had never been to Charleston. He earned his chef’s hat in Los Angeles.

Speaking of Los Angeles, Anna used to live there and always talked about the wine collection that she left behind. One night, we went to a wine tasting and were seated with some other folks. I learned that the man next to me once owned one of Nashville’s most famous restaurants. During our conversation, he asked what I thought about the wines. I was honest when I said that I didn’t like wine and they all tasted the same to me.

Anna quickly stepped in and said that I was new to wine and had not developed the proper appreciation. Then, he asked her about her favorite. She started a monologue about how she used to live in L.A. and had a wine collection. He interrupted her and said, “I don’t give a damn where you lived. I only want to know which wine you like the best.” Apparently, he liked my answer better.

I write all of that to set up what happened at F. Scott’s.

Anna had been wanting to go forever, and we finally got the opportunity. We were seated and the waiter arrived to take care of us. In the process, he described the evening’s special appetizer – sweetbread covered with honey.

Anna jumped right in and said we would order that. It suited me. I had no problem trying it and was sure that she knew what she was ordering. After all, she was a food expert. He brought a sweetbread for each of us, and we dug in. I thought it was good. Sure, it was a little chewy, but that was fine. The look on Anna’s face told me that she didn’t think it was so fine.

“Are you ok?”

“This isn’t what I thought it would be.”

“You mean that you don’t know what it is?”

“No, do you?”

“It’s pancreas or something. I figured you have had it before since you have dined all over the world.”

That’s when the hives began to appear. They started at her neck and spread from there. It was all I could do not to laugh.

“Mine’s good. Do you not like it?”

“I can’t eat this.”

With that, Anna spit out the pancreas into her napkin. That was pretty much the end of her meal. However, I was determined. I ate mine and the rest of hers. Then, I went on to the enjoy the rest of my meal.

It took forever for the hives to go away. On the way home, Anna kept talking about how I knew something about food that she didn’t. She really couldn’t believe it.

“How did you know what that was?”

“I heard Hannibal Lecter talk about eating sweetbreads in one of his movies.”

Anna’s hives came back.

“Why didn’t you tell me what it was?”

“You’ve dined all over the world. I thought you knew. Besides, you need to expand your palate.”

Secrets Revealed

Those who have read this blog from its creation know why it came into being. I created it, and, as the number of posts grew, people began to read and some began to follow. I didn’t tell anyone in my personal life about the blog, but it wasn’t like I was keeping a deep, dark secret. It just didn’t occur to me as something to share. I lived my life, and, sometimes, I would get on my computer and write.

Today, I told my girlfriend about the blog. I know. It’s terrible that I didn’t tell the person closest to me. That’s why I told her. People all over the world read my words, and I wanted her to read my words, too. After all, many of the posts have been about my adventures with her.

So, today a secret was revealed, and it made me feel kind of like this guy.

Deep Throat

With that being said, I welcome my girlfriend as a new reader of Surrounded by Imbeciles. I hope you like reading it as much as I like writing it.

The Shortest Day of the Year?

I hate the Winter Solstice, the shortest day of the year. I hate it because people say it’s the shortest day. The last time I checked December 21 is still 24 hours long. If people are going to describe or complain about something, then do those things accurately. It is the day of the year with the least daylight. Now, that I have defined the Winter Solstice I can say without a shadow of a doubt that I hate it.

Take today for instance. I woke up with my phone making all kinds of noises. It did the cricket chirp of someone calling. Then, it did the train whistle of someone texting. It would be nice if people realized that I am on vacation. This is the time of year that I like to sleep late. I realize that they are out there working away, but I would like a little peace a quiet. The crickets were coming from work where I have a student appealing their grade. He got a B. When I was in college, I jumped for joy when I got a B. The train whistle was my girlfriend asking me to put some money in her checking account. More on that later.

After waking up, I went in for a haircut. This process doesn’t take long because I don’t have too much hair. I pay $12 to talk to the barber for 15 minutes, but it is usually fun. He gossips and tells jokes and is pretty entertaining. However, I didn’t feel like hearing all that today. I just wanted him to cut and get me out of there. After all, there are only so many sex jokes that one can hear. It does make me wonder who makes all that stuff up, though.

Then, I was off to a Christmas luncheon. I serve on a committee that oversees the local fairgrounds (where we have the largest county fair in the state), and the director of the grounds hosted a lunch for everyone involved in the operation. The food was not bad, but I have had better. The worst part was the prerequisite prayer. I know it’s Christmas, but people pray before everything around here. Government meetings. Football games. Luncheons. I thought prayer was supposed to be private conversations with God. As I look around the room, you would be surprised at how many “Christians” have their eyes open as well. It would probably make an interesting study.

Once the luncheon was finished, I met a guy from work that wanted to tour my family’s Angus farm. I must say that was enjoyable. Our farm hand drove us around in his truck and provided a very informative tour. I don’t know much about the cattle business and would have had a hard time without him. I know about steaks and hamburgers, but our cattle are raised for breeding purposes only. We checked out the cattle and inspected the sale barn that sits on the property. It’s really kind of cool to see.

This is when I made my real mistake of the day. I stopped by my brothers office to drop something off. I go to therapy because I know that I need to. I also know that my brother needs it more. He is a very negative person who has let the world drag him down. The economy has totally destroyed his business, and, like a lot of other people, it has shaken him to his core. However, instead of complaining about just the economy he complains about everything else. He hates politicians. He thinks our mom hates him. He sees the bad aspects in everything. In general, talking to him puts me in a terrible mood. It makes me wonder how professional therapists do it. They probably need therapists more than anyone.

The shortest day of the year? Not really and not hardly. It was one of the longest days of the year. However, there is one thing about the Winter Solstice that I think is funny. Many scholars who study Stonehenge believe that the ancients held celebrations there at the Winter Solstice. That means all of the modern Druids and others who gather at Stonehenge during the Summer Solstice to become one with nature are doing it on the wrong day.