Category: relationships

Only in the movies

“C’mon, let’s go get the shit kicked out of us by Love.”
Sam from Love Actually

This kid, this character. He’s my hero.

I had never seen Love Actually until recently. I had tired of the standard fare; Scrooged, Christmas Vacation, It’s a Wonderful Life. So, I searched a streaming collection of holiday selections and gave this one a shot. No regrets. It features a great ensemble cast. There are some “awww isn’t that sweet” moments and a great ending. It also includes my favorite type of character, the precocious young lad who believes in laying it all on the table for love. Bonus, he knows the rules of the Rom Com. This is evidenced by his comment, “I have to wait to the end, that’s when you get the girl”.

Now, the benchmark role for such a character is the son in Crazy Stupid Love. A hopeless romantic who never gives up. A believer in grand gestures and a yearning for romance that far exceeds the sensibilities of a young boy. A boy with the patience to actually wait for his one true love and the balls to go after it. Sam captures all that while dealing with the loss of his mother. Despite the sadness and utter turmoil he was enduring, he fell in love. And when he learned that the object of his desire was moving away, he channeled everything into getting the girl.

This post isn’t so much about this kid or his role. It’s about how I’m reminded by him of how I used to be. I never have been capable of the grand gestures portrayed in movies. But I was a devout believer in true love and I would really put myself out there in pursuit of it. I would have, given the chance, tried to get past TSA to stop a girl from getting on a plane. I would drive all night to spend an hour with a woman I loved.
Now, I don’t think I would cross the street for it.

I’ve given up. I choose not to date. I can’t do it to myself anymore. Love and Romance has been reduced to something that is found only in the movies. I can’t reconcile it with real life anymore. On the screen, I see happy endings and bold gestures. But in my mind, and in my gut, I only recall pain, bitterness and disappointment. Relationships now induce feelings of loss and rejection, which inevitably lead to my blaming myself. It’s a vicious cycle I don’t have the stomach for anymore. If for no other reason, I removed myself to protect what little is left of my heart.

Sam’s impulsivity and bravery in Love Actually is something I can relate to it and always enjoy it onscreen. But it’s a foreign concept to me now, putting myself out there. I am capable. I can flirt with the best of them and I am virtually fearless in talking to women. If only I was able to do that when younger. The difference between then and now is that I have no expectation of getting the girl at the end.

It’s a self-preservation thing. Young Sam is ready to let love challenge him. I really admire him for that. It’s a valuable lesson in life and a necessary rite of passage. No matter how bad it is, he’ll get over it.

Me, I’m still reeling from the last beating. Love is now a spectator sport to me.

A familiar face

Over the last year I have made a lot of meaningful changes in my life. It was a good year, but not without its challenges. While I have seized a tentative grip on my physical health, my mental health has suffered a bit. Last winter, I was quite prone to depression. This resulted in an increased alcohol intake. It also led to some long periods of self-isolation. The symptom of isolation is particularly damaging. It often involves days, if not weeks, of inactivity and bad dietary choices. The physical implications are as bad as the mental. It was if my mind and body atrophied at the same moment.

Fortunately, I am self-aware enough to take measures to make sure that doesn’t happen to me this winter. I am back at the workout club. It is remarkable how much better I feel when I get off of my ass and move my body. This simple act improves me both physically and mentally. In addition, the new “chill” and “reasonable” Bill is not worried about the long road I have ahead. He is also not concerned about reaching a level of acceptable fitness. Chill and Reasonable Bill doesn’t worry about how much weight I have to lose. I’ve been down many long roads before. If I keep my head down and keep walking, I will get there. Worrying and putting pressure on myself will not get me there any sooner.

Tuesday I was doing my best imitation of a workout. It wasn’t great but I was pleased with myself for just getting myself there. As I rested for a bit after a tiring set, I did some people-watching. I do this against my better judgment as I have a tendency to compare myself to others and that is a dangerous thing to do as a fat 60’ish guy. There are a lot of very fit people and it’s intimidating. Fortunately, I am comfortable with my expectations, and it doesn’t really bother me anymore. As I scanned the room I saw a familiar face.
Where did I know him from? That is a often-played game for me. I have met a lot of people from a lot of chapters of my life and I get confused easily. In addition, my memory is not like it once was. It’s frustrating.
He walked towards me and stuck his hand out. “Hey, Bill.”
Damn, it was Adam. One of my clients from my days as a Case Manager. Side note, coincidence that I blogged the day before about those days? He recognized me right away. Not surprisingly, after all the amount of time I spent with the guy was not insignificant. I felt bad, he knew that I didn’t recognize him right away.
“Sorry, man. I didn’t make the connection because of where we are.”
“You know I live in this area, right?”
“Yes, but I didn’t when we met. I recently moved back.” The facility was 100 miles away, near my Mom’s house where I formerly lived. I explained it to him.
“You look great. Can I assume that you’re still living the sober life?”, I asked. He explained that, with the exception of a couple of slips he was doing well.
I learned that he is now divorced. I remembered that his wife was not supportive of him during his recovery. So, I wasn’t surprised to hear this. I also learned that he was living with his parents, which he was not happy about. But he was still at his job, and he was in great shape. I didn’t push with any more questions.
We made some small talk and parted ways. I was sure that I would see him again as long as I kept going. I hope we can talk some more I hope.

As I’m recalling the run-in, I remember that a toxic trait emerged briefly. I wanted to ask him if I was a good Case Manager to him. Did I make any difference at all for him. I then chased that out of my head. If he hated me, he wouldn’t have greeted me. Recovery in general clearly was working for him. I knew I was good at the job, by several accounts. I know, for better or worse, that I did the absolute best I was able for him. I did the absolute best for all of my clients. I’ve come to place a lot of value on that notion, win or lose do the best you can. That’s all you can do. I’m pleased with myself for not being insecure and asking him that question. It’s not about me, it was always about him.

A voyeur of my own life

I’m not depressed. Really I’m not. Maybe if I say it enough times then I’ll believe it.
Who am I kidding? If it is or isn’t, this is just what I do.
I isolate. It’s better for me if I acknowledge that I don’t have the stamina that I used to. I’m disabled, maybe I should admit it. When you’re disabled you have to remind yourself that you only have so much in you each day and when you’re tired, then go with it. Lately I’ve been embracing that notion, to perhaps an unhealthy level.

But people are worrying about me. They don’t understand what I’m trying to do. I’m doing a reset. Truth is, I like being alone.
I do my best thinking. I save money. By avoiding people I avoid piquing my anxiety, which is running roughshod over my weak ass lately. I’m safe in my little space. Not safe like a little Gen Z snowflake afraid to get his feelings hurt, just safe from encountering extra stimuli that is going to serve as the proverbial straw that broke the Camel’s back. That’s why I isolate. There is nothing that says that I have to be out there doing stuff all the time. It’s ok to spend time alone.
Did I mention that I was never like that before this year?
It’s true. This is very new. I used to be the guy that needed to be around people all of the time. I suppose that’s before people in my life started letting me down, or just the day that I noticed a lack of equity in my relationships. Equity is a nice way of saying that I’m tired of giving more than I’m capable of and getting the minimum monthly payment back. Disclaimer, I do have some very good friends. But there are a couple that hurt me recently and I’m not going to lie, it stings. It’s causing me to reevaluate how much I give of myself to those that don’t deserve it. While I’ll never pull it off, I’m tempted to dump my trademark “be kind” and not be so fucking nice all of the time. You can be a good person without being a punching bag. Fuck the high road, and fuck anyone that did me dirty.

I have thought a lot about my isolation recently. I have been forcing myself to go out and do something each day, no matter how small. Last night I decided to take the bike out. It was a hot day but by 7 it cooled enough and it was perfect riding weather. I could have called several friends, any one of who would have joined me but I went alone. I drove to a lake and sat at the edge looking at nothing and everything like a first year Philosophy student. Other than some serenity, I didn’t feel much of anything.

Therein lies the problem. I don’t feel anything anymore. Until very recently I was basking in that post-transplant glow. Full of promise, a new lease, the ability to do things that once appeared to be unavailable. Now, I’m joyless. I don’t feel things like I should. I spend my TV time watching Documentaries on subjects that irritate me, made by people I don’t like or respect. I watch indie dramedies in search of that amazing love story that rips my fucking heart out, because I don’t have that but I want to FEEL IT! I’m challenging my entire paradigm to figure out why I am a voyeur in my own goddamn life.

How can I be a spectator of my own life?

My room the sanctuary

I don’t know if I’m on a quest for substance or just profoundly depressed. While on paper there would appear to be no possible similarities between the two, with me they can easily be mistaken for each other.

I get depressed. But I don’t get sad. Yes, I know it’s a false equivalency; Depression isn’t always characterized by sadness. It’s detachment, apathy, lack of interest, isolating. There are times that I experience all of that. It’s a problem that I need to deal with at some point.
When I am on a quest for substance, it means that I am unsatisfied with something in my life. One would think it would be an easy fix, identify the issue and work on it, right?
Not always. Things are never that easy with me. If that is what is happening; I don’t know what it is that is bothering me, what I feel I am lacking, or even in what direction to look.
Having taken a deep dive on all of it, the best I can come up with is that it is a combination of both.

I am definitely depressed. And again, not sad. I just don’t give a fuck about things that I usually care greatly about. I love my family and friends but I don’t answer the phone when they call me. I may text some of them back. They want to know where I’ve been, why I missed meetings that I am always at (with joy I might add). They want to know if I’m ok. I tell them I’m fine, they know I’m lying and I’m making them feel bad for me. And I hate that. It would probably help me to talk about it, what little I understand of my behavior, but I refuse to pull them in.
I’ve been lying to everyone about how I am for years, why stop now?

There’s something to be said for the quest for substance also. Yes, I have been in my loft, with the exception of the rare times that I have to go out, and I have been watching a LOT of television. But here’s the caveat, I’m not watching reruns or just anything, but instead I am combing the streaming channels with a purpose. I am looking for that great movie that I’ve always wanted to watch, selecting titles and topics that I know will challenge my paradigm , even documentaries on controversial subjects created by controversial people. I watched Moscow on the Hudson because I knew that it was a beautiful take on Immigration and the American dream. I streamed Bowling for Columbine because I needed to see the other side (not my 2A stance) on the Gun Violence debate.
All in the interest of challenging myself. I actually like what I’m doing, just now how I’m doing it. But underneath it all, I know that I’m trying to improve myself and that cannot be a bad thing in my book.

Still, it needs to stop. I have a great life and there is no reason to be down. I have a great family, tons of friends, groups and activities that I enjoy, there are people that actually are counting on me. I like that as well as need it. It gives my life value. So what’s my problem?

I’m going out tomorrow. No matter what. I’m going somewhere and doing something with someone. If I can’t do that then I need to Google some therapists. Don’t think I haven’t thought about that as well.

something has got to give

Right now I should be at an event at the Shriners. I had every intention of going but I didn’t.
Last night I had every intention of going to another event. In fact, I was dressed and ready to go. Then I couldn’t find my keys. I had a complete meltdown as I frantically searched high and low for them. I exaggerate not one bit when I tell you that I tore my loft and most of the kitchen, the place I had last seen them (and where they were eventually recovered) apart in a complete panic.
My roommate’s girl found them for me, but by then it was too late for me to go to my thing.
I realized today that I am actually glad that I didn’t go, I would even go so far as to venture a guess that I may have mentally sabotaged myself. I didn’t want to go. In fact, I don’t want to do fucking anything lately.

I thought I was just being lazy. I have those moments. To listen to my doctors, friends and family tell it, I am busy enough most of the time that I should allow myself those days, as they remind me that I am after all disabled and can cut myself some slack. But I haven’t left my room, except for the food shopping I did yesterday that led to my lost keys. Other than that I have been isolating.

Isolation is not entirely new to me. I do it once in a while. I have been doing it more lately, I must admit. But it’s getting more intense; one new development this week has been my ignoring almost all phone calls, family excluded. In addition to not wanting to do anything, I don’t want to talk to anyone either. And some of those people are starting to notice and are concerned about me. But I won’t discuss it with them because I don’t want them to worry about me. I want to talk to someone about it but that, for sure, would make people worry about me.

I don’t like this. If for no other reason, it doesn’t make sense. I have a good life. I am in good health. I have been to fucking HELL and BACK and I came out on top. I thumbed my nose at my mortality and I am doing everything that I once thought was lost to me. I even have a female companion. That is an area of my life that caused me great anxiety, worry and heartbreak.

I also have to ask, why did I have the overwhelming urge to end my life last week? Out of nowhere, while with family of all things, I suddenly didn’t care if I lived or died. I didn’t make any plans, or pick a means or a place, and I didn’t write a note, but I couldn’t have given less of a fuck if an asteroid hit the house I was in at that moment.

And then, just like that it went away. I am not in a good mood, but I scoff at the thoughts that racked my head last week. That depressive episode has morphed, deescalated perhaps, into a shameful state of apathy. I am a lot of things but apathetic is not one of them. Yet, here I sit, marveling at the effort it required just to write this blog.

Something has got to give. And soon.

Early memories

I was recently asked what my earliest childhood memory is. I always cringe when asked about a childhood memory. The fact is, I either have a terrible memory or I have suppressed an awful lot of my childhood. Given my penchant for mercilessly beating the crap out of myself for things that happened forever ago, one would think that my memory is tremendous. I will compromise and say that I have a great memory but it doesn’t go back very far in my childhood.

But I do remember one particular toy very well, let me tell you about it.

The “Hoppity Hop”, the 70’s greatest invention. A big rubber ball with handles that you can hop around on. Every kid in America had one and I was no exception. I brought mine everywhere. Including on vacation to Papoose Pond Camping area in the State of Maine.

Pappoose Pond was a favorite destination of ours. Mom and Dad were Square Dancers (go ahead and deride deride) in the 70’s. They had a lot of fun and made many friends. Those friends had kids of course, and that made it fun for me. Every summer, as many as 8 families would take 2 weeks off for the annual Jamboree. Long after Square Dancing was done, the same families would meet. This was great for me, as a young child I always looked forward to my “2 week friends”, and as we got older we managed to get together more often.

I’ll never forget certain details of those excursions. For starters, the Pond was incredibly murky, so much so that we didn’t do a lot of swimming. I also remember that it rained several days every year and the dirt road’s multitude of potholes became a great way to get filthy as we plowed our bicycles through. I fondly remember the adults all getting together for wine coolers, crackers and cheese; a ritual that would ultimately span decades.

But one of my favorite memories was the playground. As far as playgrounds were concerned, this one was the Taj Mahal. At least 2 huge Jungle Gyms, sandboxes, the Rocking Horses on giant springs, and the tallest Swing Set I have ever seen.

If I were to visit there today, and nothing would please me more, those swings are most likely not there anymore. This would be due to the simple fact that they were dangerous.

Today’s generation could never handle them and the pussified parents of today wouldn’t allow their children to swing 20 feet into the air. Additionally, the swings were made of wood. Hard wood with edges that can cause damage. How do I know?

I was hit in the face with one.

My family, cousins and all, spent a great deal of time in that playground. One sunny day in August, I was bouncing around on my Hoppity Hop, having a grand ole time. My cousins, all 6 of them were taking turns on the monstrous swing set. To this day I am still not sure why, but I think I can safely say that natural stupidity was a part of it, I hopped my way directly into the path of the swings. I remember much shouting, my mother’s voice stands out, and then looking up. My older cousin Deb was mid-air, on a downward trajectory yelling at the top of her voice for me to move out of the way. As I type this I recall that I was watching this as if in slow-motion.

Too late. I was struck and I flew through the air. Not an exaggeration, I flew at least 6 feet. I had been struck in the face and there was no shortage of yelling and screaming as family members and strangers ran to assist me. Amazingly, I was fine. I had a deep cut under my left eye and a headache, but I was relatively unscathed.

I was taken to the hospital where the doctor stitched my cut and made the official diagnosis that I have the hardest head in recorded history. He also made the tacit observation that I was the luckiest kid alive. A mere inch higher and I would have lost an eye.

I will never forget the concern on my family’s faces, and the face of my cousin Mike, whose face told me that I would be called a dumbass forever.

Dumbass is not far off, but I have amended it a bit.

That’s “Lucky” dumbass to you, sir.

I did that

I was recently asked what I have made that I am most proud of. It was an intriguing question that, to answer properly, and tell the story that first comes to mind, required that I take the word “made” out of context a bit. Because the first thing that comes to mind when I hear the words “Made”, and “proud”, the very first thing I think of is my children.

Without putting too fine a point on it, biologically speaking I “made” my children. Putting aside the obvious and fun fact that “making” a baby is a very nice thing, I would also like to think that I helped make them who they are.

This may shock some, but I think all of my children are pretty great. I say that because everyone thinks their kids are great. Sure, many are. Then again, Ted Bundy’s mother thought hers was pretty special also. But I digress. 

My children are a source of great pride to me because they are all good human beings. They have values and act on them. They have big hearts and use them. They are smart, hard-working, caring, generous, and there for each other. They love, and most importantly forgive each other. And their mother and I. That’s a big one.

My children grew up in a tumultuous household with a stressed-out, sick father and Borderline personality (diagnosed later in life) mother. We had plenty of moments of fun and frivolity, as well as loving, tender moments. But many bad episodes ranged from tiptoeing around someone’s bad mood, all the way to F-bombs and words exchanged that can never be taken back. Or forgotten. There were some moments, post-calamity in which I sat back and genuinely feared that the damage done to my children, due to their parent’s inability to control themselves, would be crippling and irreversible. Those moments overpowered me.

I can’t expect someone that hasn’t been through something like that to understand, so I’ll point out the crippling part of such a moment. When you fear repercussions, long-term and crushing ones in which you may have potentially ruined your children’s concept of marriage, relationships, how to treat a man/woman properly, etc., it is not only an unbearable weight but it is also something that will take a long, long time to come to fruition, if at all. All you can do is wait and hope for the best.

Somehow, they all grew up relatively unscathed by the absurdity of their parents’ behavior and are all in healthy, wonderful relationships.

Bullet Dodged. 

I am truly a lucky man to be able to walk free of shame or guilt because my children turned out well. It’s always the goal but there’s never a guarantee of the outcome. I am father to 4 great people, ones that, long after I am gone, will continue to make the world a better place. When people tell me what great kids I have, part of me beams because, let’s face it, I had something to do with it. 

I helped in making them.

Old Movies

One of the many things I enjoy about my new Lady friend, and there are many, is her knowledge and passion for older movies. As a movie lover, it is a genre I’ve always wanted to explore but for some reason, I viewed it as a challenge, a project that needed to be approached systematically. I find that odd, as I do many things I do because I don’t approach any other entertainment genre in the same way. Nevertheless, I largely avoided the genre, as if I was waiting for someone to come along and show it to me. Someone to give me the “must-sees”, the highlight reel, the time-saver. Well, I met her and we have begun my journey. I have to say that I have really enjoyed it and am looking for more. Casablanca, Citizen Kane, Gilda and The Quiet Man are in the books. Next on the list remains a mystery, but I have given my list of actors I want to see; Spencer Tracy, Jimmy Stewart, Jimmy Cagney for starters. Definitely more Rita Hayworth and Ingrid Bergman, and looking forward to Liz Taylor, Marlene Dietrich and as Elton said, dearest Marilyn. I am not only looking forward to seeing these movies, I can’t wait to watch them with her.

I don’t know why I waited so long to embark on this journey. Not only am I fan of all cinema, but I am a lover of all things past. It is not a reach to state that I was born in the wrong decade. I have fantasized as well as written about growing up in a different time. I love the notion of the roaring 20’s, dressed to the nines and dancing with rebellious and fine women. I fancy being a young man in the 40’s, when post-war optimism and a sense of triumph ruled the air and men wore suits to Baseball games. I can imagine myself cruising the strip in 50’s America in a Rat Rod, listening to Doo Wop (one of my favorite genres) on the radio, hair slicked and a pack of Lucky’s rolled into my sleeve like John Milner in American Graffiti. I wonder aloud if I would have been a protestor or a staunch member of the status quo in the tumultuous 60’s as cultural change and paradigm shifts dominated the landscape. That’s what movies do for me, they make me think of the “what if’s” in life. It takes understanding who you are and what you stand for to an entirely new level; you ask yourself the hard questions of yourself; Am I a product of the times? Would I have been a different or better/worse person than I am in this universe? Which raises so many other questions.
If I had lived in a time of war, would I have been a hero or a cautionary tale?
If faced with the notion of great sacrifice, would I have done it with dignity and decorum?
Would I have been a face in a crowd or a person that stands out?
Would I have followed the norms of the time or would I be a voice of change?

Of course, all of this is pure fantasy. With my health conditions and the technology of the times in question being what they are/were, I wouldn’t have lived very long. But if we were to suspend reality for a brief moment in time, I have so many fantasies about growing up in different decades. It would be good to ask myself why I suppose. Do I believe that the past were better times or just different times? I ask because looking back at the examples I have given above, I mentioned the good aspects of those eras but they all had a tremendous downside. The 20’s, despite the “roaring”, would end in the Depression, an era that was nothing less than brutal for all Americans. The 40’s would entail a World War in which I may have died. The 50’s were not entirely peaceful as well, we were at war again. The 60’s were dominated by incredibly divisive politics, cultural upheaval, racial violence, and polarization and destruction of the American family, not to mention that I may have gone to Vietnam.

Yet, when we watch old movies the times become glamorous. American History is written by the victor and Hollywood was the storyteller. They took liberties and painted a wonderful picture of a country that is not always that wonderful. And that’s ok, because we don’t go to movies to see how bad things are, that can be seen all around us. Movies are an escape from reality, a dalliance with fantasy, a reminder of bygone eras. In old movies I get to observe so many things that are non-existent today.
Masculine men who projected strength and virility, men who dressed well for all occasions, men that were chivalrous and treated women as ladies. To that point, I love seeing the portrayal of women who were proud to be feminine, women that enjoyed the differences between the genders and embraced the power that comes with it.
On that note, it is also fascinating to see how bad behavior, men striking women or making unwanted advances, or acting badly in general, has gone the way of the Dodo.
Then we have the observations of technological advances; isn’t it interesting to see the old cars, hand-cranked telephones, telegraph machines and typewriters? Who doesn’t come out of It’s a Wonderful Life without marveling at what Banks used to look like?

I am really enjoying this process and look forward to where it takes me. Of course, it is an added advantage that I have someone great to snuggle on the couch and watch with. After all, what are the odds that “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she walks into mine”

A new challenge

I can see myself laying back on a therapist’s sofa, I can feel the beady Freudian eyes studying me, I can hear the words coming out of my mouth as if I was there, “Dr., help me. I’m dating a liberal.”
“Veeelll”(my best Austrian accent on paper), “how does dat make you feel?”
“I don’t know yet, it’s never happened before. But I think I like it.”
“You do”?, he inquires. “I thought zat you were a conservative, with a, how do you say eh…Podcast”.
“I am”, I paused. “This is uncharted territory for me.:
“Vell then you should embrace it zen”, he instructed.
“I will, as soon as I figure out how.”

Of course, I am not really on a therapist’s couch but I am in the grips of a crisis in my dating life, I am dating a strong and intelligent woman whose politics are very different from my own.
I can tell you that initially, it gave me fits, but now I am perfectly OK with it.

It’s been my history that I have, for unknown reasons, dated women who share my conservative leanings. It has never been a preference that I sought out, it merely worked out that way. In the dating process of getting to know someone, political leanings, or interest level at least, usually come up. I’ve dated some very political women and others who couldn’t care less. I gravitate towards somewhat political women because I believe that it reflects awareness and intelligence to want to know what is happening in the world, and I have little regard or interest in people who don’t care. So it tends to work itself out early on in the process. This one, it took a while before the liberal revealed itself. Not for any particular reason other than one really great one; it didn’t come up because we had so many other things, great things, to talk about as were getting to know each other that it never came up.

When it did come up, it did so in a somewhat comical manner. If memory serves, she may have said, “ok, let’s get this out there” or something similar. She then proceeded to say something that is very contradictory to my beliefs. I laughed it off, we talked about it and we agreed to disagree. I was relieved to realize that I was able to hear opposing viewpoints and make the critical distinction that it isn’t personal, I wasn’t being attacked, and it was up to me how I chose to process it. Except for one comment she made, which showed me that she was a little left of an Independent, a comment that made me question her sanity for a moment, I was surprisingly ok with it. We had a spirited conversation and it ended on a good note.
But after we talked, I had serious reservations about whether I could be with someone with such different ideas. See, I view my convictions as more than just opinions, I believe that it is an extension of our belief system, our character, dare I say our values. My fear was that my new interest was so different in her actual makeup that we wouldn’t get along. I spent the night and most of the next day thinking about it.
I think she did as well. Here’s why. She believes that Conservatives are unfeeling and compassionate, I feel that liberals are misguided and unrealistic. And my fear was that she was the worst type of liberal, the “all about party” person that rejects all opinions that don’t fit their narrative. This could have gone either way. As it would work out, we talked about it the next day. The results were surprising; we agreed to disagree.

I was relieved. It then occurred to me that there was one thing I was overlooking. She was different. Unlike many people, she had educated and informed opinions backed by genuine compassion. I cannot emphasize how much value I place on that. I would like to believe that I espouse my beliefs and convictions similarly. I’m not angry and closed off, instead I truly care. That is the great equalizer. Also, it occurred to me a larger matter; I really liked her and the notion of losing an opportunity to get to know this interesting, intelligent and accomplished woman over politics is unacceptable.

It hasn’t crossed my mind since I came to that realization. I would go so far to say that she is good for me. She is making me put my money where my mouth is. I wanted to be more open-minded, here’s my opportunity. If I lose her, it won’t be over my like or dislike of a candidate or party. I have so many ways at my disposal to ruin this opportunity, I don’t need politics. There is a bigger picture here. One that hopefully includes her.
Relationships should include challenging each other. I welcome it. I hope she does as well.