Nesting Dolls

I think that everyone has moments in their life when they arrive at soul-crushing realities. Mine happened recently due to a book I’m reading with my friend Lia. We’re reading Love in 90 Days.

(I know, the title makes me gag, too, but I figured, it’s got enough tough homework assignments in it to ensure that I grow as a person even if I don’t find love in 90 days.)

                                                            

Anyway, the book challenges a lot of our assumptions. It urges us to examine our poor patterns of behavior and commit to creating new ones, at least for 90 days. I thought this would be easy, but it turns out it’s not because…

I’M CRITICAL!!!!

That’s my pattern. I know this is news to no one except me. Like, I always knew I hold myself to an impossibly high standard. But I didn’t realize quite the extent that it had carried over into the rest of my life until I started reading this book.

We could get into all kinds of reasons for this, I suppose. For instance, one time in high school, I brought home the only A in my Honors English III class. After proudly handing over my report card, I heard, “What is this? What happened here? Where’s the A+? You’re supposed to be good at English!”

A lot of interactions of that ilk shaped me. And I knew I was kind of a porcupine about a lot of things – don’t get too close to me or I’ll poke you! – but I always thought it was more defensive and harmless than anything.

                                    

I mean, porcupines are still mostly cute, right?

But recently I realized that with every progressing year, my defensiveness is getting more pointed, to the end that I’m kind of a critical bitch. It doesn’t really matter that I do this to avoid disappointing people and getting hurt, because it’s still bitchy. I just told a guy with a beard that I don’t like beards and that I would set him up with my hot sister if he’s a keeper. WHO DOES THAT!?!?!?!

The book says I have to have some mentors, so Gigi and Stratski took on those roles. Stratski, being nearly 40 and a mother, is much nicer when she redirects me. Gigi just yells at me and makes me cry, but that’s because when I see how shocked and appalled she is by my behavior, it makes me realize how much of a mess I am and then it all seems hopeless.

So that’s the first epiphany, and it’s pretty damn depressing, although I’ve spent the last week working on only saying nice things. For instance…

I went on one of the Top 3 Worst Dates of My Life last week. I literally cannot even remember large chunks of it because it was so bad that I think I kind of blocked it out.

                        

I met this guy online and he seemed really nice and normal! Liked tennis and jazz, went to church, had a stable job. We met at the Zoo to see Wild Lights. Buuuuuuut….

1)   Despite the date night being his idea, he did not come properly attired and complained about the cold until I loaned him my earmuffs and bought him hot chocolate. He insisted we spend a lot of time in the Insectarium, despite the fact that it had ZERO wild lights up, because it was warm.

2)   He was so awkward in person that I literally had to pretend – multiple times – that I did not hear what he said because there was no possible way to respond. Such as…

           Me: Wow, look at that tarantula!

           Him: Do you like that? You wish it was your boyfriend?

           Me: Look at those ants! How interesting!

           Him: Do they do it for you? Do you wish they were your boyfriend?

           Me: I wish the polar bear was out. I love him, he’s so cute!

           Him: Oh yeah? Do you wish it was your boyfriend?

           Me: …I don’t have a piano, but I do like to play because—

           Him: Is pink your favorite color?

           Me: …because…piano…whaaa…?

           Him: Your nail polish is pink. Is that your favorite color?

           Me: No.

           Me: I think that’s kind of cool that you went to jazz camp this summer. A lot of adults could—

           Him: Is that your favorite lipstick?

           Me: …could…jazz..whaaaa?

           Him: That lipstick you’re wearing. Is that your favorite lipstick?

           Me: No.

At the close of the date – which ended because he got too cold – we were walking back to the Zoo’s exit and I was talking about music when he all of a sudden grabbed me from behind and started trying to tickle me.

I almost screamed, “WHAT ABOUT THIS DATE LED YOU TO BELIEVE THAT I WANTED YOU TO GRAB ME!?!”

Now, I tell you about this terrible date to emphasize 2 facts:

1)   Now that I am aware of how critical I am to others, I went out of my way to be extra nice to this guy. That just led to him asking me out again.

2)   The book says that dates are like nesting dolls. You have to keep unwrapping them to discover what could be hiding. Give them a couple of tries in case they were really nervous. That means I have to go out with him again, which LITERALLY makes me lose sleep at night.

Stella says going out again with a guy you had a terrible time with is the dumbest idea she’s ever heard. But Love in 90 Days says that I could have missed out on some really great people because I didn’t give things 2 or 3 tries to account for nervousness.

That let me to my second epiphany. I HAVE MISSED OUT ON REALLY GREAT PEOPLE BECAUSE I DIDN’T GIVE THINGS 2 OR 3 TRIES TO ACCOUNT FOR NERVOUSNESS!

As I’m typing this, it seems to me that Zoo Guy is not the guy Love is referring to. It’s the guy that knew me well enough to pick the perfect movie a few years ago. Or the one who was really kind but I didn’t feel “the spark” with. “Chemistry can happen in a heartbeat,” says Love. “Love almost always comes in a surprise package and doesn't look how you expect it to.” I've just been too afraid of disappointing someone if I give things a try and they still don't click. So I figure it's safer to be like, "Oh well, no chemistry!" which is dumb, it turns out.

So those are my epiphanies. One, be more open, less critical. And two, give things a chance to unfold. Hopefully there’s not a grenade hiding in that smallest nesting doll.