Damn Swede

If you learn something new about yourself each week, then this week I learned I am terrified of commitment. To be fair, this is something I would readily admit and laugh off, in the hopes that it was an endearing quality.

In an effort to spare you all the gory details, I had a pretty shitty first week of Lent for several reasons. Actually, you can pretty much name a reason and it was on the list. Bad friend, bad daughter, bad employee, bad Orthodox Christian. I may be a little over-dramatizing some of the above, but when they all hit at once it is hard to differentiate between them. And for at least half of them, I was being kind of bratty.

So I took my bratty self to confession, where I tried to make coherent sense of my discouragement for a very patient priest. After talking for a while he said, “It sounds like you are afraid of commitment.” This I knew, but he went on. “Because you don’t want to make yourself vulnerable. I don’t know what happened to you, if people were mean to you when you were young, but you have to move past that. By not committing, you are missing out on all these relationships, some even with your own family. It’s your family. You need to commit.” He went on to say that I have already committed myself to Christ through my baptism and chrismation. I hadn’t thought of that before, and somehow it makes it easier to handle. Less stressful, in a way.

I know why I am this way. Flashback to college when I was dating a young man I believed would treat me with respect. Instead he pushed me beyond my comfort level physically, slowly at first. Eventually he lost patience when I said no and started to scream at me. “You DISGUST me!” he cried, shaking his fist. “You DISGUST me! I can’t even stand to LOOK at you!” With that, he stormed out the room, slamming the door behind him. I was alone - sobbing in a crumpled heap on the bed.

I am afraid to say no. That if by saying no I will be loved less; discarded and forgotten by someone I thought loved me. Therefore, by not confirming one way or another I have allowed myself a cushion - a cushion where I don’t have to risk saying no, but also prevents me from strengthening my relationships.

So I strive to commit. “Are you coming tonight?” my friend asked the next day. We had planned this earlier in the week, but I had only given a tentative yes. “Yes. I am coming,” I responded, as I felt a wave a nausea overcome me. The next day I emailed my mother, telling her I would be attending Easter with the family and what time to expect me. This time, shortness of breath.

Later in the week, I told my friend of my commitment struggles. “That kind of makes you a guy,” he laughed, “But don’t worry, you are still young.” I hope so. Be patient with me, dear friends. I am trying.

Maybe it is because they know they spent more on their car than the average down payment on a house that gives Lexus drivers the smug superiority of feeling as though they own the road.  As if they purchased that right along with their luxury vehicle.  Or maybe I just have bad luck.
Fresh off of my Wednesday encounter with Mr. Lexus SUV, I attempted to once again regain my inner kinder, gentler driver.  For a reason no one I know can figure out, traffic was light this morning.  Everything was fine until the Lexus.

This time it was the Ohio street exit ramp.  There are three lanes, and the far left lane merges with the south side/Indiana traffic.  I was kindly letting a maroon Dodge Caravan go in front of me when a Lexus, this time a black sedan, came within an inch of my rear passenger side door in an attempt to merge on top of me.  And he seemed annoyed at me.  For being in the lane.  First.

Whatever.

Funny side note - I ran into my boss on the way to work yesterday.  He asked me how I was and I answered “FAN-tastic,” thanks to my years of sales training.  He responded less enthusiastically, with an “okay.”  Sensing something wrong, I asked if it was a tough commute on the way in.

Before I tell you what he said, I must explain that he is the most laid back boss I’ve ever had.  He tends not to get mad, instead looking for the bright side.  He is also exceptional at giving positive feedback.  An all-around great guy, overall.

“Yes!” he exclaimed and went on to explain how irritated he gets when people merge at the last minute.  “It’s like they think they are entitled!”  It escalated into a screaming match, both men in their cars with their windows rolled up.

All I can say is that I am glad I am not the only one.

Maybe it was because I noticed while sitting on my bed, putting on my socks and shoes, that I had a conference call with my client in exactly one hour.  Hum.  It takes a solid twenty-five minutes on a weekday morning to get to work, but the radio said traffic was especially bad today.  Twenty-five minutes to work, a ten minute walk from the parking garage to the building when you take into account the slow elevators . . . I would get there by 8:40 at the latest, twenty minutes before the call, but the possibility of any numerous potential delays would most definitely make me late.  And by late, I mean at work in not enough time to get a cup of coffee prior to the meeting.

You see, ladies and gentlemen, there is nothing worse than a first-am meeting, except for a first-am meeting without coffee.  That is truly criminal.

So of course Fullerton Avenue traffic was backed up.  I struggle with driving in traffic.  I get frustrated and mad at the drivers who cut people off out of some sort of feeling of entitlement.  Then I was in a car accident over the summer and had whiplash for several days.  And it hurt.  Even though the accident wasn’t my fault, I decided it was better to allow more space and make the choice to not be annoyed by selfish drivers.  A kinder, “turn the other cheek” version of me as a driver.

Well, except today.

It was the threat of no coffee before an hour long meeting that made me impatient.  And really, it was only the entrance ramp from Fullerton to the expressway that was troublesome.  Sometimes two lanes form, and the cars merge towards the top of the ramp.  Other times, there is only one lane and it moves faster.  Today was a case of the latter, except when two cars squeaked by me and the van in front of me.  They were so close and unexpected that I jumped.  The car next to me was a Lexus SUV, which is ridiculous to drive in the city of Chicago.  (Unless you drive a Lexus SUV in the city, in which case I think it’s pretty.)  We inched up the ramp and it became obvious that one of us was going to have to give in and let the other go first.  I reminded myself about how I am I trying to be a nicer driver.  BUT THEN . . .

The Lexus SUV revved his engine at me.  I am making this up.  Revved his engine, to the point where his car bounced towards me like a hungry, hungry hippo.  As if that is going to inspire me to let him cut in front of me.  So, of course I did not.  How could I after that?  I am not intimidated by your ridiculous shiny new SUV.  Instead, you should be intimidated by my eleven-year-old slightly dinged Sliver Bullet.  I mean, I gots nothing to lose.

Whatever.

So I made it to work, only to find the coffee machine broken.  Thankfully I was left with enough time to run downstairs to Starbucks before the meeting began.  And I think it’s all because I didn’t let Mr. Lexus SUV in.

So this is the third post I’ve tried to write.  Sometimes I bore myself and this is one of those times.  The thing is I have done so much since I got home and it is only 9:30.  I feel like it should be 10:30 or 11:00.

I did not get home until quarter of seven, later than normal.  I said my evening prayers, including twenty or so prostrations in preparation for Sunday’s Forgiveness Vespers.  After that I was on the elliptical for about forty minutes, washed my face for the evening, unloaded the dishwasher and made dinner.  I ate, cleaned up the kitchen and caught up on my personal emails of the day.  I am now watching the Flight of the Conchords documentary “A Texan Odyssey.”  It’s about their time at the South by Southwest music festival in Austin.  So far my favorite line is, “Austin is the political capital of Texas.  It is home to many presidents named George Bush, including George Bush Senior and George W. Bush.”

I tried writing about how I am really content with my life, despite the lack of martinis and mystery men recently.  Because really, I am.  I prefer a drama-free existence and am happy to have fallen in a routine.  I tend to think that you cannot be truly happy with someone else until you are happy with yourself.  And I am happy with myself.  Sure, there are things I would change but I freely admit I am not perfect.  And it is freeing to not be perfect.  This reminds me of a conversation I had with a co-worker late last week.  We were talking about how sometimes people won’t apologize when they mess up and were trying to figure out why.  Personally, I love apologizing.  Admittedly it has taken years of maturing to get to this point, but it is the fastest way to resolve conflicts.  And conflict resolution strengthens relationships.

Then I tried to write about how 2008 is the year of flashbacks.  About six months ago I realized that I didn’t really talk to any of my dearest friends from college and it made me sad.  Then the year started with a friend from college calling to say she would be in Chicago.  Then another friend from college Googled me.  And don’t get me started on Facebook.  (Yes, I know I am too old.)  I’ve reconnected with more college and even high school friends through that social networking site.  It is like finding a part of yourself again.
Well, it has now become a reasonable to go to bed, so I think I shall.