Mary Tyler Moore...where are you?
I met a very old friend from college last night. It was great. And it was weird. Totally weird.
She was just in town for the weekend. By some freak twist of fate, another friend from that era found me, sent her my email and next thing you know we are face to face in a wine bar in the Gaslamp District of San Diego. Stranger things have happened, but not to this little recluse.
And clearly, it was deemed by the gods that I was meant to confront my past. And I owe them my thanks, for sending the kindest and dearest representative to give my account for my youth. But I was completely ill-prepared for the evening.
Meeting an old friend makes you face two brutal facts: One—you are definitely getting old and Two—you used to be stupid. Okay, chances are that you are probably still a bit daft, but there is nothing like breaking bread with a witness to the less-savory moments of your younger years.
And here is what is truly nerve-wrecking, you have to summarize the last decade in some manner that makes it both interesting (which for me is typically the more gruesome details and horrific aspects), and positive (although it stands to reason that having survived under my own guidance, something went right), and appropriately wistful (to honor your companion and the time you shared). Inevitably, the conversation will be morose, witless and pathetically guilt-riddled, at least in my case (you honestly could have put money on it).
And after a few glasses of wine to sooth the nerves and loosen the tongue, it becomes a train wreck. I don’t know about you, but when my mouth is driving the express train—destination: disaster. My brain typically departs about three stops earlier and for some reason always brings the gift of silence along for good measure.
Yes, I just won’t shut up! And damage control is the worst possible form of company, much less conversation.
In the future, I will prepare a statement. I will define my path with the poise and confidence of someone who understands where they have been and knows where they are going. I will have jovial quips about the tough times, glorious recounting of the good times, and motivational affirmations peppered throughout with an effervescent layer of wisdom. I will become the gal, who had that gleam in her eye, you just couldn’t forget, and she really made something of herself. I will be Mary Tyler Moore.
But the girl that showed up for dinner was not MTM. She was suspiciously similar to someone I knew in college. She was awkward, apologetic and honest to the point where one becomes painfully embarrassed for them. She dressed inappropriately and laughed too loud and was too opinionated. And although that girl makes me cringe, I know that she is at the heart—me. And if nothing else, she is living with sincerity.
I want to thank Angela for taking time out of her brief vacation to visit with me. It was nothing short of a small miracle that it happened. I hope she experienced a mere fraction of the reward that I received.
She was just in town for the weekend. By some freak twist of fate, another friend from that era found me, sent her my email and next thing you know we are face to face in a wine bar in the Gaslamp District of San Diego. Stranger things have happened, but not to this little recluse.
And clearly, it was deemed by the gods that I was meant to confront my past. And I owe them my thanks, for sending the kindest and dearest representative to give my account for my youth. But I was completely ill-prepared for the evening.
Meeting an old friend makes you face two brutal facts: One—you are definitely getting old and Two—you used to be stupid. Okay, chances are that you are probably still a bit daft, but there is nothing like breaking bread with a witness to the less-savory moments of your younger years.
And here is what is truly nerve-wrecking, you have to summarize the last decade in some manner that makes it both interesting (which for me is typically the more gruesome details and horrific aspects), and positive (although it stands to reason that having survived under my own guidance, something went right), and appropriately wistful (to honor your companion and the time you shared). Inevitably, the conversation will be morose, witless and pathetically guilt-riddled, at least in my case (you honestly could have put money on it).
And after a few glasses of wine to sooth the nerves and loosen the tongue, it becomes a train wreck. I don’t know about you, but when my mouth is driving the express train—destination: disaster. My brain typically departs about three stops earlier and for some reason always brings the gift of silence along for good measure.
Yes, I just won’t shut up! And damage control is the worst possible form of company, much less conversation.
In the future, I will prepare a statement. I will define my path with the poise and confidence of someone who understands where they have been and knows where they are going. I will have jovial quips about the tough times, glorious recounting of the good times, and motivational affirmations peppered throughout with an effervescent layer of wisdom. I will become the gal, who had that gleam in her eye, you just couldn’t forget, and she really made something of herself. I will be Mary Tyler Moore.
But the girl that showed up for dinner was not MTM. She was suspiciously similar to someone I knew in college. She was awkward, apologetic and honest to the point where one becomes painfully embarrassed for them. She dressed inappropriately and laughed too loud and was too opinionated. And although that girl makes me cringe, I know that she is at the heart—me. And if nothing else, she is living with sincerity.
I want to thank Angela for taking time out of her brief vacation to visit with me. It was nothing short of a small miracle that it happened. I hope she experienced a mere fraction of the reward that I received.
posted by Unknown @ 9:49 PM
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