Last night I was at J’s Dad’s house for a little birthday get-together. This was my second time meeting A and L, J’s Dad and his Dad’s wife, and I was feeling fine. Everything had gone really well–J and I cooked dinner for everyone, we had drinks, dessert, and good conversation. By the time the other guests had left, it was around 10:30, and I was tired, but everyone wanted to play a game of pool, so I didn’t contest. It was J’s sister K and A on one team, and J and myself on the other. I wished J would let me play with K–he gets competitive, and I’m not very good, and I just end up feeling bad when I inevitably miss all but the easiest shots. Sure enough, I was totally off. J kept trying to give me advice, which I don’t enjoy–I need to figure things out for myself, and I didn’t want to take everyone else’s time up while I was attempting to figure out this angular game while buzzed and fatigued, so I kept telling J no, and gently pushing him away. It started out light-hearted, but as I became more frustrated, I was positive that it was visible on my face–I could no longer pretend that I really just wanted to go home.
I felt terrible; here I was, spoiling a great day by making it uncomfortable for everyone as I let my self-control slip. Maybe it wasn’t a big deal, but for some reason, these situations are really difficult for me, and I tend to fixate on them and have a hard time letting it go, as if people are so unforgiving that they will let a bit of slipped humanity ruin everything else they’ve come to know and like about me. It’s insecurity, obviously, but I think it goes a little deeper, because it isn’t necessarily someone’s bad opinion about me–I can’t control if my personality is not in someone else’s taste; rather, it’s when I’ve done or said something that has inconvenienced someone else, or hampered their enjoyment of a situation–this is when I feel most awful. I love J, and I don’t want to be his “problem,” and I certainly don’t want to give his family the impression that we fight a lot or get frustrated with each other, because we really don’t. On the other hand, why must I be so hard on myself? I don’t ever do what I do to myself to other people.
One of the hardest things about being human is the inability to get outside our own heads for a moment. I’m going on and on, telling this meaningless story because I think that I must be the only one who has ever felt this way. Age and good friends have taught me that this isn’t true. And yet, I can’t help thinking back to last night and a million other times and absolutely cringing, wishing I could have just held strong for a few more moments, or let J show me a shot and then smile at him across the pool table instead of avoiding him because of my embarrassment at being a failure, both at the game and as his girlfriend.
I have two choices here: I can either spend all my time practicing my bank shot, or I can forgive myself, get over it, and try a little harder next time. I’ll do the latter–it’s probably a much more useful life skill anyway.
