"What is Important to You, part II"
Continued…
Jessica once told me that I was the most unemotional person she had ever known. That I was incapable of this and that. The truth was we were just too different in the wrong categories. Jess was a blast, always up to do anything, outgoing, a social butterfly. I loved that, she wasn’t afraid to do anything and could interject herself in any situation. But when it was just the two of us, things weren’t quite that smooth. This beautiful and spirited girl couldn’t believe in herself. She was entirely dependant and to my complete and utter bafflement, had no self esteem.
I once spent a Christmas party for my job at the time, consoling her in a parking lot for almost two hours while she cried because she was wearing a cardigan (I think?) with dress pants and all of the other girls there were in cocktail dresses or whatever. She looked great and I could have cared less about that party or anyone other than her for that matter. I was planning on quitting before the New Year anyway. It was all because she felt out of place, overwhelmed, unfit. It was that night that I realized I couldn’t help her anymore. What could I do?
If that is what she meant by emotion, then maybe she had a point. I don’t get embarrassed or overwhelmed. I don’t cry or loose control. But I don’t think those things make me unemotional.
By the time I was ten years old; I was washing my own clothes and preparing my own food. Nobody ever told me play sports or go to school. I bought my own car, paid for college, and everything else in between. I’ve had eleven addresses in the last eight years, in three different cities. A polar opposite compared to Jess, I’m ultra independent. To the point that it sometimes causes me to lose sight of other people. It’s a personal fault that I am well aware of. I try to slow down, be patient, and look through the eyes of others, but it wasn’t enough with her. We were just too different. Since I’ve been deployed, I miss only my dog and the freedom to make my own choices (Army doesn’t endorse that). Most of the soldiers here, they miss their families, friends, girlfriends and everything else. When I talk to them, I try to understand that, otherwise I can’t help with anything.
In the two months leading up to my ship out date, I was training at what was called a pre-mob site. We had been emailing and talking and made plans to get together my last weekend in the states. This was the only pass we got before we left. So I hitched some rides with people to meet some friends at my old college town. Spent the night with them and hit the bars. The next morning, I caught a ride up to the “Twin Cities” were Jess was living. We met and spent the rest of the time together at a nice hotel. It was about six months or so between the time we met and when we last saw each other. It took her a couple of hours and the first drink before she even looked me in the eye. Never did get that.
We went out to eat, to the bars, and I even rubbed her feet (something I don’t always do willingly, however very good at it) to the background of music, candles and wine. It was a good weekend. We talked about were she wanted to move, how to interview for jobs, money and car problems. Tell me if this is selfish (ahh…asking questions in a letter?) but she never asked about what I’ve been doing or more troubling yet, not one hint of a question about what kind of training I’ve done, where I was going or how I felt about it. That bothered me, and reminded me of part of our disconnect. Was I the selfish one?
The last day in the U.S., I was at some random Army airport, (at least it was a place my phone picked up service, it had been almost entirely useless for the previous two months) and just before I cancelled my service, I texted Jess to say good bye. It was about 530 in the morning, and she happened to be up because she couldn’t sleep. We exchanged a cute series of messages before I finally had to turn off my phone. She said, “I will be thinking of you…and blah, blah, blah…I will send you…blah” Then I didn’t hear from her for almost three months…till a week ago or so.
"RE: Imagine That "
Jess returns this email, and goes on to tell me about some stupid shit she did the other night at a birthday party, and how she wonders…“but socially, who am I” Are you fucking serious?!?, your done with high school and college, there are people blowing themselves up at historic rates, dying for their defenses, a world full of conflict and if nothing else, you have a life to assemble and take control of. Is that still is what’s important to you? We broke up because of distance, priorities and fundamental differences. What the hell is this belated and superficial email suppose to mean? My first response was to just email her back and I was gonna let her have it! Not in 18 months have I ever done that, just gone off and tell her what I really think. So there I am…about to purge my soul and let all the cats out of the bag!
The cursor blinks….and blinks…and I change my mind.
What did I want to do? She isn’t an emotionally stable person, and as hard as I tried, I failed to help Jessica. Who am I to tell her about every little thing that I think is wrong and how she’s this and that and doesn’t care about…whatever. It would probably make me feel good, temporarily, but would completely devastate and hurt her.
A few days later, I sent her an email thanking her for getting back to me. It included a stupid and jestful comment about her tales of blunder. It also included the only encouraging thing I could think of and still genuinely mean. I kept it short, but the only way I could capture my frustration with her was with a question.
“What is important to you?”
That was how I ended it, and I don’t imagine I will hear back from her for some time. That’s fine, we weren’t the right match, just able to play the part for a little while.
But then I thought about that question I asked her…and asked myself instead. Me, in all of my self-appointed glory, and just full of answers. Always knowing what I want and where to go…I had to think about it. And I struggled to come up with an intelligent answer. The more I thought, the farther away I got. If asked in a job interview or off the top of my head in the heat of a spontaneous street quiz, I could have come up with something. Something that would be good enough to qualify my fooled listener into believing I knew. But when I asked myself, honestly asked myself…I didn’t know how to answer it. The only thing I could come up with, was that I will know…someday.
So… “What is important to you?”
~Rollligun
Jessica once told me that I was the most unemotional person she had ever known. That I was incapable of this and that. The truth was we were just too different in the wrong categories. Jess was a blast, always up to do anything, outgoing, a social butterfly. I loved that, she wasn’t afraid to do anything and could interject herself in any situation. But when it was just the two of us, things weren’t quite that smooth. This beautiful and spirited girl couldn’t believe in herself. She was entirely dependant and to my complete and utter bafflement, had no self esteem.
I once spent a Christmas party for my job at the time, consoling her in a parking lot for almost two hours while she cried because she was wearing a cardigan (I think?) with dress pants and all of the other girls there were in cocktail dresses or whatever. She looked great and I could have cared less about that party or anyone other than her for that matter. I was planning on quitting before the New Year anyway. It was all because she felt out of place, overwhelmed, unfit. It was that night that I realized I couldn’t help her anymore. What could I do?
If that is what she meant by emotion, then maybe she had a point. I don’t get embarrassed or overwhelmed. I don’t cry or loose control. But I don’t think those things make me unemotional.
By the time I was ten years old; I was washing my own clothes and preparing my own food. Nobody ever told me play sports or go to school. I bought my own car, paid for college, and everything else in between. I’ve had eleven addresses in the last eight years, in three different cities. A polar opposite compared to Jess, I’m ultra independent. To the point that it sometimes causes me to lose sight of other people. It’s a personal fault that I am well aware of. I try to slow down, be patient, and look through the eyes of others, but it wasn’t enough with her. We were just too different. Since I’ve been deployed, I miss only my dog and the freedom to make my own choices (Army doesn’t endorse that). Most of the soldiers here, they miss their families, friends, girlfriends and everything else. When I talk to them, I try to understand that, otherwise I can’t help with anything.
In the two months leading up to my ship out date, I was training at what was called a pre-mob site. We had been emailing and talking and made plans to get together my last weekend in the states. This was the only pass we got before we left. So I hitched some rides with people to meet some friends at my old college town. Spent the night with them and hit the bars. The next morning, I caught a ride up to the “Twin Cities” were Jess was living. We met and spent the rest of the time together at a nice hotel. It was about six months or so between the time we met and when we last saw each other. It took her a couple of hours and the first drink before she even looked me in the eye. Never did get that.
We went out to eat, to the bars, and I even rubbed her feet (something I don’t always do willingly, however very good at it) to the background of music, candles and wine. It was a good weekend. We talked about were she wanted to move, how to interview for jobs, money and car problems. Tell me if this is selfish (ahh…asking questions in a letter?) but she never asked about what I’ve been doing or more troubling yet, not one hint of a question about what kind of training I’ve done, where I was going or how I felt about it. That bothered me, and reminded me of part of our disconnect. Was I the selfish one?
The last day in the U.S., I was at some random Army airport, (at least it was a place my phone picked up service, it had been almost entirely useless for the previous two months) and just before I cancelled my service, I texted Jess to say good bye. It was about 530 in the morning, and she happened to be up because she couldn’t sleep. We exchanged a cute series of messages before I finally had to turn off my phone. She said, “I will be thinking of you…and blah, blah, blah…I will send you…blah” Then I didn’t hear from her for almost three months…till a week ago or so.
"RE: Imagine That "
Jess returns this email, and goes on to tell me about some stupid shit she did the other night at a birthday party, and how she wonders…“but socially, who am I” Are you fucking serious?!?, your done with high school and college, there are people blowing themselves up at historic rates, dying for their defenses, a world full of conflict and if nothing else, you have a life to assemble and take control of. Is that still is what’s important to you? We broke up because of distance, priorities and fundamental differences. What the hell is this belated and superficial email suppose to mean? My first response was to just email her back and I was gonna let her have it! Not in 18 months have I ever done that, just gone off and tell her what I really think. So there I am…about to purge my soul and let all the cats out of the bag!
The cursor blinks….and blinks…and I change my mind.
What did I want to do? She isn’t an emotionally stable person, and as hard as I tried, I failed to help Jessica. Who am I to tell her about every little thing that I think is wrong and how she’s this and that and doesn’t care about…whatever. It would probably make me feel good, temporarily, but would completely devastate and hurt her.
A few days later, I sent her an email thanking her for getting back to me. It included a stupid and jestful comment about her tales of blunder. It also included the only encouraging thing I could think of and still genuinely mean. I kept it short, but the only way I could capture my frustration with her was with a question.
“What is important to you?”
That was how I ended it, and I don’t imagine I will hear back from her for some time. That’s fine, we weren’t the right match, just able to play the part for a little while.
But then I thought about that question I asked her…and asked myself instead. Me, in all of my self-appointed glory, and just full of answers. Always knowing what I want and where to go…I had to think about it. And I struggled to come up with an intelligent answer. The more I thought, the farther away I got. If asked in a job interview or off the top of my head in the heat of a spontaneous street quiz, I could have come up with something. Something that would be good enough to qualify my fooled listener into believing I knew. But when I asked myself, honestly asked myself…I didn’t know how to answer it. The only thing I could come up with, was that I will know…someday.
So… “What is important to you?”
~Rollligun
posted by Rolligun at 10:40 PM
4 Comments:
Four Things:
1. “By the time I was ten years old; I was washing my own clothes and preparing my own food. Nobody ever told me play sports or go to school. I bought my own car, paid for college, and everything else in between. I’ve had eleven addresses in the last eight years, in three different cities… I’m ultra independent. To the point that it sometimes causes me to lose sight of other people.”
God, I hear that.
2. I think she is the one who is selfish.
3. I have no idea what is important to me anymore either.
4. I love a good foot rub.
That chick has her head so far up her ass she can see herself digesting food. You are way to intelligent and yes, emotionally mature to be wasting time on her.
As for what is important to me? Too much and not enough at the same time. That may sound glib, but i don't think i can put into words what i actually mean.
Heidi...
I empathize, I didn't realize the depth of that quesion when I first gave it to Jess.
It't broad, yet specific, it's full of variance but sometimes exclusive, it can be small-minded or completely mystifying and sometimes changing daily.
To bad you can't just say, "I'll take a #2"
And, I don't just give foot massages for any ole reason, usually reserved as negotiation tactic...
Auburn...
I am sure you've been asking yourself this everytime your left foot hits floor,lately anyway, but good luck in that venture...look deep and be honest
Steph...
That's the best bio-analogy I've heard in while!
And I know your holding out on me as far your answer goes, anyone with your instincts and gift for expression has something, but I can't expect you to share when I can't. Off the hook, for now...
Dude, total empathy from this side.
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