I recently had lunch with a close friend of mine. We sat there psycho-analyzing our personalities criticizing the little idiosyncrasies we have in our relationships with our significant others, why we do those things and the like. In a matter of three hours at a small table in the back of Red Robin, I surmounted that I have been the most selfish, demanding, critical, unappeasable, inflexible girlfriend that I could possibly be. And what's worse is that I realized shortly thereafter that in all those things, I have become the spitting image of my mother. It was such a shocking epiphany that I almost lost my lunch right there at the table. Okay, maybe not, but it was a grotesque realization nonetheless.
My ex lives about 30 minutes away and every weekend he drives out to my house. Never once have I offered to drive to his house. As a matter of fact, he asked me to once and I said no because it was raining and I didn't want to drive my car on the freeway in the rain. In all of that, he never complained about having to drive out to see me every single week. Talk about an underlying sense of frustration. I can only imagine how that has built up inside of him.
He happens to have an affinity for relatively expensive items, which I conversely view as an irresponsible waste of money. I've always felt justified in my stance over such things. While I'm not condoning the impulsive large purchases that cause life-long dept, I am realizing that I've been extremely hypocritical as I find myself spending money on things like pedicures, manicures, shoes I don't need, an unnecessarily large collection of purses and spending more than I'd like to admit on Starbucks every month.
Not only have I been hypocritical, but I've been absolutely wretched in the way I respond to his desires. We went out to dinner with another couple who are close mutual friends not too long ago. After dinner we went to Best Buy so I could buy the CD I've been wanting for weeks. As we walked around the store we noticed a new interactive video game that was like the old "Dance Dance Revolution" but with a guitar and no dancing (a much better combination if you ask me). Right away it became obvious to all of us that he wanted to buy it. Of course my knee-jerk reaction was a horridly disapproving look that shot him down faster than a motorcycle can turn him on (which by the way is pretty fast). I didn't even know how much the dumb thing cost but I protested right away, telling him that if he bought it there was no way he'd play it at my house. Could I have been a worse friend at that point? Yes, the answer is yes I dragged him over to the CD isle, grabbed the CD I wanted and proceeded to the check out line.
And in the most recent turn of events, the guy who has been crazy about me for years (according to a close mutual friend, I might add) has suddenly begun to retract; needing time and space to settle into his new job and think things through. I was shocked, to say the least. However, in retrospect, it's not surprising that this twist shook me enough to make me topple from the highest rung on that ladder I spoke of earlier. I've come to realize that I'm the most horrid, selfish, ridiculously prideful person I know. I feel bad for the poor guy, honestly putting up with me for so long.
I was eating with that same couple who witnessed the Best Buy episode just the other day, but this time it was just me and them. Right in the middle of dinner I realized, and consequently exclaimed out loud, "I should have told him buy that guitar game!" The shocked look on their faces didn't deter me from continuing on my rant, "And not just that, but I should have told him to buy it and we'd play it together at my place and we'd have fun, too. Why couldn't I just let him buy it? I even liked the dumb thing! Why couldn't I just say that!?"
"Everything is clearer in retrospect", was my friend's response. And all I could do was sit quietly in agreement. I usually pride myself on the ability to grow out of hardship and overcome the places I've fallen short. But I have to admit, I've never known regret quite the way I do now.
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