2022-02-11 14:41:13
Eva Hagberg Fisher, «
How to Be Loved: A Memoir of Lifesaving Friendship»:
I was thinking of joining Tinder. I figured it could be as loose and casual as I needed it to be. I was obviously not in the market for a real relationship. I told Allison my plans and also my worries; I might have been moderately delusional about my readiness to date, even casually, but at least, I tried to show, I was moderately aware of my delusions.
“I guess I should figure out how to be less intense about my situation,” I said, as if I’d just come up with the thought. “I don’t want to scare anyone away.”
I figured she’d take the bait and say something like I wasn’t that intense and I was doing just great and I couldn’t possibly scare anyone away anyway because I was a very relaxed and enjoyable person to be around.
We pulled up to a stoplight. A long one. She turned to me.
“Well, babe, the thing is . . . you’re a pretty acquired taste. And you’re really not for everyone.”
WHAT?
“You’re a funny girl,” she said. “You are really intense.”
I opened my mouth to protest this intimation of intensity. To say that maybe I wasn’t as intense as she thought, or of course I was super intense, because I was going through a super intense thing, but normally I was totally chill and relaxed and not even remotely a little bit intense, or like how could she tell me I was an acquired taste when I’d just been through the greatest trauma of my life, and maybe she could be a touch gentler with me. But I gave up before I even started because of course Allison knew me better than I knew myself, would have known that none of this was true. I’d never outright lied to her before; there was no reason to start now.
“You’re just not for everyone,” she said. “But there is someone who you’re going to be absolutely perfect for.”
“Once I tone it down a bit, you mean.” I was feeling a little bruised.
“No,” she said. “I mean that there’s going to be someone who’s going to find it really easy to love you, just like I do.”
“Okay, once I stop being so much . . . myself.”
“No. Babe. No. The things you think are bad, those are the things that make you lovable.”
She knew all the things I didn’t like about myself. We went over a few of them. I was talkative, enthusiastic, bossy. I overshared. I expected too much of people. I was less focused than I felt I should be. I was self-centered and selfish and forgetful and didn’t listen all the time, and if I wasn’t interested in a conversation I didn’t even pretend to be interested. I was terrible at small talk; I went deep way too fast. I sometimes lacked boundaries: personal, physical, sexual. I came on way too strong and then disappeared way too suddenly. I was secretive. I never wrote thank-you notes. I was easily distracted. I was jealous of my wealthy friends. I didn’t particularly like to do anything that didn’t feel easy. I was competitive. I was short-tempered and impatient. I should say, to all of the above, I am.
Allison knew all of that. I wanted to disappear into the seat. I thought about picking up my phone again, pretending to need to send a text. But time with her was precious, and I’d finally figured that out.
“I guess I’m glad you didn’t sugarcoat this?” I said, after she’d finished confirming that my worst fears about myself were true.
“Your flaws aren’t the point,” she said. “The point is that these are all the things that make you you, and I love you, and so will someone else.”
None of this felt remotely possible. I itched to change the subject. But before I could, she spoke again.
“Trust me,” she said. “I’m flawed too—and it was just so easy for William to love me. You don’t have to tie yourself up in knots to try to be someone else. And besides, you’re not very good at it.”
I looked at her.
“You’re so good at being Eva,” she said. “Why don’t you just go with that?”
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