This weekend, a man said to me that he thought I was being disingenuous for wanting a relationship without being “willing to sacrifice anything for it.” By anything, he meant specifically my career and vocation–why should a guy bother to like me, he suggested, if I’m just going to move away? There are a lot of things wrong with that statement, and so I got angry. He said my anger was cute. Other exasperating exchanges occurred. We parted ways not too much later.
Concession is a tricky business. So far, I’ve been unwilling to make many. Not for long anyway. (I try not to expect them, either. But we are all imperfect animals.) It’s just no way to live, in pieces like that. There are consequences for that behavior, to be sure, and some of them are positive and some negative.
Yet. I hold out hope that it doesn’t have to always be a matter of who wears the leg irons. That somewhere in the world is a door #3, that’s my optimism. I don’t really know what I’m getting at… Just that it was nice to walk away, into the cold night, fueled by a bit righteous self-preservation.
Goddamn did the frost feel great in my lungs.