I wrote, recently, about how I don’t do drafts, and I put a lot of pressure on myself to stick the landing. And there is historical evidence to support this idea. But as with so many things, I find that I have overstated this case and been too slow to recognize my own growth and development in this area. I’ve been confronted in the past couple of days with evidence that I do make plans. I don’t always write them down, but I generally make at least a mental plan that I work from. I’m as successful in sticking the landing as I am because I do think ahead.
Friday night, a friend came down and we went to the art museum to see an exhibit of Rembrandt’s etchings and prints. Our taste in art is not the same— I really wanted to see this Rembrandt exhibit, I’m taking her to see an exhibit of Dior designs for her birthday. She cares less about Rembrandt and my fondness for modern art than I do, I care less for fashion, especially haute couture, than she does.
Yesterday was my doctor’s appointment. I’ve been working on myself— I don’t typically go to the doctor above a certain weight, because I’m an A student, and I know that certain weights are not A student material. I don’t like a lecture, I don’t want bad test results, even if they’re health-related tests. I want my gold star and a get out of the doctor free card for another year. I feel the same way about the dentist, and the mechanic and almost any other professional provider. If there’s something wrong, I want it to be something I couldn’t reasonably do anything to prevent. And weight/lifestyle/genetic predispositions coming home to roost seem like they’re things I should be preventing.
When I was in high school, I had this friend. Nice guy. Sweet, soft-spoken, bright. He was a lineman on the football team— probably offensive and defensive. Bigger, kind of intense in the weight room, but a really good guy. We would chat and joke a lot.
I’m telling this story in a moment where I’m pretty proud of how it happened. I’m not sure I’ll always feel that way about it.
I went to therapy yesterday without a lot of pressing stuff to talk about. I talked about my balance stuff, I talked about feeling like I’m getting better at manageable conflict (I’m an Enneagram 9— conflict is not my gift, but I’m getting better at speaking when I need to speak or staying in conversations where I would typically have chosen to change the subject.)
I’m not proud of this, but the subtitle of this could be “the schadenfreude edition.”