I'm sitting in the coffee shop, doing an experiment. At the table next to me are two students, presumably business students, based on their conversation. I'm not sure if they're undergraduates or grad students. As you get older, does it perpetually become more difficult to tell how old people are? Because that's what's happening to me.
One of the students is a girl / woman, who I immediately disliked. She's cute, wearing a Harvard sweatshirt, fitted jeans, Ugg boots. She has a luxurious, large Louis Vuitton handbag sitting by her chair, which probably cost someone more than $500.
Did I mention I'm supposed to be doing homework here?
I spend a lot of time disliking people, and then feeling guilty about it. I aspire to be loving, accepting, unaffected by the faults and failures of others. In reality, I find myself annoyed by the success and happiness of people that don't seem to "deserve" it, or maybe more accurately don't seem to have "earned" it. Who knows what I mean by "deserving" or "earning" something? Deep down, I suspect that it has something to do with achieving success by behaving in a way that doesn't come naturally to me. There are probably times when my disdain is totally justified, but I can't tell the difference between reasonable dislike, and dislike that's a symptom of my insecurities. Maybe there is no difference.
When the sight of this girl struck the well-worn chord of antipathy within me, I resolved that I was going to like her. Even if the effort gave me a stroke, I would die liking her. And although she doesn't know it, in the past hour we have developed a deeply complex relationship.
I've learned that she prefers Ireland to Spain, because everyone in Ireland speaks English, so it's more comfortable. My response?
I accept you.
She revealed that she is currently leasing "a coupe," although I don't know what make it is.
No worries, high-maintenance friend, I accept you.
She'll be spending her Spring Break in Dubai.
... With gritted teeth, I accept your Sex and the City-inspired vacation, and by extension, you.
It's an interesting exercise, rummaging through an angry tangle of judgment to find at least one golden thread of affection for this girl I know nothing about. Well, nothing more than a dozen pieces of information that would normally make me want to get away from her as quickly as possible. I'm not sure what the point of this exercise was, but it's comforting to know that my heart may not be a lump of coal, after all. Or hell, maybe it is - but even coal can be warm if you use it correctly.
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