Pet Interview 1: Just Jake

My favourite worst date was probably in 1996,  two weeks into my freshman year of university. Ole Miss is a quirky place and it took me awhile to find my feet, if I ever did. 

The guy won points for creativity; he phoned all of the nice Jewish girls in the campus phone book (there were five that listed their religion openly). I was trying to be brave and do things that put me out of my comfort zone, and dating was certainly one of those things. 

We met for dinner and we're ordering when the police came into arrest him for bouncing checks. The wait staff tried to comp my meal, but I insisted on paying for my meal. It wasn't their fault the dude was on the grift. As they led him out to the patrol car, he had the chutzpah to ask about a second date. You can't bottle that kind of confidence.  I was proud of myself for having chosen to meet him in a public space and for not taking his actions personally.  I wish that self-assuredness had stayed with me; it took a long time to re-asserted itself.  The number of times I've been asked to censor or advocate for myself because it was uncomfortable for another person (always a cis-hetero male, which makes the eyebrow arch) takes umbrage.  

About 15 years later, I was interviewing for a job at what presented itself as a start-up security company. The 'founder' reminded me of the venture capitalist I had worked for in Prague. They could have been identical cousins. It was a solid interview and I left with the job but a day later, he wanted my financial information and tried to lure me into an 'investment opportunity.'  I would happily give him my financial information if he provided me with his financial info, I said, knowing full well I wasn't taking the job because it didn't exist.  I had already put out feelers to find out if the company was legit. It was not ans a couple of years later, he was arrested for scamming Harrods out of £245k, among other businesses

I was thinking about these and other near misses earlier today, whilst I struggled to shift the 8 foot sofa out of my house. It was not as easy as I remembered. Of course, I was trying to do it myself and that was as foolish as it sounds. I ended up dropping the oak framed beast on my foot. I'm still not sure it isn't broken, but since it is the top of my foot, it doesn't really matter. It's not like you can cast it. All I can do is soak, elevate, and contemplate how much worse it could have been. But why didn't I ask for help? It can't be completely down to sheer stubbornness. I don't know that I have capacity for that anymore. But I also was just impatient. And that impatience makes me wonder if it is tied into my executive functioning and the ADHD. Will medication make a difference? Will it help with the times where I feel beyond flat, like I've just splattered myself into a brick wall?

Recently, podcast on not leaning into pseudo-forgiveness that took into account the root of forgiveness involving the absence of resentment. That was a humbling listen, especially as Yom Kippur was just here, shining light on the faults and missteps, allowing us opportunities to forgive ourselves and others, deciding which missteps, mistakes, and mishaps are better left to themselves.