In reading Ask A Manager, I have come to realize how truly weird I am for a variety of reason. In this post, I’m going to focus on gift-giving. In the case of AAM, it’s work related, of course, but I can extrapolate in general. Or, conversely, ponder it as yet another reason I wouldn’t be a good fit for a 9-to-5 job. There are always questions about giving gifts, sometimes about to whom you should give them, but also often about what to give. Obviously, nothing personal, and most people said stick to consumables or flowers or some such.
Um. No. I can’t consume most of the popular holiday consumables–cheese and chocolate. I also don’t drink so wine is right out. As for flowers, well, I’m allergic to almost everything known to womankind. I still remember working for the county and every Christmas, the administrative assistants got poinsettias. That’s when I learned that I was really allergic to poinsettias–to the point where I had difficulty breathing. There were four administrative assistants in the area I was in, so the scent of the poinsettias was very overwhelming. I put mine as far from me as possible, but I couldn’t escape it. When I mentioned it to my boss, she shrugged and got me one the next year as well.
I’d like to point out that this isn’t just me being difficult. It’s not me saying, “I don’t like this thing. Please don’t give it to me.” Well, ok, in the case of wine, it half is. Yes, I don’t like drinking, but I’m also allergic to it. I understand that a work gift isn’t the same as a personal gift, but it made me feel very unimportant to keep getting poinsettias after I pointed out that I was allergic to them. And, yes, it’s different than food because I’m not allergic to any food–just intolerant/sensitive. I’m not going to go into anaphylactic shock, and I won’t have to be rushed to the hospital. My throat isn’t going to swell shut, and I’m not going to die from any of it. I’m just going to be miserable as I sit on the toilet for hours, shitting until I’m dehydrated, sore, and exhausted.
Side Note: It’s strange that in the floral world, being allergic to something means itchiness, stuffed nose, watery eyes, etc. It doesn’t have to mean a need to be rushed to the hospital. The same with animal allergies. But in the food world, that’s a sensitivity or an intolerance. No greater point to be made about this–just an observation.
This is an issue with other aspects of my life, albeit in a more subjective way. I am a weirdo in so many ways, and I’m careful about letting it show on the regular. I know how to pass as normal, and I can do it for shorts bursts of time. For example, when I go to the grocery store, I can pass as one of the locals. I know how to speak the language, and I have a mantra that nobody needs to know the real me. So, yeah, I can nod and smile when someone groans about winter or snow. I can talk about the Vikes to a superficial degree. I can say I’m doing fine with the best of them, and I can nod sympathetically if someone else complains about something.
By the way. I have strangers talking to me at the grocery store at a high level. I don’t understand why this is, but I’m sure it’s related to the fact that people pour out their problems to me ad nauseam. I guess I have a sympathetic face, though I try to keep it neutral most of the time. I’ve been working on not having people open up to me, but it’s really difficult for me to change that aspect of my being. Asking other people questions is second nature to me, and it feels really weird not to be doing it. I have a really high EQ, and it goes against my nature not to do it. In addition, there’s a nefarious reason I do it as well. I do not like talking about myself most of the time, and it’s a great way to turn the conversation to the other person. Most people want to talk about themselves and don’t get the opportunity to do it. It doesn’t help that there are people who are so desperate to talk about themselves, they ignore the signals that the other person isn’t into it. My next job is to learn how to be blunt about not talking about such issues, but that’s one thing that I’m not comfortable doing yet.
Anyway, I’ve been thinking about dating. In the abstract sense, but also in the real sense. I’ve already figured out that I don’t want to date in the conventional sense of the word. I don’t want to be in a romantic relationship, and it’s partly because of the aforementioned issue of being a weirdo. Also, I don’t like dating. At all. I never have, and I doubt I ever will. I read the advice of having fun with it, but that seems to be putting the cart before the horse. I don’t like meeting new people in general. I have anxiety issues and depression issues. I do not enjoy most pop culture things. I think it’s pretty clear why I don’t do the dating thing.
To be honest, though, the biggest reason I don’t is because I am terrible at picking romantic partners. I go right for the person who will be the worst for me. The last person I dated was an MRA in feminist clothing, violent, abusive, alcoholic, and over all, a hot mess. He love-bombed me, and I fell for it. He was emotionally abusive, and if I didn’t shut my mouth and just let him rant, I had a very real fear he would get violent. He was a huge guy, too, so the damage would have been astronomical. He dumped me (which was the only good thing he did), but then months later emailed me because he wanted to continue a sexual relationship. I apparently was just that good, which is highly debatable. There were kink aspects to the relationship as well that played a part in his desire to continue the sexual relationship, which only reinforced my negative view of myself that the only thing I had to offer another person was my sex*.
One of the biggest reasons I don’t want to be in a romantic relationship is because I know that I lose myself when I am in one. I lose all sense of perspective and the other person becomes the focus of all my energies. It’s what I was taught as a young girl, and it’s what I’ve seen in my parents’ marriage ever since. Now, nearly a half-century later, I’m seeing the end-of-life consequences to this kind of arrangement, and I don’t ever want to be in that position. I don’t want to be with someone strictly on their terms, not being able to be myself because it would be threatening to them. I don’t want to have to tiptoe around someone else’s ego and constantly reassure them that they are the greatest thing since sliced bread. I don’t want to be the mother to a grown-ass baby, and I don’t want to have to keep slicing myself into smaller and smaller pieces in order to comfortably fit in someone else’s world.
I see this with my parents and with so many other women who date men.** Please note I am not saying all men are like this, but the way society is structured (both American and Taiwanese), women are taught to be self-sacrificing and that other people’s needs are always more important. I got a double dose of this, and I have a hard time breaking free of the mindset. So, with the choice of losing myself in a relationship and being myself alone, I’ll choose the latter hands down every goddamn time. This is actually an improvement from my twenties. Back then, I was so desperate to be in a relationship, my standards were nonexistent. Anyone who would look at me twice, I would latch onto and not let go. I made so many bad choices. So. Many. I got incrementally better at it, but the last relationship I was in showed me I was nowhere near ready. That was ten years ago, and now, it’s very low on my list of things to do.
See, in the interim, I realized that I didn’t actually want a romantic relationship. Putting aside all my issues and flaws, I don’t actually like being around someone else 24/7. Except my cat. He is the exception. I don’t want to answer to someone else or have a discussion every time I want to do something. I know some people would say that means I’m selfish or immature, but I’m fine with that. Twenty years ago, I would have agonized over it, but now, I simply don’t care. If I want to eat chocolate Rice Krispies at two in the morning with chocolate cashew/almond milk, I will! By the way, more proof that Shadow is weird. I had a mug of chocolate cashew/almond milk on the coffee table, which he started sniffing. I didn’t think anything of it because no way he was going to like it, right? Wrong. He started licking it rapidly until I snatched the cup away from him. What a weirdo! But a lovable one.
Anyway, I like spending most of my time alone. I like being able to do what I want, when I want, how I want, etc. As my BFF said, anyone I dated would have to be the frosting on the cake, and I don’t like much too much frosting. She’s right in that I have learned to love living alone. Or rather, I have allowed myself to realize how much I love living alone. I had been indoctrinated since I was a wee baby that my main goal in life was to marry (and reproduce, but, thankfully, I shed that one much more quickly), and it took me decades to rid myself of that preconceived notion. Of course I was going to get married! Of course I was going to yoke myself with someone else for the rest of my life! Even then, though it was supposed to be what I wanted, something in my chest would constrict when I thought of it. That’s one of the reason I chose commitment-phobes–because I was one myself. I was conflicted about being in a relationship, but I wouldn’t allow myself to even acknowledge that, so I pushed it on my potential partners.
Now that I’m An Old, I can say that I do not want to live with someone. I do not want to be in a monogamous long-term committed relationship. I do not want to be one half of a couple. I’m not sure what I want more specifically than that because I’d actually have to test the theory, which I haven’t done yet. Why? See what I said above about not wanting to date. I don’t know what the answer is, but I do know it’s not sit on the couch and not meet new people.
*It’s a little more complicated than that, of course, but that’s what it boils down to in my head–my only worth is between my legs.
**If I were to have a romantic relationship, it probably would be with a man.