Last year, I blogged about an uncomfortable situation I’d been thrown into, involving an individual who was vying for my friend’s job. The vying woman (we’ll call her Zoe) had tried various tactics to get my friend fired, and when none of it worked, she decided to quit without notice. A really stellar performance.
Zoe wasn’t alone in the drama. Her mother was part of the show, too. We’ll call her Rhonda. Rhonda… someone I had once called friend. So much so, that there had been a few occasions that I’d entrusted my children in her care. That speaks volumes, for me. When everything collapsed and the fit his the shan as it may, our friendship collapsed, too. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since the incident. Both ladies totally blocked me from Facebook, and you know how that goes. That’s like getting stabbed in the gut, right? The ultimate finale.
Anyway, this morning I ran into Rhonda. I’d decided to take the little guy to a local center for kids, a place that has a ton of toys, games, story time and music time, the works. We try to go once/week, and Rhonda must have had the same idea. She was there with her grandkids. I heard her voice, before I even entered the play room. She’s got a very distinct East Coast accent, the kind where words like quarter sound like “quarta” and market sounds like “mahket”. I always got a kick out of her when she’d converse with me. Little guy ran off to do his own thing, while I signed him in. Rhonda had no idea I was there. She was in a rocking chair, her back to me. Right away, Little Guy started having some trouble with Rhonda’s youngest granddaughter. I walked over and talked to both children about sharing. When the dust settled, I walked back to my spot, and stood, arms crossed over my chest. I’ll admit, I was a bit on the defensive. I wasn’t sure what to expect. Would it be acceptable that I talked to her granddaughter, that she was playing with my son? Would there be drama in the kids center?
Rhonda turned around. She did a double-take, even though I know she’d seen me. I had just walked in front of her to break up the little ones. “Oh, hi.” She said, offhanded. “I thought that was you! He’s really grown.” She pointed in Little Guy’s direction, who by now had chosen to jump feet-first into a pool of plastic multi-colored balls.
I smiled a little and acknowledged Rhonda, and was polite. My arms were still crossed over my chest, and I diverted my attention to Little Guy. Rhonda took the hint, and turned back to watch her own grandchildren. The rest of the morning, although not conversing with one another, we were polite. There were times the kids would play together, and we never interfered or pulled them apart. It wasn’t their fault the grown-ups had issues with one another.
I’m the type to be the first to extend an olive branch. It’s hard, and it can be brutal, but the alternative has always been worse for me. I can’t stand having someone angry with me, or being put into a situation like I had this morning. Although it was civil, it was still awkward. We both glanced at one another from time to time, cognizant of one another. However, I’m slowly coming to grips with the fact that I can’t please everyone, and I don’t have to make friends wherever I go. I don’t have to be well-liked in every situation, and while I can forgive what transpired between Rhonda and I, I would never be able to pick up where we left off in our friendship. Not enough water under the bridge, I guess. It doesn’t mean I have to hold a grudge or give her the stink eye. It just means that we have to co-exist and make do with what we’ve got, and we did a fine job of that this morning. We can both agree to not be friends, and even if it was Rhonda extending that proverbial olive branch, I don’t have to take it, just to smooth things over. I don’t find any value in our friendship, not anymore, and I’d never feel like I could be myself, or feel comfortable. I’m really wanting to surround myself with people who I consider good friends, people I trust. I’m working on being choosier with who I let in. This logic might change me, but I want it to. The older I get, the less I care about being what everyone wants me to be. I just want to be who I am.
I wish Rhonda well. She always had a kind heart. Begrudgingly (I’m working on it), I wish Zoe well, too. If she’s doing well, it means her daughters will reap those benefits, or so I hope. Got to find that silver lining in there somewhere, right?
On a fitness note- I’m s0 NOT motivated lately. It doesn’t help when the temps barely hit 30 degrees, and that’s the high. I’m probably one of those annoying people who complain about the cold, but won’t do anything about it, i.e. run outside. Which I could. I know I could, and I should. I ran 3 miles on the dreadmill this morning, and it was tough. I kept checking to see how far I’d gone, and watching the mileage slowly creep by is like watching a pot of water boil on the stove. You keep willing it to happen, but it just won’t. I kept willing the miles to turn over quickly, but it wasn’t happenin’. Maybe I need some motivation. I found a few pics from previous winter runs I’ve done. It’s like hanging a photo of a bikini-clad hot chick on the fridge, when you need motivation to get into shape. For me, I need to look at myself bundled up in layers of clothing, in order to get back outside, and pound frozen pavement. You think this will help?