Archive

Posts Tagged ‘contemplating my navel’

Walking The Line: On Being A Bastard And Loving It

March 3, 2010 7 comments

There’s been a bit of talk around the blogosphere lately about how people don’t read blogs to hear about YOU. And of course, there is that old accusation of blogging cliques and how you have to develop a persona if you want to build any sort of friendships.

Folks, what you see here is what you get.

I try to be a nice person like most of us do.

The common mistake people make with that sentence is that they key in on the word nice and ignore everything else.

No dear friends, the key word there is try.

To give a bit of background, back when I was but a wee Kendall (ages 12-15) I didn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything. Guys wanted to start trouble? I’d say “let’s go.” I skived off more homework than I did even if I breezed through tests. It wasn’t so much that I ran with the wrong crowd as I pretty much told the world to piss off. It was also around this time that my mom realized I had issues, too bad it was kinda like water on the ashes from the bridge.

Obviously I grew out of that dark patch.

The kicker is that Bastard Kendall is still there, muffled but still there. He may have learned that loyalty is not a pipe dream. That empathy is not weakness. And that you can be a nice person.

I generally try and keep that part of me under lock and key. I like being the nice guy who tries to help everybody. Cynicism only leads to bad places and I’ve had enough of that for one lifetime. I like being the one who keeps others smiling with the off-the-wall things he says and does. I enjoy making people happy.

Doesn’t mean I will not tell someone where to get off.

Tact?

I think it; I say it. That has always been my way.

The problem is that certain people apparently think that because I am so nice 99% of the time, they get the idea in their head that they can run roughshod all over me. In those times, I let the asshole out.

Basically I have three main modes.

1. ) If you’re my friend, you’re as good as family and there is almost nothing I won’t do for you. Need someone to cater your party but don’t have the cash? I’ve got you. Have editing you need? No problem. Flat tire? I’ll be out to you shortly.

2.) If I don’t know you, I’ll be friendly if a bit distant. You’ll get my normal snarkiness and a diluted form of my dirty humour.

3.) If I don’t like you, then expect apathy on my part unless you really need something. This whole guilt thing is still a bit too overwhelming at times I suppose.

Am I a good person? Yes. Am I a nice one? Eh, most of the time.

I am the guy who used to pop off at the wrong move and I am the one who goes gaga around any small child.

And I’ve learned to accept it.

Can you?

Advertisements

On Packing Up The Baggage, Letting It Go, and Moving On

January 4, 2010 8 comments

It struck me as if a sucker punch from Zeus himself.

Powerful, unexpected, and unavoidable.

I denied it at first, of course.

Sadly, I’m too pragmatic for self-delusion to last long.

I am not sure when it happened. Somewhere between that first meeting in July and her sleeping off the effects of a cold in my bed. Regardless of the when, the truth is undeniable.

I am falling in love with this woman.

Oddly enough, panic has yet to set in.

Maybe it means I’m growing up.

Yeah, I think that’s kind of hilarious too.

After the pounding my heart took last summer, a smart man would have avoided this. A smart man would have known exactly where blurring the line between good friends and flirtation would lead. A smart man would have learned all ready not to wear his heart on his sleeve.

I suppose this is a case where dumb is good.

For all my issues, I am a fairly straightforward person.

So as I helped her after she fell on the ice for the umpteenth time, trying to balance on her skates, I smiled. This woman, who had no idea how to ice skate, invited me out for no other reason than to cheer me up after a horrible day.

And it was here I realized I am falling in love.

Not ready to say it aloud but I can admit the feeling is there.

Growing with every conversation.

As my walls are broken apart bit by bit, I am OK.

No panic.

No fear.

No doubt.

I am just…calm.

And that is something I am not used to. Have to admit though that it’s a welcome change.

Eventually I will tell her. When I am ready to say the words. When she seems ready to hear them.

Until then I’m not going to stress it.

I’m finally me again.

About fucking time.