A Conversation With Myself

I continued half-listening to the conversation as I sat there in my mind, flummoxed. I laughed out loud, realizing the parallels between the two conversations. Damn, I thought to myself. It’s not the first time I had an epiphany after one of our talks, but this was the first time I had one around someone else.

“Excuse me,” the Gentleman said with a look of confusion.

“I’m sorry,” I say between laughs, “It’s not you. It’s me. Just remembering a conversation from the night before — but I’m still listening to you.” He gave me a look a distrust initially but he continued his blurb not even a few moments later. He was right to hesitate, I was only half-listening.

After that point of realization, my mind was split into two: the conversation with the Gentleman in front of me and the one from the night before with Milo. I couldn’t help but be baffled by the similarities of themes. I guess the universe knows the only way she’s gonna get this concept through my stubborn Virgoan head is for me to explain that same reasoning to someone else.

Although, the Gentleman and I were two very different people with different understandings of the world around us, the premise for both conversations was the same: be better. I felt badly for not fully taking in the insight from Milo the night before. As always our talks are always to help and challenge me, but most of the time I’m too steadfast in my own ideals that I won’t receive it the first time it’s delivered. His patience for me is so perplexing, because personally just listening to the Gentleman was making me even more frustrated with him. As he continued speaking, defending himself, I couldn’t help but want to call bullshit on everything he was saying. Excuses, I thought to myself, All I hear are excuses. Is this what I sounded like last night?

I hid my frustration/growing disinterest from my face well by reminding myself to keep an open mind. He deserved the same chance I had to state his claims, no matter how irrational I felt some of his reasoning was. Also, I had my chance to speak my piece, so now it was my time to listen.

He continued his defense, almost sounding child-like in his rebuttal. It wasn’t soon after I shifted most of my attention out of my mind that he mentioned the tantrum he was currently throwing. He was upset with me for essentially “being hypercritical” and not acknowledging his good and “only pointing out his bad”. I chuckled to myself, thinking once again about previous conversations with Milo.

It was apparent the Gentleman wasn’t listening to me.

“You just think I’m terrible at what I do,” he says in middle on his tangent.

“I never said those words,” I sigh, “You took what I said, made assumptions, and then became defensive. I said I’ve seen some improvement but you’re still not being as effective in your position as you could be. Now you need to be better. And that doesn’t go for just you — I have to learn that as well.”

It was like I was talking not only to him but also to myself.

The Gentleman’s main issue, which was very similar to my own when it came to writing, was that he was not ready be better. At least, not in that moment. He, like myself, was content with the idea that making some progress was enough, and it isn’t. Complacency is always my number hated trait in a person and yet here I was sitting in complacency with my work.

I went on to fully explaining my true opinion of him and why it was important for him to continue his progress. Every word resonated in the atmosphere as it left my mouth. Each word that hit his core, also hit mine, lighting a fire in me to be better. My words had the opposite effect on the Gentleman. It seemed like every word I said was destroying not only his pride but also his confidence. Although nothing I was saying was negative or accusatory, I could tell he had stopped listening to me probably all of 3 minutes ago. Everything I was saying was falling on deaf ears and I couldn’t help but be discouraged. I immediately thought to my many talks with Milo. I’m still not sure how he stays positive while having these same kind of conversations with my equally defensive, highly stubborn ass.

By the end of my monologue I tried to leave him with some words encouragement to lift his spirits. As the last words left my lips, a somber presence filled the room. It was suffocatingly heavy, placing a weight on my spirit. I wanted to say more but I also knew there was nothing else I should say. As I awkwardly packed up my things, I noticed his face was deep in thought. I could tell his mind was racing, possibly replaying this conversation in his head.

I headed out quickly, avoiding the look coming from the Gentleman. I closed the door, only hoping this conversation would sink in as it did for me.