Fake Conversations N° 1
What I love so much and am so challenged by in being human is the incessant need I have to figure things out. And often the “figuring out” of things that I so deeply desire isn’t necessarily available to me in any way that would be productive to match the thoughts I have. This show’s up for me, often, in a very “what would I like to say” after-the-fact kind of way. But I’ve realized these are also like mini deleted scenes from the movie of my life and I can still find catharsis in the sharing of them. So here is a somewhat of a script for a silly thing that has been on my mind for a week now and I would like to rid myself of.
The Original Scenario:
I was at brunch at Larry’s with my person and seated at the bar, ironically where I usually sit, was a man (and his friend) that I sort-of-know-but-mostly-am-acquainted-with from Halifax. We’ve spoken in real life literally once, and it’s quite honestly a moment I feel simultaneously proud and embarrassed of looking back. The context of that original conversation was me looking to be hired to run their social media for a business, before I opened Fiends and believed it was my duty to help support all these other businesses with my very grandeur idea of my own social media expertise. I didn’t end up getting this fake job that I was asking them to make for me, but I do feel in some way the impression I gave was one of self-delusion rather than of self-confidence. In truth, I do not care with this particular individual thinks of me but I do at large care about the social image of what many people think about me. I sometimes feel incredibly burdened by this even though it feels against my values to put such an onus on how I’m perceived by people I don’t connect with or relate to. This is a part of my innate personality and growth that haunts me - this incessant caring and regard for other peoples notions of me even when I deeply wish I could put that energy elsewhere.
So, on this day, sitting at the bar, there he was, and we had a moment of recognizing each other but not through eye contact. At one point my partner went to the bathroom and I saw him sneak a turn around and say to his friend that I do not know “yes, that’s her.” and what I am so fixated on in this is was there anything else said or shared about me that indicates the “that’s her” of it. “that’s her, the one who wanted to run our social media” or “that’s her, the one who closed her weird spiritual storefront” or “that’s her, the one who thought she knew something about coffee when she first moved to halifax and was one of the only women in the industry and she actually fell out of line with it shortly after because one of the community members was acting weird and making her uncomfortable and really actually pursuing her as an object and purposefully misreading into friendly interactions and asking her on over-night trips to different places while also married and when she told people about it was then kind of ostracized from all of it because we know that guy really well and she’s new here and probably just looking for attention because she did wear a skirt once to that tasting and that was just… too much”. Or was it simply a confirmation “yes, that’s her. she lives here now. funny that we are sort of crossing paths, funny how small the world is.”
A thing about me is I really assume that the people I don’t really know, and who don’t really know me, truly think the worst about me. And in a way this is totally self-absorbed because why would they need to think anything about me at all? But I’m rather obsessed with the notion that perhaps I am in the world in a way that I am aloof too, and that I am not being or seen in the way that I believe I am.
The Story I Made Up To Make Myself Feel Better:
*in this story, we are not remedying this conversation in the restaurant in Montreal, but instead on Ochterloney St. in Dartmouth, NS
It is summer, probably late July and I am visiting Nova Scotia. It’s my best friends Wedding (this is truly happening in late July) and I am showing my partner my old neighbourhood. We’re touring around and passing the place where there are three major local businesses nestled into one building. There is a coffee shop, a pizzeria, and a coffee roaster. The coffee roaster is on the corner, ground floor. It has large windows where you can see clearly into the space and because it’s summer and it’s hot and roasting coffee requires heat the windows are open. We walk by, there isn’t a lot of traffic on foot or by car. It’s the point of the day where most people are at work or enjoying a cold beverage somewhere in reprieve from the heat. I’m point out the different businesses, who owns what, stories I have of the places, hand in hand. Because it is quite outside of the hum of cicadas and the sun, I hear a draft of the conversation peeling through the open window.
“Yeah, remember Forest? I actually saw her while I was in Montreal - not on purpose, just in passing at Larry’s. She’s intense, kind of full of herself - into astrology and tarot and all of that. Remember when she wanted to run our social media? And what ever even happened with her and Alex? He told us she freaked out on him because he asked her to come to a coffee tasting… imagine just being nice enough to try and introduce her to the industry she wanted to be a part of and then getting your head torn off because she read into it as flirting…”
“That was wild. I forgot about that. And what was her business called again - Fiends? What even happened there? Seemed kind of doomed to start anyway, but I hear some shit went down with her business partner and then she just like gave up… actually I think I heard a bunch of stuff happened and then she basically ran away to Montreal where no one knew her…”
The other men chuckle, remembering and nodding their heads, having little to say either way but not opposing this story either. She’s just an intense, woo-woo girl who thinks everything is about her; who’s a coward and runs away from everything, the person all the rumours about are true.
I pause my walk for a moment, deciding if I want to respond or not. I feel it is ironic that of all the times and places to hear this and for it to be brought up it is as we are innocuously passing by. Like the universe want’s there to be something said.
I cock my head to the side, feeling the anger and words rise in me and decide in that exact moment that perhaps I am some lessons for this man - and I don’t need to know exactly what that lesson is I am just greatly aware that I hate the idea that a person who has only ever had one conversation about me not only feels its necessary to talk about me but to pass judgement on me as if knowing me.
I walk up to the open window, peering over my sunglasses, wearing a un-fuck-withably cool outfit and say “did I just hear a little birdie say my name?”
The men in the room all look up, the one who had just spoken paling. What are the chances? What kind of irony? The reality is this is likely the first time he’s ever really said anything on the matter and felt it would be safe even if unnecessary to utter those words. Realizing the cosmic joke that was being played on him.
Before any of them can say anything, I take off my sunglasses, still squatting at the window and peering down to them at the ground floor of the roastery.
“Interesting that you’ve only spoken to me once and yet seem to have so many notions about me… But since you seem to think its appropriate to gossip about people let’s set the story straight. First, Alex did make an inappropriate pass at me several times and completely and effectively isolated me from this community. I had no reason or desire to make that up and the fact that you would believe that and no one actually came to confirm with me what happened or if I was okay proves what a shitty boys club this is anyway. Second, don’t pass judgement on what you don’t know or understand. My business in concept and execution was successful - and I realized that it wasn’t truly a dream of mine long-term to own a shop. If you knew anything about me you would know that my main goal is always to build community, which I did quite effectively. And regardless of your interest in my world, you still knew about my business and I guarantee know people who believed in it and supported it. Don’t pretend it wasn’t viable just because the notion that I am connected with things you don’t understand scares you, and don’t delegitimatize the legacy of what I created when you never first hand interacted with it nor do you understand what happened. Third, I didn’t run away. Yes, my life changed of my own will and decisions - I believe I am allowed and capable of cultivating my own joy and peace. I recognized my time in Halifax was done. My relationship ended very peacefully and with a lot of grace and healing, and I was brave enough to go where my heart was calling me to instead of feeling like I had to stay stuck here to prove something. The things that happened with my business partner were deeply painful and I guarantee you don’t know even 10% of the entire story from conception to end - and nor do you need to because it isn’t your business. I was greatly taken advantage of - and granted was also foolish and naive to let that person into something that I had so carefully cultivated. I have no regrets or remorse about this, nor am I disillusioned about it. But all of that being said, I really find it humorous that you feel it is necessary and appropriate to say such things about me at all. The fact that I’m even in your mouth should be an indication to something quite contrary to what you said - let alone that I happened to be here, right now to hear it. So woo-woo of me, isn’t it? Almost divine, isn’t it? Anyway, I hope you’re well and learn to be more careful what you speak. You never know the impacts of speaking on things you don’t know about.”
And with that I get up and leave, in my fabulous outfit to the arm of my beautiful partner and let him kiss me, in awe at my ability to take no shit, and says “You are an angel, and you are not to be fucked with. I love you so much, I have so much respect for you” and I put my sunglasses back on, put my hand in his back pocket like we’re in a John Hughes movie from the 80’s and leave those foolish men reeling in their own notions of what just happened.
THE END