I wouldn’t say I’m conflict-averse, but that’s because someone else was speaking and I didn’t want to interrupt.
I’m totally fine with conflict. Oh, yeah—I stand up for myself all the time. I just need to have the moral conviction that I’m speaking the truth, evidence to support my views, and assurance that the person I’m standing up to loves me unconditionally.
Whenever a colleague is unkind or unfair, I let them know . . . that, unfortunately, I’ve just noticed the time and I’d better leave immediately so that I won’t miss my bus.
Don’t come to me expecting empty platitudes. At the Sunday farmers’ market, I’m known for telling it exactly like it is. Especially when “the way it is” happens to be “pleasant,” “following my bliss,” and “planning to use these lemons to make lemonade.”
I have a long history of standing up for myself. In the third grade, Jimmy P. taunted me, yelling, “Hey, Four Eyes!” Blinking back tears, I removed my glasses—thereby proving that his math was wrong. I couldn’t see his reaction, but I imagined the mortification on his blurry face as I crawled under my desk (to look for my glasses).
Am I capable of getting up in someone’s face? When it’s called for, absolutely. I just haven’t received any calls yet. It is possible that I’ve missed some calls. My phone is always on silent. I don’t want to disturb anyone.
I’m constantly ready for confrontation—and I show it. But some people encounter my stony glare and ask if the sun is bothering me. Now I preëmptively alert new acquaintances, warning them, “The sun isn’t in my face.”
Not everyone can say this, but “The Real Housewives” franchise doesn’t stress me out—not at all! It features all of my favorite hobbies: bickering, bickering loudly, and outright screaming. I would watch it, but I find it to be too boring, too mellow. I prefer programs with bigger battles and higher stakes, like “The Great British Baking Show.”
I won’t let people speak down to me without delivering a biting comeback. My process for coming up with a clever yet cutting zinger is known as the Rumination Method. After I receive an insult, I mull over a witty retort, and I craft the perfect response in only three to twenty-seven years.
You still don’t believe that I love conflict? Well, listen to this: I ran into Jimmy P., my third-grade tormentor, in front of Staples. I was wearing contacts, and I walked right up to him and his lovely family, and I taunted them. “Just so you know, the sun isn’t bothering either of my two eyes!” I screamed, then I ran off. What a thrill. It might not have been him. My contacts don’t work as well as my glasses, but I don’t want to hurt my optometrist’s feelings.
I’m so comfortable with conflict that it’s become a deeply rooted part of me. My mind is always conflicted about what I should eat, wear, say, et cetera. You wouldn’t believe the number of times per day that I am steeped in mental conflicts. Even now, I’m conflicted about whether I’ve said too much, monopolized this conversation, or if it would be appropriate to ask you if you’re mad at me.
So . . . are you? Mad at me, that is. Whatever your response, I respect your views and love you unconditionally. ♦
