self-absorption to a "t"

"You look like you want a latte," the barista guy said as he pulled a pot of freshly frothed milk from the cappuccino maker.

"Um. . . a. . .only if you've already made it and it's free." He hesitated. He was just being cute. I was just being cheap. So I backpedaled, "No, thanks, just regular coffee. Thanks anyway."

"Okay, then. . . light or dark roast?"

"Uh, um. . . I guess. . .light?" I stuttered.

"Having commitment issues this morning?"

"Always," I said.

* * *

Always with the commitment issues. It's becoming a theme in a manner of speaking. The small decisions of life more and more difficult in light of the big decisions I've made -- or not made -- and have had to live with for years on end.

The commitment to a living space. A job. An education. A dog. A social circle. A couch. A belief system. A paradigm. A skirt. An unrequited love. This blog. Not that any of these things are intrinsically good or bad. Just big even when not. And I often wonder what if. . . what if. . . .

But then again, who doesn't.

That said, logic dictates that what I don't like I can feasibly change. Sell it off. Move on. Quit. But therein lies the rub. As difficult as it is for me to actually make a decision -- it takes no less than the convening of a Senate subcommittee, the blessing from the religious heads of at least three legitimate faiths (and by that I mean those whose most committed followers regularly don anachronistic headgear and culturally obsolete costumes), the sealed assurance from a notary public that Fred will continue to enjoy the lifestyle to which he has become accustomed, a USA TODAY/CNN/Gallop Poll, not to mention my mom's say-so -- it's even harder for me to let it go once it's been made.

* * *

At a wedding recently, I reconnected with friends I haven't seen in more than ten years. It's funny, how we don't change. Stephanie is still the avant-garde writer/artist in flowing clothes and intellectual glasses. Scott is still the charming seeker, the thoughtful adventurer. And after one long-winded assessment on my part of the relationship between two other wedding guests I haven't seen in ages, there was a beat and then Scott turned to Stephanie and said, "Jill's a thinker. To which Steph responded, "She always was."

* * *

On the Myers-Briggs scale, which I've never taken, I suppose I'd be a T. (Is that right? T for thinker?) But for all my thinking, I don't trust my deductions. They're supremely unsatisfying. They're "right" for all practical intents and purposes. And for the record, I don't use the word "practical" by chance. Perfect in so many ways and from so many angles. But so often wrong. So often very, very wrong in terms of feel-good factor. I am my mother's daughter and we are nothing if not practical creatures. Whatever's best for the cheapest price. Whatever's stable with the least risk. Whatever's comfortable, with the longest shelf life. That's the choice to be made.

And after the head, comes the heart. I won't speak for my mother, but mine is an extremely poor decision-maker. Very black or white. Yes or no. Block of butter or block of ice. No going back and no in between.

You see how I've thought myself into an impasse? Pretty good, huh?

But if I were on Dr. Phil's show, he'd lean forward in his chair, put his hand on the arm of mine and say, "So how's all that workin' for ya?"

And I'd have to say, "Not very well."

If I left it there, at the "Not very well" I'd enjoy the bitter finality of this essay, the "so there" factor, the I'll-be-miserable-if-I-want-to element. I must admit, it has a vague appeal. I fight the lure of luxurious self-pity. But I really have nothing to moan about. Not really. Not actually. In the end, I'm not without resources. Because where the head fails and the heart disappoints, the gut comes to the fore.

I do trust my gut.

It's never failed me.

I just need to learn to listen.

Yeah. Something to think about. . . .

---

By the by, Katrina at Notes on a Napkin has a way better take on (i.e. attitude about) a topic very close to, if not exactly like this one that in the long run makes me feel pretty good about the world in general. Thank you Katrina, you magnificently delightful, marshmellow-roasting, poetry-writing, puddle-jumper, you. I don't remember who made the decision to sit next to whom on that big yellow bus, but it's one of the best decisions of which I was ever the benefitee. xoxojill