PAW MarchIssue - Flipbook - Page 94
H
ave you ever pretended to be someone else, to avoid
making small talk with an ex-boyfriend, or even an ex-non-boyfriend?
(Please tell me I’m not the only one.)
If the answer is yes, then you’re
not alone, because I’ve done it too,
more times than I can count. I’m over
it now, thanks to the positive influence of my pro-age women friends,
who’ve taught me that it’s alright to
acknowledge and dislike a past version of myself, while still maintaining my current poise and composure.
Finally, I’m beginning to understand
that being reminded of my vapid, insecure, and immature former self,
and interacting with someone who
knew her, won’t automatically bring
me back to that point—I’ve left her
in another place and time.
I distinctly remember the first
time I (mis)behaved this way, and
even though I knew it was wrong, I
just couldn’t help myself. It happened during a ballet intermission. I had
lived away and reinvented myself.
Bill* walked up to me with a smile
on his face, and said, “Hi Nicole,
how are you doing? Nice to see you
again.”
He didn’t say anything wrong.
He was just being polite, an old
friend, someone I dated in high
school, not even intimate, but I just
couldn’t handle it. My inane re-
sponse: “You’re mistaking me for
someone else. I’m not her.”
I was so rude. The look on his
face—what had he done to deserve
this? (Nothing.) He stood there,
mouth agape, looking from me to my
companion, and back to me again,
before I turned away. (Can you imagine?) My reaction made me realize
that I needed to do some serious
work on my emotional self-awareness, try and gain some insight into
why I had reacted so impulsively and
negatively, but of course I was too
self-centered at the time to look any
deeper.
Fast forward a few years—Bill
and I belong to the same golf club
(it’s a small city). In the dining room,
he tried to make eye contact, waving
hello, just to be friendly, and I pretended it wasn’t happening. Finally,
he came to my table to say hello. I’m
not sure if I responded appropriately,
but at least I didn’t pretend to be
somebody else, which I suppose is
progress.
Let me be clear—there is nothing wrong with Bill. This was my
issue. On our first date, he picked me
up in his dad’s Buick, took me to see
A League of Their Own, then bought
me ice cream at Baskin-Robbins. He
was a nice guy, and he’s since become a successful professional, with
a happy family. He was being human,
and my response was atrocious.
What was wrong with me? Coming face to face with Bill was like
seeing a ghost. It reminded me of a
94 THE PRO-AGE WOMAN March Issue
