I Really Wanted to Like You
I really wanted to like you.
After all, you have everything going for you – all the things on the list to make you perfect. If first impressions are everything, you overdeliver. The statuesque shape of your being, every curve and contour meticulously crafted, each detail a masterpiece of precision and care.
You tick all the boxes:
An insightful social awareness of everyone’s preferences, sensitivities, and needs.
Graceful actions gauged with an inordinate amount of consideration to their environmental impact.
Savoir fair in everything you do.
Your name is not just a name, but a unique wordsmithing of esoteric meaning.
I first became aware of your presence on social media. The sleek images that told your story did just what they’re designed to do – they impressed me, drew me in, engaged me, ignited a little craving, a bit of longing. You succeeded at doing what we’ve all become increasingly competent at doing – showcasing our best angles, smiling in golden hour light, accenting the background with notable, meaningful, trinkets. Carefully curated, subtle displays of virtue that remind the world we are aware, that we care, that we remain humble, even in our self-promotion.
As I came to know you better, I began to see how every facet of your existence was deliberately and intricately intertwined, bound together by beautiful ribbons of coordinated themes, each connection a testament to a thoughtful design.
It was truly an intoxicating experience, when I finally lifted the crystal glass to my lips, tasted of the delicacies you offered, walked through every doorway, gazed from the windows, ambled along the walkways and rested in the quiet nooks.
But it was not until I sunk into the velvety upholstered chair in the garden that contrasted so radically with the garden full of trembling aspen trees, that I understood why I wouldn’t stay. I remember the way the velvet felt as my hands slid along the arms of that chair before resting on the smooth wood that curved so beautifully down to join the legs.
Everything was so perfect. So clean. I watched the handsome server cross the pristine courtyard, tray in hand, motionless, perfectly symmetrical smile lighting his face, teeth glistening white in the sunshine as he advanced towards me. I tipped my head towards the sky, knowing it would be blue, cloudless and streaked with sunshine, because this was the world you had created. I knew that the tray would be lowered from the waiter’s hand so gracefully, that not a drop of champagne would spill, that his smile would somehow grow even brighter as I took the glass. I knew the aspens would quake ever so slightly at such a simple exchange, and a tiny breeze would bring just the relief the heat from the sun required as I took the first sip from the chilled glass.
As I sat there, in this heavenly cocoon, I was aware that something was missing. But nothing is missing, I argued with my myself. Everything possible thing has been accounted for, every need anticipated. I sipped again, the sparkling sensation exciting my tongue, easing my thoughts away from their tangles into nothing, and then I knew what it was, because in this environment of exquisite everything, I remembered another time.
At first the memory came quietly. Just a subtle feeling. But as I paid attention to it, that feeling grew into a song, and then a shout! It was a humble place, made of stone as I recalled, and wildy overgrown – the garden intruded into the house somehow, and it became difficult to know where the inside ended and the woods began. The furnishings were simple, but the linens were gorgeous, luxurious, works of art of themselves.
When I arrived, I was greeted by a young woman carrying a basket of bread, cheese, fruit and wine. Her face was radiant, and she invited me to join some other guests for refreshment. We followed the sound of music through the garden where a few guests were gathered. As we walked, she asked me questions about my travels, why I decided to visit, what I hoped to experience, what I enjoyed, what I hoped for. By the time I joined the other guests, I felt safe, seen, heard and knew I belonged there.
Your impeccable taste hypnotized me, but the under current of narcissistic impetus kept edging in. It was as if everything you did to please me was really about you pleasing yourself. About you proving yourself. About you.
My happy memory reminded me that no matter how elegant the display, it is the soul of hospitality that nurtures, nourishes and delights people. It’s the way they made me feel that makes me walk away from you.
