“Yep, that’s true.”
It is not a stretch to say I have been told on more than one occasion that I’m hard to argue with. Since a preposition just ended that sentence, I’m not so sure that is actually true. However, I will cop to unyielding and never forgetting one word someone with whom I’m “arguing” has either just said or has said in the past. Anamnesis, if you will. Sure, as necessary, I may gently remind them of their current or former statements and point out how they may be in complete contradiction to what they are screaming about in that exact moment. Color me helpful.
Hard to argue with? Nah. Should have been a lawyer? Yes. (Although, I’d swim through an ocean of puke before I’d ever consider becoming one right now.)
Admitting you are wrong is a hard thing to do; admitting someone else is right is even harder. Yet, admission to someone that they have you and your situation pegged is excruciatingly arduous. Especially when you never wanted to end up in that situation in the first place.
Being rendered defenseless against rhetorical questions about yourself is no picnic. Definitely absent is any immediate image of a young and carefree girl with hair billowing in the wind as she holds hands with her soul mate while skipping across a field of overgrown corn on their way back to the checkered tablecloth where he uses his best manners and hand feeds her cheese in between sips of world-class white wine.
(Run on sentence. Easy to argue with.)
Today granted me not only clarity but the opportunity to go through one more excruciatingly arduous situation vis a vis that type of admission. Thankfully, mercifully, it was with the one individual whose motives I have never, nor will ever, question. And I question everything.
As forever true and dear friend always tells me: If you want something badly enough, you make it happen. Everything else is just an excuse.
I hate excuses.
