Perhaps I come off self-righteous (more so in writing than in real life, if I say so myself). Perhaps my insistence on authenticity almost seems inauthentic, thus causing people to fall away.
One of my patients said yesterday that saying no enough times will ensure that people will stop asking. So for that sake, she said, she has decided to say yes.
For a long time, and maybe still, I felt guilt for feeling liberation as the questions stopped in reaction to my 100th "no." People talk about the plague of fomo, yet I've felt broken in the past for not ever feeling it. If that's not neurotic, what is? My complacency with my life at this point feels fortuitous and unreal. I had a revelation on my birthday, with the conclusion that I feel pretty good about my life at 29. That sounds good enough.
At the Hong Kong Supermarket, Cliff and I remarked at the Chinese for their brazen aisle navigation and cart-dragging, "like they're in their own little world!" A common thought when we're in Chinatown. It's become a new joke: Do you think we're in our own little world? he asks as we open the door to our apartment. I worry about being too solitary, but, sometimes I wonder if I'm making myself worry because it feels like the right thing to do.
