I’ve got a 25% More! bottle of conditioner in the shower. I am tired of the smell of that conditioner. I’m ready to move on. I want a new scent.
That doesn’t mean I have commitment issues, does it?
I’m not being silly, here. I mean it.
Can commitment issues be detected back in junior high when I couldn’t decide between Flex or Prell, or Levi 501s or flares?
Wouldn’t it make sense that if you hesitate to commit to a deodorant, then you probably won’t commit to a relationship, either?
(I’ll have you know that I am a frugal person. I’ll continue to use up that annoying bottle of conditioner, even if I use too much each time, and it makes my bangs greasy. Maybe I could bribe Jen to finish it, or use it for shaving my legs.)
I’ve noticed that usually men are said to have commitment issues. Why do women want to commit more readily than men? (When I first typed that sentence, I wrote, ‘Why do women want to be committed more …’ Freudian?) After all, don’t we do most of the work of relating in a relationship? It occurs to me that if I am commitment-phobic, it’s probably because I’m tired of doing all the relating.
In my defense, I have a cutting board that I’ve owned since 1987. I’ve lived with that cutting board longer than anyone I’ve had a relationship with, including my parents – even if I count the times I moved back in with my mom.
That makes me laugh.
Should that make me sad?
That cutting board has survived many moves. It is the perfect kitchen tool – the right shape, reliable, dependable, and the right size. If only I could find a ….
I once received a gift of a glass cutting board. (Ironically, it may have been a wedding gift.) I hated that thing. No one can convince me that cutting boards should be made of glass. I’d swear the chef’s knife would wince each time I’d attempt to slice an onion on it. I’d rather drag my nails across a chalk board than cut on glass.
That “board” was a well-intentioned gift. Should I have stayed committed to it? I think, NOT!
For that matter, why must I defend myself for being hesitant to commit? Why do we applaud the capacity to commit without evaluating what it is that one commits to? Whether it’s an office or a cutting board or conditioner or a relationship, if it isn’t a good fit, isn’t it best to forgo commitment and make a change?
Would a sense of frugality dictate that one ought to stay because of the investment already made? That’s a sunk cost! Move on, already. (Except for conditioners which, one could argue, aren’t really necessary, anyway. Besides, one is no better than another, but most of us seem to think we need conditioner.)
How about we commit to life? I say we commit to experience. Commit to change and process and the journey. (Even if the word journey is used too often.) So what! I commit to getting as much out of this journey as possible.
I commit to me!
And apparently this annoying bottle of conditioner. And flares and 501s, and my beautiful cutting board, but not deodorant. You can’t make me.