Taking part in the Ann Dee Ellis 8-Minute Memoir Writing Challenge. This is Day Six.
My knee-jerk reaction? I don’t like games. I have good memories of playing card games with my grandma, and I did enjoy a good game of hide-and-seek with the neighborhood kids when I was little. I have one particularly happy memory of playing Kick the Can when my mom and aunts joined us. Other than that, I really don’t like games. I am about as non-competitive as it gets. I just don’t care about winning- I’d rather curl up with a book, or have a discussion about philosophy or song lyrics, or Rilke or Stephen King. I’d rather cook some delicious food or organize the filing cabinet. I’m not even kidding about that last one. I never played a sport. I never understood the desire to compete- it just made no sense.
As I grew up the games moved from the dining room tables and front yards into our heads. That was even more perplexing- why would anyone say or do something they didn’t mean? Why would a person be passive-aggressive, or dishonest, or disingenuous, or give someone the silent treatment? Not only did I not understand it, I didn’t know how to play, and like the other games, I usually opted to sit that one out. A book was a much better companion. The drama was at least contained.
As a grownup, this still perplexes me. While I have moved beyond the playground games and adolescent circus, I still am baffled when I encounter other adult humans who do not take responsibility for their own actions or feelings. It’s exhausting interacting with a person who insists others do their emotional lifting. I am not interested in relationships with people who play games. Full stop.
At least attempt to know yourself. Try and understand what you are seeking and need, and then find a way to communicate. Owning your own perspective doesn’t mean disregarding kindness or manners, or being dogmatic in your view.
And I eye my book on the table longingly…