All (lack of) honesty is politics

I had a date Saturday that for 5 hours was one of the better dates of my life. It unexpectedly ended at hour 6 with me driving home, alone at midnight, typing and erasing (and typing and erasing) text messages to said date containing mostly words starting with B, F, and A.

For dignity's sake, I'm glad I talked myself down from sending any of them. I awoke today doubly relieved I didn't ... even though I spent the better part of the morning, including 90 minutes in church, re-composing these zingers in my head. (A cathartic exercise to be recommended, I might add.)

The date and how it tanked isn't the point here. More that in romance I've subscribed to the cliché of honesty as the best policy, i.e. "I feel this way so why shouldn't I be allowed to say it?" Which I've always subscribed to because of seeming more emotionally healthy.

In this case, I was a couple thumbs from sending vitriolic screeds to a man I thought deserved them, and I stopped ... because, I must admit now, I didn't want to admit to him how upset he made me. It was more important for me to project unaffected nonchalance, and see how he reacted to me not reacting, than directing the anger to where I felt it.

Politically expedient, is what it was. That by holding back now I might have a more satisfying conversation (and perhaps more satisfying resolution?) at later date.

We'll see if it happens or not. If it doesn't, chalk up another life experience to learn from.

Despite the above-mentioned head drama, so far this particular restraint is working for me. I enjoyed a Sunday spent walking through the sunny South End, brunching with an dear friend from Michigan, lying on the Southwest Corridor park lawn reading a Laura Ingalls Wilder biography and talking to my 89-y-old grandmother in Minneapolis, the cell phone reception as clear as the next room, not regretting my lack of honesty in the slightest.

I might have to let you know later if it ended up being emotionally healthy, after all.