Toxicity

I realize this has nothing to do with travel, but I feel a need to write...

This weekend, I had a visit from my friend, Jacqueline. Jackie is probably my most "unusual" friend, for many reasons. She's also the most blunt, outspoken, and brutally honest of my friends, which is probably why I adore her (gee, I wonder who she reminds me of?) In any case, I dropped her off at some dive bar on Saturday night so she could meet up with some of her SF friends and see a show. She was to get back to my house around 2 am, so I figured I'd be long asleep by the time she returned.

At about 11:30, while I was in the middle of reading a Newsweek article about a company that is producing $188 laptops to be donated to kids in underdeveloped countries (much more about that in my next blog!), I heard a car screech away and some very heavy footsteps on my porch stairs. After a brief altercation with the deadbolt, Jacqueline stumbled through the door and announced to me that she had missed the show, almost been thrown out of the cab because she was so sick, and had to bribe the cabbie with a double payment in order to be driven all the way to my house. She was mortified. Why had she had so much to drink? What was she thinking? How could she miss a show she had bought tickets for, and how could she let her friends down? Of course, the answer was obvious: she was having fun drinking, and even though she knew she'd regret it, she just carried on anyway. However, she felt bad enough that she probably won't do that again for a long, long time.

I suddenly had a light bulb come on over my head. "Wouldn't it be great," I postulated, "if the same thing could happen with people? If someone is really toxic for us, wouldn't it be perfect if being around them for any length of time, while seeming to be a fun thing, made us feel bad and throw up? Then, it would be so easy to remove ourselves from those situations, from those relationships that ultimately will do us no good and, quite possibly, a world of hurt." Somehow, in her stupor, leaning there against my bedroom wall and trying to act as though her world wasn't spinning uncontrollably, Jackie didn't see the huge wisdom in my words.

But I did, and that's really what counts. It shouldn't take getting physically ill for me to realize when something isn't right, but it's just so easy to keep drinking (figuratively) and have those few moments of fun (or ones that might seem fun) rather than face the thought of having to live without the crutch. So, for having shown me a sign in the middle of her sloppy drunkenness, my thanks to Jacqueline. And also, this week, to Bob, for doing a similar thing in a much kinder, gentler fashion. Now, enough with philosophizing. Time for more travel and charity writing!!

Be happy.
--Janine