Sometimes, a girl just needs to vent.
The winding road of life is overflowing with ambiguity, and along the way one may meet the occasional speed bump. These interruptions, no matter how minor, tend to eat away until the inevitable happens: an explosion; but who better to tackle the role of listener than a friend?
My thoughts exactly, but while we’re listening to the grievances of others, is not our first instinct to offer advice? On Monday, upon the recommendation of Kim at Creative Loafing, I ventured to Jackson’s Java mid-day for a break. I was in between work and a study session and wanted a place to go to do a little reading for pleasure. Since these days those moments are rare, I picked a quiet couch in the back and descended into some Stieg Larson. Unfortunately, a few tables over were two delightful young ladies who weren’t having it.
From what I could gather, the two were good, and possibly old, friends. The conversation bordered on the more hostile side with voices raised much higher than the standard “coffee shop” volume, and no matter how hard I tried to get some reading done, I couldn’t help overhearing their very loud and overbearing conversation.
One was doing a substantial amount of the talking, while the other acting as the listener; yet, it was evident that these were not the original functions of each. Bear with me, I do not condone the act of eavesdropping, but in this rather tyrannical exchange, there was no way around it. Of course the situation itself, or the background, was completely foreign to me, but from what I gathered the young lady listening seemed to be carrying some sort of burden and the imperious voice of reason took the form of the friend directly across the table.
What I heard next wasn’t pleasant. The unruly voice delivered her friend a one-two punch disguised as indulgent advice. With raised voice she expressed how childish the other was acting and how imperative it was that she get over whatever it was that was ailing her. When she evoked tears she began aggressively questioning“what good comes from crying?”
Then my favorite: “I know what you’re going through.”
The “I’ve been there” line: final attempt to console someone, or bragging rights?
I don’t know, you tell me. What I do know is that whatever awful thing was going on in this distressed woman’s world, rest assured her present company of a friend had already met, battled, and defeated it; living to tell it as a saving grace to her friend and all eleven of us spectators in one coffee shop.
As this tirade went on I couldn’t help but look around me at the other people with their laptops, books, and binders spread out in front of them. One guy looked utterly annoyed, another disgusted; and then there were the few hiding their smirks behind books. I joined the latter group, unable to conceal my amusement.
The scene this dedicated friend was making was interesting in more than one way. Despite the muffled snorting and giggling, one couldn’t help but watch the troubled young lady, and it was painful. Her face painted with a mix of vulnerability and deficiency. In a very public and humiliating way her friend had exposed her as the injured party. When she sought advice was tough love the expected result?
Naturally I began privately considering conversations my friends and I have regarding our own personal complaints. Advice is one thing, but there seems to be a proper place for it, so why is it that we feel the need to step in and solve anyone and everyone else’s problems?
Sometimes a girl just needs to vent. Personally, when I vent I’m not looking for the necessary answer, at times I just want it out in the system somehow-someway. Yet, when the roles are reversed I’m very susceptible to playing the “therapist” card, and as I watched this particular confrontation escalate between friends I became slightly uncomfortable.
I thought, “is that the way I treat the problems of my friends?” So I do it in a not so vocal way , but doing it less harsh doesn’t make it any healthier. Perhaps the highway of life does need to detour onto a one-way street every now and then; maybe the scenery is better?
So when do we do ourselves and friends the favor of just shutting-up and listening to the words instead of waiting for our turn to interject? Despite the fact I practice it from time to time, the tough love mentality is lethal. Maybe it's time we buried it.
On a final note, Jackson’s Java was wonderful. I can’t believe I had never heard of it! Thanks to Kim for allowing me to uncover this hidden gem.
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