Lets fight about it.

I sat across from someone I’m tempted to call an old friend, though we rarely spend time together and our friendship has never had the time to grow old.

We talk. I talk more than him, but it’s his fault—he knows how to pull my strings. And he’s picking on my subject. Playing devils advocate, he says. Just Joshing me, he laughs. Momentarily I think he may be Burgeoning on annoying when a deep breath makes me realize what I’m feeling isn’t annoyance. It’s exhilaration. My mouth moves miles in minutes. I need this.

Need is a relative term I suppose. I don’t need this back and forth the way I need air or Kool-aid. I’m should I could live without it, and at some point I think I did. But without it, boredom sets in, and what follows boredom is worse. Complacency. If no one challenges my big ideas- and there are far too many of them- they get left to their own devices, easily becoming frustrated adolescents who lack guidance. Hands on hips, neck on swivel, hand waving in the air screaming at the top of their lungs “I’m right, I know I am and you’re wrong so SUCK IT” (my inner teenager is vulgar). They don’t look at the other side, instead remain idealistic and optimistic to a fault. They believe in changing the world, but can’t see the staircase they need to climb, too focused on what’s at the top.

I’ve always loved these fights, I think my Grandpa was probably my first sparring partner. We’d sit at the kitchen table and he’d pick fights with me about everything and anything. I’d ask him what his favorite pie was and instead of answering he’d make a list of the pies he liked, the reasons they were good and why the pies I liked best were lame excuses for pie. If I said I wanted to paint the walls white, he’s argue that you can’t go to the store and just but white paint anymore; there were all sorts of different whites and you needed to know ahead of time which white you wanted so that damn sales person didn’t give you the wrong stuff. Sometimes we fought about more important things, like me getting married too young or declaring that I wanted to be a writer. But mostly he loved to fight and always knew I was game to take the other side.

These standoffs, where someone is willing to stand against me despite of my domineering personality and epic stubbornness, are not only one of my favorite ways to pass an evening (even better when beer or wine is involved) but essential for my growth. I change more as a result of these conversations than I ever imagine I will. Blondie tests my ability to be gentle with myself and others, the composer challenges me with all that I don’t think I know anything about, with curiosity and with honesty. The poets challenged me to write, to know that I was actually a poet and to believe that what I felt about their poetry was worth sharing. Atticus, my most consistent adversary and best friend handles my emotional confrontations—only the one who knows me so well can make me admit that no, I’m not over it yet and yeah if given the choice I’d make the same series of bad decisions all over again. And then makes me sit with the embarrassment of that admission, not for too long, before sweeping the pieces into a pile and telling me to put it back together right. He can convince me to stop trying so hard to be strong, to tell others when I need them, and live with my insecurity.

I find myself continuously searching for more of these relationships, and realizing how rare they really are. It takes a high level of trust to have these kinds of conversations—we have to believe that the other won’t get angry, or hurt and walk away without learning anything except how to leave when someone refuses to say what it is we want to hear. I wonder if these relationships are sustainable; wonder if I can have it in a day to day relationship that is built around love. Can that much verbal warfare survive day to day life; paying bills, cleaning the house and walking the dog?