Is Liz…a Bitch?

Here’s a lesson I’ve never quite mastered: letting go of a point.

Back in the day, my friend Tricia and I were up late organizing a rally and various protests. It was after midnight, and I was ranting about one of our leaders’ baffling behavior—how annoyed I was. My friend Tricia had her baseball cap pulled over her eyes, Camel burning in the ashtray, leaning back on one of those dirty, uncomfortable office couches, the kind with odors and hair you didn’t want to know about.

When I paused to breathe, she wearily sat up a little, lifting her cap: “Caryn, is Liz … a bitch?” I mean, yeah. That’s what I was saying but not saying.

What my friend understood—and what I often miss—is that I was trying to prove it instead of saying it.

I didn’t like Liz. Big deal! I was fed up. I didn’t want to go on working with her. But instead of saying that plainly, I kept circling, trying to build an airtight case for what was already obvious and incidental—I refused to do my part because I thought she wasn’t doing hers, and I clogged up the whole damn thing.

I still need this lesson. I still need all those remarkable friends from the past—people who cared enough to speak plainly to me, even when I was being a bore.  I miss her.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​