TRANSCRIPT

I’m Maggie Smith, and this is The Slowdown.

Is it just me, or would relationships be so much easier if we just said how we felt and what we wanted? So much of the angst of dating — I’ll be old-fashioned and use the word “courtship” — is worrying that you and the other person aren’t on the same page. What if they don’t want to be exclusive? What if they never want to live with someone, or get married, or have kids, or … the list goes on? What if they want those things and you don’t?

All too often, it goes like this: You meet someone, you’re attracted to them, you start spending more time together, and all the while you’re having conversations with your friends. Where is this going? What do you think they meant when they said X or did Y? Do you think it’s going to work out?

One of the most challenging things about being in a relationship, especially a new one, is communication. I’ve certainly been guilty of doing what some of you listening have probably done, too: not saying how I feel, not asking for what I want, not being clear in my communication.

When we don’t say what’s on our minds, it’s usually out of fear — fear of being rejected, of upsetting the other person, of blowing the whole thing up. You might not share music you love or activities you enjoy if you think they’ll be judged as uncool; you might try to play it safe and not show too much of your true, quirky self.

But I know this to be true: what happens when you stifle yourself, when you aren’t open and honest, is worse. You can never really make yourself at home in a relationship unless you can be your authentic self and say what’s on your mind.

Today’s poem captures two things that moved me. One, a moment of tenderness involving touch. And two, a moment of vulnerability and honesty — a moment of not being afraid to say exactly what you want to say.

Smalltown Lift
by Brian Blanchfield

One last stop, he says. And they drive to Westside Lanes.
I grew up bowling. I don’t want to bowl.  It was raining.
We’re not going to bowl, the circus carpet dark with gum
beneath them, and he parts the curtains on the best
photo booth in town. He feeds it the three dollars, Get
in. They somehow share the short ridged stool. In here
we have to tell each other one true thing. You first.  Click.
This is the best way I could think to have my arm around you.

Click. Click. Click.

"Smalltown Lift" by Brian Blanchfield. Used by permission of the poet.