When it comes to friendships, it’s easy to say “Cut ties” if the relationship turns toxic, a fact evidenced by the sheer number of articles published by all sorts of big-name sites like Huffington Post, Reader’s Digest, and WebMD. The same can be said for romantic relationships — though emotions often run higher here, the final advice is the same: If your partner is mistreating you, end the relationship.
But when it comes to mothers, brothers, grandparents, and cousins — or any toxic family relation — cutting ties may lead to backlash from onlookers. “But he’s your father,” a well-meaning friend or family member might say. “You have to love him!”
No, no you do not.
Procrastinating is easy, especially when something is difficult or time-consuming. We let ourselves off the hook now by promising to do the work later. I always tell myself that I’ll get around to it tomorrow — but sometimes, tomorrow doesn’t end up being tomorrow, or the day after, or even the day after that. Sometimes weeks go by before I get to something, because doing a little something isn’t worth it. No time to run a 5K? Then I’ll run tomorrow. No time to write a full chapter of my novel? I’ll write tomorrow instead. Starting and finishing an activity on separate days made me feel like I wasn’t giving it my full attention.
Never mind productivity, that insisting on completion might mean I wouldn’t write a blog post for three months, or that because I wasn’t running at all, I’d gain weight — anything less than complete was partial credit. It wasn’t worth my time.
We had screwed up.
A local orchestra had asked us to accompany one of their songs with a waltz showcase in an upcoming performance, and they were specifically looking for an amateur couple. My partner and I were honored and excited, so of course we said yes. We’d connected with the orchestra director and examined the stage. We’d set aside time to choreograph.
But now, as we were listening to the music, we discovered that the song was actually a Viennese waltz, a much faster dance that required more space — and stamina and knowledge — than we had. Six minutes of Viennese? Could we survive? Would it get too repetitive? How would we fit the steps onto a small stage? Could we dance a regular-speed waltz instead? Was it too late to back out?
We had screwed up — and now we had to deal with the consequences.
Once upon a time, The Girl with the Tree Tattoo posted about the difference between being someone’s friend and being friendly. Your ballroom dance teacher, she argued, isn’t your friend; he or she is being friendly, because ballroom is a business. Your teacher is part of your dance journey, not your whole life.
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