I thrive on conflict. When I was president of the Portola Middle School student council, as much as I enjoyed being able to skip class in order to plan logistics to make sure everything ran smoothly, I didn't feel more alive than when 400 hormone-filled middle schoolers were in a hot, smelly auditorium ready to scream out chants and boo whoever we brought out to lead the rally that year. Basically, there's something about the potential of messes, and dealing with them in real time, that makes me feel some type of way.
If you've known me long enough, you also know that I have a problem when it comes to finishing work and procrastinating, and feeling motivated to finish work or even procrastinate. For Pete's sake, I fell asleep on the car ride home from my conference this weekend so I wouldn't have to do work in the car. Even though I may thrive on workplace conflict and interpersonal conflict, I cannot deal with personal conflict.
What's the difference between a non-personal confrontation and a personal one? Loads. For one, a non-personal confrontation is over something that is not necessarily about you. It's something that could affect the world, like President Trump deciding to blast Syria, or something small-scale, like me mediating fights in middle school. A non-personal confrontation is normally not something that speaks to you as a person. It's high school debate, arguing at each other for 30 minutes and then shaking hands and acknowledging each other as friends and fellow competitors. It's marketing, debating semantics like font size and color choice.
A personal conflict, on the other hand, is definitely about you. There's a very good chance that this argument is something about who you are as a person, and that's not a jacket you can take off at the end of the day. In contrast, there's no distance you can place between yourself and the fight. There's no clock out, no tap out, and no roll out.
There's a moment right in the beginning when Adam and Eve realize what they've done, and they cover themselves up in shame with fig leaves. After understanding they've ruined the perfect relationship, all they can do is hide, because they cannot bear to be confronted with what they've done. The temporary rush is not one of excitement, but of fear of judgment. I often find myself metaphorically naked, messing up and not knowing what exactly I'm doing, and yet instead of repairing my relationships, with God or with people, I find a way to distract myself, covering myself up in news feeds and pixelated videos of people falling down hilariously and really, anything but confront. I let my own fear of not being liked or worrying that people will see me differently, shield me among the trees of my imperfect garden, burrowed in dirt and grime because the light seems too far away.
But lately, I'm discovering that the uncomfortableness of intentionality is not a curse, but a blessing. The awkwardness of figuring out you and your friends' flaws together, or understanding how awful you can be sometimes, or even realizing that some things really shouldn't be taken so personally (calm down, Josh, just because you sold him your concert ticket for $70 doesn't mean the buyer who you don't even actually know is going to hate you forever) can actually be comforting and empowering. Without confrontation, there is no change, there is no conflict, and there is no resolution. As a storyteller, I thrive on conflict. I'm learning to thrive on failure and third act rises and falls just as much.
