I have the kind of relationship with writing that I otherwise primarily find with romantic partners–unhealthy, idealized, exploitative, immature, and more often draining than rejuvenating. Haha.

I’ve observed that relationships of all kinds (writer/product, reader/content, boyfriend/girlfriend, mother/child, etc.) suffer most not during times of true strife, but when expectations color perspective and inhibit communication. Please, allow me to demonstrate:

Spritely Southern Belle meets Midwestern Weirdo by chance. They must build an amicable relationship—they will spend the next four months together with several other young Americans, traveling throughout Chile, practicing Spanish, and eating convenience-store empanadas. Midwest (it’s me; it’s my story) immediately clocks Belle as her nemesis; “that’s an uptight, vain, and superficial girl,” she decides (reader, I was projecting my own insecurity). Belle seems to think Midwest doesn’t take life seriously (haha). The two quarrel regularly. Only a few hours before a scheduled early-morning tour of the El Tatio geysers, Belle makes an honest mistake and ends up sick. Those of us with her in the house do our best to care for her. The rest of the group returns from stargazing and sees us amidst this. A few complain about poor Belle’s state. I lose my temper. The next morning, most of the group gives me the cold shoulder, but Belle and I start getting along. So, actually, it looks like strife cuts through superficial pretenses to unite us in true discourse, for better or worse.

EGR