I have come to the conclusion that I can’t really say that I don’t like anything. Or anyone.
I used to say this all the time. I prided myself in the list of things I didn’t like (I don’t like pizza, I don’t like fishing, I don’t like this, I don’t like that). It was like a little part of my identity.
This all changed when I started to play golf. Dozens of other sports, accomplished with ease, but golf? Couldn’t hit the ball. Chunk after chunk of lush green grass being ripped out of the lawn with each swing…. I was butchering the golf course. Oh man. I hated golf. I thought it was boring. Stupid. A waste of money.
And then, one crisp spring in college, with the company of good friends and quirky teachers, I took a golf class, and… I learned how to hit the ball. Suddenly, I loved golf!!! The grass! The company! The air! Ahhh….surely there is no more enjoyable sport!
Likewise, I had no interest in computers, until I learned how to program. Hated pizza until I ate it in Florence. Disliked small dogs until I got one of my own, and fell bitterly in love. Was indifferent to my best friend in the whole world, until I spent a whole hour talking to her.
To know someone is to love them. If you don’t love them, or even like them, I dare say that means you don’t know them well enough.
And of course we all dislike things we think we are bad at doing. Why would we enjoy frustration? But these are not to be confused. And so, I have decided to put of deciding whether or not I like something until I am good enough at doing it to do it in the presence of others. Proficient, at the minimum. (Or, in the case of consumption, until I have experience the thing at it’s very best!)
And I suppose, in the event that I have worked it all out, and learned it all, and become wonderfully, terribly good at something…when I have searched far and wide for the best of the best, the top of the top, and I have partaken of it, then, I suppose, I can decide that I don’t like it.
Funny, it hasn’t happened yet.