In the Form of Another

They say opposites attract. I’m here to tell you that’s true, but only because two people who are the same are too busy irritating each other to get along.

Case in point, I recently met a man with the same attitude as mine. You’d think it’d be refreshing, like meeting a long-lost twin who finally “gets” you.

Nope. It was like looking into a mirror that not only shows your face but also plays back every snarky comment, stubborn streak, and questionable joke you’ve ever made.

Imagine arguing with yourself and losing. That’s what it felt like.

Now, I’m not saying I’m difficult, although my wife might. I’m particular.

I’ve got my ways of doing things, my little shortcuts, my sense of humor that not everyone appreciates. And this guy?

He had my playbook, the same dry wit, “common sense” solutions that sounded brilliant until you realized they were about two degrees left of practical. And the same habit of interrupting with “Well, here’s the thing…”

I nearly choked on my coffee the first time he did it.

“Well, actually, you can’t fix that with duct tape,” he told me.

Well, actually, sir, you can. And I’ve got a coffee table, a mailbox, and one pair of eyeglasses to prove it.

We didn’t so much have a conversation as we had dueling monologues. The fella’d start a story, and I’d jump in with mine.

I’d make a point, and he’d double down with the same point but louder. Somewhere in the middle, we both realized we weren’t listening—we were waiting for the other guy to stop talking so we could keep hearing ourselves.

And here’s the kicker, I found him irritating. Not just mildly, either.

I mean itch-you-can’t-scratch, sand-in-your-shoes, radio-static-during-your-favorite-song irritating. And if he was irritating, then by logic, I must be irritating, too.

That was a hard pill to swallow. Nobody thinks of themselves as irritating.

We all think of ourselves as charming, funny, maybe a little misunderstood. But it turns out my quirks in stereo are a lot to handle.

I had two choices. Write the man off as unbearable and keep pretending I’m easygoing, or admit I might need to sand down a few rough edges.

I would love to tell you I took the noble path of self-reflection immediately, but no, I first tried to out-irritate him. If he was telling a long story, I had a better tale to tell.

If he had a strong opinion, mine was stronger. At one point, I caught myself doing the same head tilt and eyebrow raise he did, and I thought, “Wait, oh no. I can’t live like this.”

That’s when it hit me that maybe God had sent this man as a reminder that the world doesn’t need two of me. One is enough, and two is punishment.

So, I did the only sensible thing I could: I started laughing. The dude asked what was funny, and I told him the truth: “You remind me so much of myself that I can hardly stand you.”

He stared at me, then burst out laughing too. Turns out he’d been thinking the same thing.

From then on, our conversations went smoother, not because we changed, but because we both realized what was happening. Every time one of us started to get under the other’s skin, we’d grin and say, “Yup, that’s me too.”

Now, I won’t say we became best friends. The world can’t handle that level of combined sarcasm.

But we did part ways with a handshake and a shared understanding. It’s easier to be patient with someone else’s flaws once you realize you’re carrying the same ones around.

And the funny thing is, I walked away feeling a little lighter, less defensive, more aware, and a little less irritating, too, or maybe that’s just what I like to think.

Either way, when you meet your mirror, don’t argue with it. Smile, laugh, and take the hint, because if two of you in the same room is too much, maybe it’s time to work on making the one you’ve got a little easier to be around.