A blog intensifying the flavor of life and toasting those who share in the feast, rather than settling for a dry, plain, melba toast existence.

Sunday, August 18, 2013

personally

To take something personally means "to interpret a remark or action as directed against oneself and be upset or offended by it, even if that was not the speaker's intention" according to a dictionary definition. And though I have a firm enough grasp of the English language to comprehend the meaning of this statement, I often find myself confused by it.

What I do not understand is why being told to not take something personally is supposed to make me feel better. I want to take it personally because I want the conversation to actually have something to do with me! I would love to be talking with someone who knows me, loves me and has a sincere desire to communicate with me.

Of course I understand that when someone is rude because he or she is tired, having a bad day or going through a hard time that I am not supposed to become offended by the rudeness, and yet I often wonder why a little kindness cannot be extended, if for no other reason than to alleviate the doubt that a viable relationship still exists. If I am seen as overly emotional because I took something personally, what responsibility does the person have who said the words in question? Does warning me that I am not to take something personally really let the other person off the hook? Are there no repercussions for bad behavior that hurts another?

A friend called to tell me of the untimely death of her friend's daughter. I always wonder if something could have been said that would have changed the outcome. There is no one to blame at a time like this. There are no words to adequately describe the grief. It is an unwritten story with an abrupt ending--an obituary that will attempt to represent her truest self and yet not do justice to a life lost.

Did she take something someone said personally? Could she not find a way to get around someone else's issues that kept getting mixed in with her own? Did she try to find the words to describe how she felt as she lugged her oversized bundle of emotional baggage everywhere she went, not ever figuring out how to loosen the ties that bound her to it? Was anyone listening to the cry of her heart? Did her own lack of communication betray her in the end?

Life and death are in the power of the tongue, according to a biblical proverb. Is there a word that can begin to heal a broken heart, restore a lost perspective, or counsel a mind gone dark? Can we speak into existence newer and better versions of our lives? Do we dare make our messages personal, speaking the truth in love, and willingly walking alongside those we hope will understand our words? Instead of making excuses, will we ever risk it all and choose to love?

I don't know. But personally, I hope so.



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