Sometimes, in a well-meaning effort to get me to say and do the right things, people will attempt to edit my life.
Someone will ask me how I'm doing, for example. You and I both know that the only acceptable answer to that question is: FINE. I get to decide whether to fill in the blank with the correct answer or perhaps give a response that can take small talk toward the larger space required to consider further possibilities. For me, small talk is akin to taking out the garbage and just about as exciting. For others, it counts as something real. If a verbal exchange never progresses beyond this point, I tend to think we remain strangers. Somehow this ends up meaning that I have a bad attitude. Of course I cannot admit this because I am supposed to be fine.
For those of us who grew up with the saying, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all," the idea of speaking the truth does not bring with it heartwarming sentiment. No one wants to hear "the truth" if it is not happy. Of course those of us who possess a somewhat twisted, dark sense of humor can find happiness in all sorts of disturbing realities. Our challenge is in finding the right audience. We do not think we are being "negative." We pride ourselves in being "truthful." It is just that we often find ourselves alone since the person with the "nicer" response gets to be invited to the party while our invitation gets lost in the mail, so to speak. Act right and be accepted is the predominant theme here.
I remember as a child of about ten standing next to my mother in the grocery store in our small town while she was casually talking to a woman she knew. The woman asks, "So, how is Mary?" and my mother says, "Mary is fine." I am standing right there. I am NOT fine! But I am made aware that though the question is directed at me, it is not for me to answer. Perhaps my mother knew, due to my precocious nature, that I would give what may be considered an inappropriate answer. It is what writers do--even as children.
Not wanting to offend the person inquiring about me, provoke anger or judgment, I weigh my answers carefully. But sometimes my guard is down due to fatigue or even the hope that the truth would be a welcome change, and I say something I should not have said. Too much honesty seeps through the expected correctness and I can sense the person mentally backing up, averting the eyes and praying I do not notice the hesitation to engage me. I tell myself that I should have said, "Fine," but it is too late. I have already given an answer that is deemed unacceptable. And it is precisely at this moment when the editing occurs.
"That person did not mean to hurt your feelings." "It must have been an accident." "Surely no one would intentionally do that to you." "That situation could not have possibly been that bad." These are the types of comments that are part of the re-write. Self-doubt comes next. I try to convince myself that maybe the person is right. Maybe I have overreacted. I must be making this stuff up. My proclivity for exaggeration is getting the best of me. A cup of coffee, yes, that will make me feel better. Some chocolate is needed to help me regain my proper foothold. Low blood sugar must be the culprit. I need to work out. I will take the dog for a walk through the woods. That will turn me back into the person I need to be. Pray--of course, I need to pray more. Valid reasons must exist as to why I am coming up with any other answer than the acceptable one.
Try as I may to suppress it, the truth will not let me rest until I say it out loud. Or I write it.
The truth is that there are people who would rather die than live. And there is nothing we can do or say to save them. There are people who say hurtful things. On purpose. Sometimes acts of kindness are lost on those who cannot receive them. Expectations ruin relationships. Forgiveness needs to be repeated--often. On the same people. Loving someone guarantees nothing. We love because we want to. We withhold love because we want to. We say what we think others want to hear. We decide how much we want to reveal. We edit our stories. We let others edit our stories. We try. We fail. We either give up or keep on trying.
What happens to me is what shapes me into who I am. My responses are mine. Mine alone. Being appropriate is overrated. I seek truth. Whatever that means. Edited or not, it is what it is.
Someone will ask me how I'm doing, for example. You and I both know that the only acceptable answer to that question is: FINE. I get to decide whether to fill in the blank with the correct answer or perhaps give a response that can take small talk toward the larger space required to consider further possibilities. For me, small talk is akin to taking out the garbage and just about as exciting. For others, it counts as something real. If a verbal exchange never progresses beyond this point, I tend to think we remain strangers. Somehow this ends up meaning that I have a bad attitude. Of course I cannot admit this because I am supposed to be fine.
For those of us who grew up with the saying, "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all," the idea of speaking the truth does not bring with it heartwarming sentiment. No one wants to hear "the truth" if it is not happy. Of course those of us who possess a somewhat twisted, dark sense of humor can find happiness in all sorts of disturbing realities. Our challenge is in finding the right audience. We do not think we are being "negative." We pride ourselves in being "truthful." It is just that we often find ourselves alone since the person with the "nicer" response gets to be invited to the party while our invitation gets lost in the mail, so to speak. Act right and be accepted is the predominant theme here.
I remember as a child of about ten standing next to my mother in the grocery store in our small town while she was casually talking to a woman she knew. The woman asks, "So, how is Mary?" and my mother says, "Mary is fine." I am standing right there. I am NOT fine! But I am made aware that though the question is directed at me, it is not for me to answer. Perhaps my mother knew, due to my precocious nature, that I would give what may be considered an inappropriate answer. It is what writers do--even as children.
Not wanting to offend the person inquiring about me, provoke anger or judgment, I weigh my answers carefully. But sometimes my guard is down due to fatigue or even the hope that the truth would be a welcome change, and I say something I should not have said. Too much honesty seeps through the expected correctness and I can sense the person mentally backing up, averting the eyes and praying I do not notice the hesitation to engage me. I tell myself that I should have said, "Fine," but it is too late. I have already given an answer that is deemed unacceptable. And it is precisely at this moment when the editing occurs.
"That person did not mean to hurt your feelings." "It must have been an accident." "Surely no one would intentionally do that to you." "That situation could not have possibly been that bad." These are the types of comments that are part of the re-write. Self-doubt comes next. I try to convince myself that maybe the person is right. Maybe I have overreacted. I must be making this stuff up. My proclivity for exaggeration is getting the best of me. A cup of coffee, yes, that will make me feel better. Some chocolate is needed to help me regain my proper foothold. Low blood sugar must be the culprit. I need to work out. I will take the dog for a walk through the woods. That will turn me back into the person I need to be. Pray--of course, I need to pray more. Valid reasons must exist as to why I am coming up with any other answer than the acceptable one.
Try as I may to suppress it, the truth will not let me rest until I say it out loud. Or I write it.
The truth is that there are people who would rather die than live. And there is nothing we can do or say to save them. There are people who say hurtful things. On purpose. Sometimes acts of kindness are lost on those who cannot receive them. Expectations ruin relationships. Forgiveness needs to be repeated--often. On the same people. Loving someone guarantees nothing. We love because we want to. We withhold love because we want to. We say what we think others want to hear. We decide how much we want to reveal. We edit our stories. We let others edit our stories. We try. We fail. We either give up or keep on trying.
What happens to me is what shapes me into who I am. My responses are mine. Mine alone. Being appropriate is overrated. I seek truth. Whatever that means. Edited or not, it is what it is.
Very well said. Amen!
ReplyDeleteThank you
ReplyDeleteGreat reflection on American culture and how much people REALLY care or don't care when asking that dangerous question, "how are you? "
ReplyDeletePeople care. They just don't always know what to do with my honest responses--so they edit them to fit what they think I should be saying. I have to remind myself that not everyone grew up in Dysfunction Junction.
ReplyDelete