another word
See, now, this is great. We're ushering in a new era, here at my blog. It's really exciting for me, as I hope it is for all of you listeners out there.
For starters (feel free to skip ahead if you don't care for indtroductions/acknowledgements), I'd like to say that I'm both excited and dismayed at the subject for our first address. Excited, because I've always wanted to have an advice column (and, based on the marketing information about my blog provided by google strategists, planned to call it "Pretty Girl Pictures"). And dismayed, because I'm probably the worst person in the world to ask for advice (which, maybe is why it's more fun to ask me?).
And so it was with this particular connundrum in mind that I first conceived of the highly original format for my column. Instead of the standard "problem - advice" formula (which probably requires good advice to succeed) I'm going to stick with the slightly altered, "your problem - my problem" strategy.
Finally, let me state (if it isn't already clear) one more thing about abstractions: Sometimes, I don't follow a thought because, though it seems at first intriguing, I'm worried it will turn out to be vacuous garbage. So it is with full anticipation of meaninglessness that I pursue for you, anonymous, something I said flippantly the other day (but vaguely, in stories about my life, and only as I percieve it to be interesting).
I have cheated on one boyfriend, once, in my life. It was one of the worst things I think I've ever done. And I don't mean for the other people involved—the boy I cheated on surely got over it (though I hear he's still mad); the boy I kissed (that was all we did) doesn't talk to me anymore anyway. It was one of the worst things I've ever done /for me/.
There was lots of crying, and guilt, and self-doubt, and all that. And when the "other guy" completely rejected me, well, obviously that felt good. And I spent a lot of time trying to atone for it all (not to mention just to figure it out) and I can't quite nail down where it all went (or, more likely, where it's still lodged) but I think I finally pinned down the most important effect.
A month or so after the incident, I was hanging out with my now ex- (we tried really hard to be friends for a while, which—yes, this was clear to everyone else—was him trying really hard to get back together). We were hanging out one day at a softball game and I had my dog there, and a couple other people had their dogs there and no one cared so they were all running loose. And every time they got too far away I'd jump down off the bleachers and chase them back again. They weren't doing anything wrong.
But about halfway through the game some kid started screaming. And eventually everyone realized that my dog had run into a yard that bordered the playfield and was chasing something. It was a chicken. In a chicken coop.
Now, it's totally natural for a dog to chase a chicken. And Coco wasn't actually doing anything except running in circles. And you know, this was the only yard in the entire neighborhood without a fence around it—why they would be the ones to have a chicken is anyone's guess.
But I felt /awful/. I felt like, since the dog wasn't supposed to be off a leash—since I'd violated this one rule—the whole universe was my fault. I ran over there and grabbed the dog. I apologized to the lady, who was screaming profanities at me like I hadn't heard since dodgeball in high school, and I took the dog by the collar and ran him back to my car, just to get him out of there as fast as possible. And then I got in the car. And cried.
My ex- and a bunch of the other people went over and started apologizing, and then they were yelling right back at the lady saying she was being outrageous, and apologizing and checking to make sure nothing had been damaged, and helping to calm her hysterical children. But there was nothing wrong. He hadn't even made a mark on the coop (I'm not even sure he touched it).
I hear what happened at that point was, she apologized to them for screaming (including to the owner of the other dog that was running in circles around the chicken) and said something like, "But that other girl—you tell her to keep an eye on her dog."
The point is, I hadn't done anything awful that day, but (and I really think this is true) because I had cheated on my boyfriend I'd lost a lot of self-respect, a fair amount of perspective, and the ability to muster any kind of indignation. I felt, essentially, like anything people wanted to throw at me was totally justified, but without any of the overarching sense of purpose that martyrdom has.
PART II:
I'm difficult. We all know this.
I do this thing where, if I see a pattern developing, I try to help. I'll explain to people, "You know, I know it's unreasonable, and I'm sure it's all my fault, and I'm sure what you're doing works just fine with all the rest of the world, but when you do [this one, totally innocuous thing] it makes me feel [awful, in some hyperbolic way]." Usually this kind of a statement is so ridiculous it's insulting, and people don't know what to do with it, so they get indignant. Ok. That's fair.
If we ever get past that, though, I usually try to offer suggestions. "I know it's weird," I say. "But why don't you try doing [some other, seemingly silly/indistinct thing] instead?" Usually this is met with more indignation. Ok. That's fair, too.
But the thing is, I'm really trying to help. Or, at least, I think that's what I'm doing. I spend an awful lot of time puzzling over my own prickly reactions to things and trying to find ways around them. And I know the ways should all be in my head, but sometimes things that other people could do seem so much /simpler/.
The other day I had an interaction that went something like this:
[me, in my head]: Gee, I wonder what [so and so]'s doing tonight ... I should just ask ... no, no, that always makes me feel stupid, 'cause [so and so]'s always busy ... but, so what? I mean, it certainly seems that way if you never ask ... but why doesn't [so and so] ask? ... and, somehow, I always feel stupid asking ... can I even handle feeling that stupid? ... but, if you're going to demand like that, you've got to supply ... but then it'll be obvious I have nothing to do ... but, if I can't handle that, that's ridiculous ... but so what? I wanted to have nothing to do—that's the point ... but ...
quick note: there are quite a few people in my life for whom the basic structure of this conversation and the panic involved are perfectly apt. So, if you think it's silly that I've blocked out names, or you think you know who it is, please shut up the way you wished that guy in 10th grade English would—you know, the one who would answer the question he was asking while he was asking it...
and on and on and on.
Until I talked myself into shutting up about it. And I asked. I sent a message that said,
"What are you doing tonight?"
and felt perfectly good about it.
And I got a response that said, "I'm doing [some cool stuff]. And you?"
and I thought, Hm, ok, guess [so and so]'s busy. That's cool.
and responded with, "Trying to be quiet and alone." and that was the end of it. I felt fine. In fact, I felt great. Maybe I felt great instead of fine because there was so much negative anticipation that just totally didn't pan out, but whatever. I was calm (which I am not usually).
A few minutes later I was thinking about it still, 'cause usually I panic after interactions like that. And I was thinking nice, happy thoughts, and I suddenly realized, wait a minute—he turned that around. He did exactly what I asked him to do. And it totally worked!
But the thing is, I've had so many fights with people who refuse to cater to my ridiculous whims, leading to endless bouts of stubborness and indignation, that part of me is so focused on getting someone to do this because I'm not sure if it will work. I just have this sense. And so, once I realized what had happened, I expected to feel triumphant. Like, "See? I told you all along that if you'd just do it that way everthing would be /fine/."
But there wasn't any of that. I felt totally grateful, and respected at the same time. Like, I owed a lot to this person. But, not like I was endebted. More like, my capacity for love and humility had expanded (or something equally gag-inducing).
The flip side of this is, I felt awful. But in a much more universal way. Instead of all the interactions where people tell me I'm being overbearing and demanding, I felt like someone had just come along—taken my side, really, if just as an experiment. And it made me feel awful and useless and crazy and demanding (and sad and pensive and everything that goes with that) but on my own terms, and in a way I finally felt I could deal with.
So, wait, advice, right?
I think the point is, we always want more from people. But if I had expected [so and so] to do as I asked, I probably would have felt vindicated instead of supported, and the whole interaction would have been a power play, instead of a semi-revelatory experience.
The point about the dog was, I don't know, indignation isn't useless? Find humilty without excessive self-defeatism?
For starters (feel free to skip ahead if you don't care for indtroductions/acknowledgements), I'd like to say that I'm both excited and dismayed at the subject for our first address. Excited, because I've always wanted to have an advice column (and, based on the marketing information about my blog provided by google strategists, planned to call it "Pretty Girl Pictures"). And dismayed, because I'm probably the worst person in the world to ask for advice (which, maybe is why it's more fun to ask me?).
And so it was with this particular connundrum in mind that I first conceived of the highly original format for my column. Instead of the standard "problem - advice" formula (which probably requires good advice to succeed) I'm going to stick with the slightly altered, "your problem - my problem" strategy.
Finally, let me state (if it isn't already clear) one more thing about abstractions: Sometimes, I don't follow a thought because, though it seems at first intriguing, I'm worried it will turn out to be vacuous garbage. So it is with full anticipation of meaninglessness that I pursue for you, anonymous, something I said flippantly the other day (but vaguely, in stories about my life, and only as I percieve it to be interesting).
I have cheated on one boyfriend, once, in my life. It was one of the worst things I think I've ever done. And I don't mean for the other people involved—the boy I cheated on surely got over it (though I hear he's still mad); the boy I kissed (that was all we did) doesn't talk to me anymore anyway. It was one of the worst things I've ever done /for me/.
There was lots of crying, and guilt, and self-doubt, and all that. And when the "other guy" completely rejected me, well, obviously that felt good. And I spent a lot of time trying to atone for it all (not to mention just to figure it out) and I can't quite nail down where it all went (or, more likely, where it's still lodged) but I think I finally pinned down the most important effect.
A month or so after the incident, I was hanging out with my now ex- (we tried really hard to be friends for a while, which—yes, this was clear to everyone else—was him trying really hard to get back together). We were hanging out one day at a softball game and I had my dog there, and a couple other people had their dogs there and no one cared so they were all running loose. And every time they got too far away I'd jump down off the bleachers and chase them back again. They weren't doing anything wrong.
But about halfway through the game some kid started screaming. And eventually everyone realized that my dog had run into a yard that bordered the playfield and was chasing something. It was a chicken. In a chicken coop.
Now, it's totally natural for a dog to chase a chicken. And Coco wasn't actually doing anything except running in circles. And you know, this was the only yard in the entire neighborhood without a fence around it—why they would be the ones to have a chicken is anyone's guess.
But I felt /awful/. I felt like, since the dog wasn't supposed to be off a leash—since I'd violated this one rule—the whole universe was my fault. I ran over there and grabbed the dog. I apologized to the lady, who was screaming profanities at me like I hadn't heard since dodgeball in high school, and I took the dog by the collar and ran him back to my car, just to get him out of there as fast as possible. And then I got in the car. And cried.
My ex- and a bunch of the other people went over and started apologizing, and then they were yelling right back at the lady saying she was being outrageous, and apologizing and checking to make sure nothing had been damaged, and helping to calm her hysterical children. But there was nothing wrong. He hadn't even made a mark on the coop (I'm not even sure he touched it).
I hear what happened at that point was, she apologized to them for screaming (including to the owner of the other dog that was running in circles around the chicken) and said something like, "But that other girl—you tell her to keep an eye on her dog."
The point is, I hadn't done anything awful that day, but (and I really think this is true) because I had cheated on my boyfriend I'd lost a lot of self-respect, a fair amount of perspective, and the ability to muster any kind of indignation. I felt, essentially, like anything people wanted to throw at me was totally justified, but without any of the overarching sense of purpose that martyrdom has.
PART II:
I'm difficult. We all know this.
I do this thing where, if I see a pattern developing, I try to help. I'll explain to people, "You know, I know it's unreasonable, and I'm sure it's all my fault, and I'm sure what you're doing works just fine with all the rest of the world, but when you do [this one, totally innocuous thing] it makes me feel [awful, in some hyperbolic way]." Usually this kind of a statement is so ridiculous it's insulting, and people don't know what to do with it, so they get indignant. Ok. That's fair.
If we ever get past that, though, I usually try to offer suggestions. "I know it's weird," I say. "But why don't you try doing [some other, seemingly silly/indistinct thing] instead?" Usually this is met with more indignation. Ok. That's fair, too.
But the thing is, I'm really trying to help. Or, at least, I think that's what I'm doing. I spend an awful lot of time puzzling over my own prickly reactions to things and trying to find ways around them. And I know the ways should all be in my head, but sometimes things that other people could do seem so much /simpler/.
The other day I had an interaction that went something like this:
[me, in my head]: Gee, I wonder what [so and so]'s doing tonight ... I should just ask ... no, no, that always makes me feel stupid, 'cause [so and so]'s always busy ... but, so what? I mean, it certainly seems that way if you never ask ... but why doesn't [so and so] ask? ... and, somehow, I always feel stupid asking ... can I even handle feeling that stupid? ... but, if you're going to demand like that, you've got to supply ... but then it'll be obvious I have nothing to do ... but, if I can't handle that, that's ridiculous ... but so what? I wanted to have nothing to do—that's the point ... but ...
quick note: there are quite a few people in my life for whom the basic structure of this conversation and the panic involved are perfectly apt. So, if you think it's silly that I've blocked out names, or you think you know who it is, please shut up the way you wished that guy in 10th grade English would—you know, the one who would answer the question he was asking while he was asking it...
and on and on and on.
Until I talked myself into shutting up about it. And I asked. I sent a message that said,
"What are you doing tonight?"
and felt perfectly good about it.
And I got a response that said, "I'm doing [some cool stuff]. And you?"
and I thought, Hm, ok, guess [so and so]'s busy. That's cool.
and responded with, "Trying to be quiet and alone." and that was the end of it. I felt fine. In fact, I felt great. Maybe I felt great instead of fine because there was so much negative anticipation that just totally didn't pan out, but whatever. I was calm (which I am not usually).
A few minutes later I was thinking about it still, 'cause usually I panic after interactions like that. And I was thinking nice, happy thoughts, and I suddenly realized, wait a minute—he turned that around. He did exactly what I asked him to do. And it totally worked!
But the thing is, I've had so many fights with people who refuse to cater to my ridiculous whims, leading to endless bouts of stubborness and indignation, that part of me is so focused on getting someone to do this because I'm not sure if it will work. I just have this sense. And so, once I realized what had happened, I expected to feel triumphant. Like, "See? I told you all along that if you'd just do it that way everthing would be /fine/."
But there wasn't any of that. I felt totally grateful, and respected at the same time. Like, I owed a lot to this person. But, not like I was endebted. More like, my capacity for love and humility had expanded (or something equally gag-inducing).
The flip side of this is, I felt awful. But in a much more universal way. Instead of all the interactions where people tell me I'm being overbearing and demanding, I felt like someone had just come along—taken my side, really, if just as an experiment. And it made me feel awful and useless and crazy and demanding (and sad and pensive and everything that goes with that) but on my own terms, and in a way I finally felt I could deal with.
So, wait, advice, right?
I think the point is, we always want more from people. But if I had expected [so and so] to do as I asked, I probably would have felt vindicated instead of supported, and the whole interaction would have been a power play, instead of a semi-revelatory experience.
The point about the dog was, I don't know, indignation isn't useless? Find humilty without excessive self-defeatism?
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