Blog 43: A Punch in the Stomach

Most people who have known me for a few years know that I haven't always been the most patient or kind person on the planet in the past. My teenage years saw me behaving rather beastly (and not in a good way). Since then, so much of me has changed. I'm barely the same person any more, and I hold on to the hope that this metamorphosis has brought more good than bad. Lately, something else has become a recurring theme in my daily life--and I honestly can't decide if I like it.

For the past month or so, I've found it so much easier to deal with people. I love talking to customers at Starbucks, I can refrain from retaliating when a person is rude, and I find myself shrugging off the things that make me angry within a few short moments. Of course, this is a vast improvement. The part of this new-found gentleness (I guess I'd call it, for lack of a better word) that I am ambivalent about is this gut-wrenching compassion that I keep feeling at random times. I've always been a bit tender-hearted, even in my meaner days. Movies, sappy songs, sweet gestures, or seeing a man cry are all things that will make me lose the ability to remain detached and composed.

Of late, however, I find that it's just about every other person I see that stirs a strong feeling of empathetic sadness--the technologically helpless old man I spoke to at Talbot's apologetically sending a late birthday gift to his daughter, the regular customers of ours who have recently lost their jobs; even this man who, after snapping at me for getting his drink wrong, realized I had gotten it right and got super embarrassed, awkwardly muttering excuses. It's not just an "aww" moment I've been having, either. I've found myself surveying a crowd and approaching the point of tears. It has made me drastically change the way I respond to humanity, but at the same time, it's sort of making me feel like I'm losing my mind. I love the happiness that comes from being able to enjoy people despite their shortcomings, but I don't know if I can handle this "just got punched in the stomach" feeling every time I come in contact with an unhappy or disadvantaged person. For my own part, I'm very happy with my life right now, despite the financial hiccups and chronic car issues (a feeling I'm not used to), but for theirs--I want to do something. I want to fix it somehow. I can give them a discount, maybe. I can make them laugh. But it doesn't feel like enough. Nothing is cut and dry anymore. I imagine their stories and why they are the way they are. How can there be so many bitter and disillusioned people and no remedy that they will accept?

My roommate can attest to the fact that I'm "on the edge" as I call it, at any given moment. We both almost cried when our obviously inexperienced waiter kept messing up our order and getting embarrassed the other night. It was sad and funny, though, as we kept talking about how sorry we felt for the poor little dear, alternately laughing and uttering "awws." It's much easier to feel this strongly for people when it's a shared burden. I don't know where this is coming from or if I can take it much longer. A friend from work suggested: "Maybe it's the Ghost of Christmas Past!" Maybe it is. Maybe it's some apparition making me do penance for all the times in my life that I've been a selfish or impatient jerk. haha. Regardless, I love and hate it. It's a good sort of pain, I think, and I hope that doesn't come across in an emo-kid sort of way. At this point, I suppose I'm just going to roll with it and enjoy the rollercoaster ride it brings.

Blog 42: The Trouble with Gallantry

All right, I am just not a feminist. I would never yell at a guy for opening a door for me. I might rudely stare for a moment out of sheer surprise, but then I would say 'thank you' and move on like all polite people should. When I was younger, I went as far as to refuse to let anyone carry things for me, but all that really accomplished was the bringing about of a few wrestling matches between me and whatever unwieldy inanimate objects I happened to be holding (isn't unwieldy such a good word? Say it: unwieldy). These days, I allow other people to help. Not only does it give them a feeling of accomplishment, it is simply the practical way to go. Also, everyone already knows how very beastly I am, so I need not flaunt it. haha.

The purpose of this entry is not to attack the rarely-practiced art of chivalry, nor is it to proclaim: "I don't need your help! I'm a strong woman! Blah blah blah, something about giving birth." So if you're a feminazi...well, I would say go to the kitchen and make me a sandwich, but you probably wouldn't make a very good one--all that tofu and wheat germ. Is that a stereotype? Vegan feminazis? I think it is. I'm going with it. Anywho, I mean to suggest that sometimes gallantry could use a bit of tweaking. I know maybe four fellows who really have found the perfect balancing point between treating me like a lady and realizing that I don't need to be coddled. Coddled, I say, not cuddled. I need to be cuddled. Don't we all? Off topic again.

I love being one of the guys, but not really one of the guys. By that I mean that though I want honesty and to be let in on most of their jokes, I still want consideration and someone looking out for me. For example, I recently went out with some friends. At the end of the night when I was taken back to my car, the guy driving just let me out and sped off--nevermind that my car was in a dark, empty parking lot behind a building in a somewhat sketchy area. I really do think I can handle myself, but I was pretty pissed. I would never drop anyone off without making sure the car started okay and all that business (especially if it was a car like my good ol' Maurice). In that instance, I felt like the very classic rites of a gentleman were not carried out, and my sensibilities were thus offended. Another thing that is absolutely deplorable in my mind is when a dude addresses iffy topics (which I can discuss) in a way that is embarrassing. Using crass words, unnecessary detail, or verbally leering at me is not something I find amusing--especially in front of a group of people. I don't know if I'm becoming more old-fashioned or what, but lately I blush fairly easy, and hearing some phrases is just too much for me. haha.

On the other hand, I've had other, very annoying situations where the fellows were technically being gentlemen. They were trying, anyway, but it came off as patronizing--like when I ask a question and they expound upon the matter like a kindergarten teacher. For another example, a lot of protective guys assume that they can't say what they actually think and therefore end up hurting feelings. One guy I know has left a trail of two or three broken-hearted girls who took his kindness to mean that he was interested. He was 'too nice' to tell them that he wasn't. An additional thing I hate is when a guy acts like I absolutely need him to do something for me--carrying something, fixing something, driving. I'll allow it, and I'll ask for help if I really need it, but you are not a necessary part of me accomplishing things. What else? Ah, those fellows that try to tell you which of their sex are not good people to hang around. I appreciate very much that they tell me. It's when I've already taken it into consideration and yet they try and force some sort of separation on me that I become annoyed. If I'm friends with a terrible person, so be it. I try to help them. I shouldn't shun them just because you, in all your manly wisdom, find them to be unfit company. To suggest that I would allow such men to drag me down is an affront to my integrity and intelligence. I may choose not to take advice, sometimes.

I'm telling you, dudes have it way more difficult. I know I've been ranting...I think it's because when you come in contact with a fella who's got it right, you just realize how much help the others need. haha. I do love those guy friends of mine who have found the balancing point. Also, it may just be because I've gotten over the phase of needing to be the 'cool girl' who plays poker with the boys and likes sports. I'm terrible at poker and though I find them interesting sometimes, I don't follow sports. I just don't have that level of dedication. Because of all that, I've come to the conclusion that I really would love to be spoken to and treated like a lady and I want it done right! haha. Does that sound like something your grandmother would say? Perhaps, but nevertheless it's how I feel.

Blog 41: Secret Neurosis

So that this intro makes sense, note that this was written at about 3am this morning. Why am I still awake? And why is trouble so very fond of me? For that matter, why is it never awesome trouble like a motorcycle gang trying to recruit me or an epic fight with a vampire? These are questions I'd love to have answered right now...However, since that isn't going to happen, I think I'll just talk about something that I often forget. No matter how cool, calm, and collected a person acts, we all have something we're secretly neurotic about--it can be anything from There's a speck of dirt in the floor and I must clean! I can't let anyone see this pig sty! to What does this text or lack of text mean? Is he/she sick of me? or even the classic Maybe I should eat a salad. I'm getting chubby...but I don't like salad! Oh, fat. So fat. Sometimes, it's a combination of all three: Did he/she not call because I'm a fat slob?! haha.

I have a lot of self-confidence. I find it easy to be honest about where I am, but I think people take it as me putting myself down or fishing for compliments. I don't really care if you compliment me. I love who I am. I do see so much room for improvement, though, and occasional doubts do rise, but generally; I'm happy with my looks, my intellect, and my personality. That being said, I still obsess over all the aforementioned subjects from time to time. I have been learning, however, to "play it cool," practicing quite a bit of restraint with my weaker thoughts and emotions. Something I've been considering fairly often lately is that maybe all of us play it a little too cool. We miss opportunities to show people who we really are because we have these weird and unrealistic expectations for ourselves--how we'll look more badass, mysterious, or beautiful if we just rein it in. Everyone's got to stay calm. Everyone's got to pretend they don't care as much as they do. I do it, you do it, and the only ones who don't are the ones who come off as desperate or crazy.

I am all for propriety and self-control. You shouldn't just fly off the handle when you're angry or stalk someone you think you're "in love" with or break out into sobs every time something remotely disappointing happens. It's rude and unfair to literally everyone around you to make them deal with that awkwardness. And yet, there's something really messed up about holding everything back all of the time. It's like in the movies when the dorky meets a girl he really digs and all of his friends say he needs to wait three days to call her--he never follows their advice. Should we always follow our own compulsion to be weird Stepford people?

In this, as in all things, there has to be balance. Don't go divulging all your secrets or wildly portraying your emotions like a bipolar method actor. Also, don't become a non-person who can't be honest with anyone about how you feel. One, it's creepy when people are robots. Two, it's important that you realize there are times to be (for lack of a less cliche word) vulnerable with people. Three, it sort of makes you a little bit sociopathic if you can't ever be honest. I think refusing to acknowledge are human weirdness ends up dehumanizing us in the end.

So, next time you're being a complete freak, overthinking everything, daydreaming in excess, or inwardly geeking out--remember that we all do it sometimes--and feel much, much better.