Are We? Or Are We?

In the past, I confess to having said things like “Men are idiots!” and I honestly felt it was true at the time, but I also knew I was making too broad of a statement, and I didn’t really mean it. Regardless, I am guilty. I’ve attempted to avoid making such statements after having a conversation with a young man whom, whilst he was apologizing to me, used the phrase, “guys are stupid!”.  I took this as his way of (unconsciously or not) taking some of the blame off of himself, like it was something he just couldn’t help or avoid. Or maybe he was just repeating another person’s words and acting on their expectations. It was funny how I made those kinds of statements about men myself, but hearing it from a man just irked me like nothing else. He might have chosen to be stupid as an individual guy, but he wasn’t destined to be stupid as a guy. He chose stupidity in this circumstance. There are guys out there that are not stupid. And you can be 100% sure I corrected him on that point! This is when I realized that making statements like that were not empowering me or making me feel better. They were just enabling and belittling to those that had hurt me as well as those who hadn’t, and not at all beneficial for anyone.

Recently, I started analyzing even further this idea of labeling people. What about the way that we label individuals, not just groups of people? Hypothetically, what if I knew of a man who I perceived to be an “idiot” and I made the claim, “That guy is an idiot”? What if I said, “That person is immature”? What if I saw someone who looked like they needed to lose or gain a little weight and I said to myself “That person is fat,” or “That person is skinny”? What if I made any kind of judgment statement using the words is or are? Those are some strong statements. By making those kinds of statements, I am unconsciously dooming those individuals in my head. I have caged them within a judgment. To me, these claims imply the inability to change. They define. They label.  

Are these people those claims? I guess within a certain definition they are. I mean, I’ve seen this certain part of them, and if my perceptions are accurate, it is or they are. However, within the simplistic boundaries of the English language, I find it difficult to clarify just what I mean when I use is or are, if I even stop to think about the implications of what I am saying. Is what I am seeing the essence of a person? Because it’s easy to jump to that conclusion even if that wasn’t meant to be implied.

We need to be careful about making statements about people because, after all, we could just be judging based off of one instance, and seeing as we aren’t all-knowing, we are almost positively missing some information. Maybe there is a certain aspect of a person that we focus on more than any other aspect, and so we end up consciously or unconsciously labeling their entire character based on that one particular characteristic. Unfortunately, the English language can make it hard to be sensitive towards others. It is easy to turn what was at first a quick perception of someone into a lasting label simply because of a verb shortage.

I guess one solution could be to create a new verb or a couple new verbs to describe specifically what we mean when describing different states of things. I’d be all for it, but I doubt most of the rest of the English speaking world would go for it. I guess this difficulty is just something we have to be aware of and careful about, because I think I see this language barrier hurting both myself and those around me. It frustrates me because part of me just wants to say that we should just stop jumping to conclusions about possible implications. But I understand how easy it is to do. Honestly, I don’t really have any golden advice on how to deal with this issue except to be aware of how you think and what you say about people. Words are important. And yes I just dared to label them as such.

Forever a Tortoise

Very recently, I finished the last day of my first job--housekeeping at a camp. Three months of mind-numbing routine, and gagging over putrid toilets. Not what I’d like to choose for a living, but my hat is off to those who can do it! During my employment at the camp, in addition to the fact that the very physical work and constant movement were quite tiring, there were many days when our lack of staff required us to work very quickly and efficiently. As my fellow workers soon discovered, “quick” is not my middle name. Nor “efficient”. But I did an excellent job! Though I learned to work quicker, it wasn’t something that I could just learn, and getting lost in some sort of mental reverie, I would forget that I would have to work fast. In fact, moving faster was such an effort all the time, it was probably the worst part of the job.

What always amazed me when I worked was that everyone else seemed to be capable of moving so much faster all the time. It was like everyone else’s default speed of movement was ten times faster than mine. It was incredible! As all things do, this unfortunate phenomenon caused me to ponder and analyze my existence and place in this world. Was there something wrong with me?

Being told I am slow is nothing new. I’ve been told that my whole life. As a kid, I used to take half an hour to go pee as I’d spend that length of time singing on the toilet. I hesitate to confess that I sometimes still take that long to pee, but I don’t sing on the toilet anymore. Instead, some might call it my “thinking throne”. Maybe I should take to singing again. I also would take hour-long showers on a regular basis, and at school I’d take so long eating my lunch that I’d completely miss recess. It takes me forever to start a project and even longer to finish it. Even in college, I was always the last person finishing a test without fail. Etcetra, etcetra, etcetra. The point is, I’m kind of a slowpoke.

In analyzing this recently, I realized that this is something that I beat myself up over a lot, probably because it is something that I get teased or criticized about a lot. In this modern time-obsessed society, taking your time to do something or get somewhere is not often recognized as positive in any respect. We want results now, and anyone who takes too long to give us those results is our enemy, at least in the present moment. It’s almost as if impatience has somehow become a virtue. People tend to live life like it’s some sort of race to see who can do the most things in their short life, as if "living it up" and doing things (physical things) is all that counts in life, and quantity somehow counts more than quality. I see a lot of people always moving, but what are they moving towards? Is what they’re doing even worth it?

In contrast to many people I see around me, for the past while, I personally have felt like I haven’t been moving anywhere. I watch my peers around me graduating college or nearing that time. A lot of them are in romantic relationships and reaching the “getting serious” stage, and some are engaged or married. They either work or volunteer or travel or immerse themselves in some sort of hobby or all of the above or do whatever else they are individually inclined to do. Heck, some just have fun because they can. Whatever it is that they’re doing, the point is that they’re moving. Somehow, everyone else in the world just seems to do things. For whatever reason, actually getting off of my butt to do things, even fun things, is incredibly hard for me. To be honest, it often doesn’t even occur to me that I could be doing something. I’m just too busy analyzing life to live it. I’m forever an observer or an alien, and forget to take part.

All of this reminds me of the story of “The Tortoise and the Hare”. I would consider myself to be a tortoise in most respects, and from my own personal experience, there seem to be a heck of a lot of hares in this part of the world. Now, I do have my moments of spastic “haredom”, but as a general rule, I’d consider myself a tortoise. Funny enough, though, I sure am not winning the race. Within the past three and a half years since graduating from high school, I’ve become a college drop-out and only got my first job a few months ago. Can anyone say “bum”? And honestly, I do next to nothing with my life. With the exception of the past few months, during the hours when I was actually working, the following has been my life: Think. Play Tetris. Think. Scroll through my newsfeed on Facebook. Think. Read occasionally. Think. Write occasionally. Think. Draw occasionally. Think. Then think some more. Basically, I do a lot of thinking. In my opinion, the fact that I think a lot is a good thing. The thinking itself is not a waste of time, but when I do nothing else and don’t actively seek out information, what the heck do I have to think about except the same things over and over again? And that’s what I do. I sit and think about the same stuff over, and over, and over again, and instead of living my life interacting with people, I imagine that I’m interacting with people in my mind. Any hares that might be reading this are probably about ready to shoot yourselves at the thought (no pun intended).  

So what am I doing wrong compared to the tortoise in the story? Well mainly, he didn’t allow himself to be intimidated. He trudged along confidently at his own pace. Regardless of speed, he was always in motion, always moving forward. He had a goal, and nothing was going to stop him! When I look at my own strengths, I definitely have the endurance and determination of a tortoise. And when I do something, I do it well! I’m just lacking some goals and the courage to begin. I need to stop comparing myself, because let’s face it, I’m a slowpoke. You know what, though, I think the world could use a few people like me. It's time to stop hiding in my shell!

The Odd Fear of Excelling

Back in high school, during my senior year, as I had already taken most of my required courses, I was rewarded with fewer classes per trimester, and a handful of electives like art, one of which was a ceramics class. Ceramics class consisted of making and baking things of clay and talking with our classmates. I was a bit of an outsider, and one of two girls amongst a roomful of guys, none of whom I really trusted all that much. I took my art seriously and was good at it, I enjoyed it, and was a bit of a teacher’s pet which somehow resulted in me sitting alone at the edge of the table and doing my own thing as I tried to ignore any grungy talk by the juvenile young men at the other end. Overall I was pretty content with it.

Every so often, the guys would get my attention and tell me how quiet I was (no really? I didn’t think it was obvious) and try to talk with me which usually meant teasing me in some way. As long as it was just light teasing, I didn’t mind so much. But there was one conversation, on a day when the other girl wasn’t present, that has always stuck out at me. One of the guys began by telling me loud and clear, in front of the whole class, how he had seen me bend over when I dropped something and according to him, my butt was pretty “damn sexy”. Alright.  I could have told myself to ignore it and try and warp it somehow into a compliment. But as if that wasn’t disrespectful and awkward enough, he didn’t stop there. He commenced to tell me how when I turned around, he was incredibly disappointed because my face looked “like a twelve year old”. Ouch. This brought on a round of laughter, much to my indignation and embarrassment.

This same guy then continued to question me and try to find out if I was underage (I was) as he was 18, and he continued to make sexual comments to me, while the other guys egged him on. Though he seemed pretty serious and it scared me, I knew the reason that everyone was so amused by it was because I was that cute, quiet, good little Christian girl that not many people paid much attention to.

 

It would have been impossible for my teacher to not have heard the conversation as we were the only people in the room other than he, and we weren’t exactly that far away. But the teacher didn’t say a thing. Horrible at comebacks, and at a loss for what to say, I sat there quietly, trying to ignore them, my cheeks red in embarrassment, as they kindly pointed out.

The conversation didn’t end until I told the guy that if he didn’t shut up, one of my brothers would beat him up. I didn’t exactly say it very convincingly, but one of the other guys there who knew my brothers from the wrestling team confirmed it. By that point, class was over anyway. Leaving the class, I wanted to cry. I think what had made it most degrading and also frightening was that I was so ganged up on. The guys there that I actually knew hadn’t stood up for me and actually joined in. The teacher hadn’t even stood up for me. I was one against many.

I’m sure many of them had just perceived it all as funny and harmless. But it wasn’t. And in what kind of society is this kind of talk tolerated by teachers? What gets me most, though, is that it wasn’t until after I graduated that I was brave enough to even mention the whole gist of it to anyone. It wasn’t because I was scared. Or maybe I was. Maybe I was scared of more rejection and anger from others. I didn’t want anyone to get in trouble because of me, or say that I was making a mountain out of a molehill. My teacher didn’t seem to think enough of it to stop it. I mean, “boys will be boys”, right? (I hate that phrase, by the way, but I’ll probably save that for another blog post!) Was I really just being that overly sheltered conservative girl that annoyed everyone again?

Throughout my life, I had received a lot of hate and cruelty for standing up for what I thought was right, or even for just doing my own thing, without the expectation that others would follow along. When I actually did the workout my coaches laid out for us that day while the rest of the team slacked off behind their backs, I was despised and singled out by the group. When I didn’t swear, because I thought it was wrong and immature, I was laughed at. When I didn’t watch movies or listen to music that I thought was inappropriate, people thought I was self-righteous. When I wouldn’t date a guy (I wasn’t allowed to date until I was eighteen) behind my parents’ back, I was cowardly. When I didn’t go around kissing guys and told my friend to be careful about doing that as well, I was “cute”. And because of these judgments, I was lonely. And entirely misunderstood.

Now don’t get me wrong, this is not a post meant to brag about how good I might have been back then. I was also pretty black and white in my thinking too! And in some ways, I was just as judgmental of those who didn’t hold the same conservative values, as they were to me. Looking back, there are some things I said to others that I greatly regret now, and I realize how naïve and limited my worldview was at the time. I like to think that to some extent, I have grown beyond my very black and white worldview and no longer judge others to the extent that I did. But what others misunderstood was that I liked being good. I had no desire to go out drinking, partying, casually having sex, or even to do something as simple as watching a movie that I thought was inappropriate. I wanted to be the best I could be and follow the workout plan. I didn’t feel the need to be popular. I knew that my lime-green corduroy pants were totally out of style at the time and I loved them! I wanted to spend the extra time on tests and projects to get good grades. What others needed to realize was that it hurt me in my heart and soul not to act in alignment with the concept I had of “good” at the time. And it likewise hurt me to see others act in ways that might hurt themselves. And I didn’t need others to try to bring me down a notch. I think it was that mentality in others that bothered me the most in the first place. Their very frustrating, but natural feeling (that I admit to having felt particularly when I see someone I perceive as more beautiful than myself) of wanting to tear someone down who makes you feel or look bad.

And here’s where I reach the main point of this rant: I let their criticism and my loneliness puncture the walls of my heart and soul and let its poison run its course through my veins. I bought into the idea that I shouldn’t give myself enough respect to stand up for myself, do my best, and be who I was meant to be even if it meant excelling above others at times or being different than others. Who am I that I should have the right to live life to the best of my ability, I mean right? I believed that lie. That’s not to say that I’ve just gone all out and gone down some reckless path of rebellion. But I haven’t been living up to my potential. I haven't been living my life. I've been immovable, immobile, stuck! I’m afraid to do my best. I’ve become afraid to show what’s in my heart for fear of being laughed at. I’m afraid of more rejection and loneliness, and afraid of making others unhappy with my actions. The ironic thing is, I’m more lonely than ever! And sometimes, there are people who still reject me. Funny isn’t it? I’m worse off than before.

Part of me wants to end this cheerfully somehow with some inspiring speech about how I'm going to change it around! But reality is, it's all a mindset, and mindsets are hard to unsettle. Not that I won't try, but I feel like often when I come to some sort of realization, people expect me to have changed right off the bat. I can tell you it won't be like that. This is a fear, and fears are often irrational. It actually makes me sad to think about how I've wasted my life for the past I don't even know how many years, even before I graduated high school. How many opportunities I've missed because of this fear. But I guess recognizing all of this is the first step to change.

Look in Another's Eyes

I’ve always liked to have my opinions. It bothers me when I don’t have an answer or haven’t come to some sort of conclusion on a matter. Yet there are so many issues about which I ride the fence, high above the ground, afraid to fall to one side and lose sight of the other. Yet as I balance aimlessly, I’m also hoping someone comes along with a winding argument strong enough to blow me to a place where I feel grounded. Half of me desires to be the wallflower stuck on the wall separating opinions, the other half wants to fall to the ground and expand my roots. But I don’t like the idea of expanding them in one direction, particularly not six-feet-deep with a narrow mind and an unbending opinion, losing sight of the potential that I am wrong.

On other issues, the ones where my roots have gone to a deadly depth, I like that the wall is there. I do not touch it, but I cherish the separation from those that disagree with me. It feels safe among those who don’t challenge me and, like myself, have become content to be stuck there free from new perspectives. I like to know what I stand for. It also feels stifling, though, and I long for new information. Here’s where the other side could kindly toss us a bit of manure, which would at first appear revolting, but might just give us the growth that we needed.  

Sadly, the wall/fence is just too high and wide. What I’m saying here is that when it comes to forming opinions, maybe we should be extremely careful, but careful of extremes. In both the above scenarios, the wall felt safe, but safe from what? Others’ judgement? Being wrong? Making mistakes? Being alone? Maybe the safety of the wall serves a good purpose, but maybe not. What if the wall did not exist? What if we stood on the boundary between opinions, not above the fight on the fence like a coward, but on the ground firmly and confidently, and look each other in the eyes.
            

Look each other in the eyes. Not to intimidate. Not to glare. But to step for a minute into another’s world. Who are they? And why do they believe the way they do? Let’s tear down the wall, or at the very least, create a few peepholes.

 

Just Screw the World’s Opinions. You Are Who You Say You Are!—Or Not Quite?

What people need to keep in mind, is that what our society considers beautiful, “applaudable”, successful, or worthy of attention, is largely subjective. Most of us (including myself) seem to spend our lives comparing ourselves to others and seeing how we measure up to the societal ideal at the time. Are we closer to that ideal than others? The annoying thing is that these ideals seem to be things that are often unchangeable either because of genetics or just because the life cards we were dealt did not seem to have these “ideals” in mind. Are those people who just happen to fit the “subjective ideal societal bill” more worthy of praise because of what they were handed on a silver platter than those who were not handed the same package? I think not. Someone should be judged based off of their efforts towards progression, which can really only be determined by the person themselves, and the world takes all kinds, so we should just all stop judging. Even Christians. We Christians need to stop subjecting others to stupid, shallow “public image” messages and imposing them on the rest of humanity. It’s dumb, is the opposite of what we’re supposed to be standing for, and it needs to stop.

From birth, we are bombarded with images and opinions that we can either choose to listen to or not. But it’s hard just to throw in the gutter what our family members, friends, and the rest of the world tells us about ourselves. We (hopefully at least to some extent) want to please other people and feel that we have something of value within us that we can contribute. I believe this is a healthy desire. I think saying that we should just screw the world and not listen to healthy criticism is going to the opposite, unhealthy extreme, but is a bit of a current fad. It might be well-meant, but I don’t think it’s constructive. As Christians, we know who we are called to replicate—Jesus Christ. His life example should be our guide, and the Holy Spirit, our filter. Recently, I have been struggling with knowing what the limit should be between being who others say I should be, and being who I think I should be. But I realized, when it comes to knowing who I am, others see such a limited one-sided view of me, and likewise, so do I. Who would have a better idea of the individual I was meant to be than my Creator Himself? So it’s not about balancing everyone’s opinions, walking on your tiptoes around others in fear of rejection, or screwing the world. It’s about taking it all to God, and letting Him decide.