You know, it is really sad when we have to pass a law to make people pull up their pants.
This morning on my drive to work I heard about a bill moving through our government called the "Pull Up Your Britches Bill". It basically makes it illegal to wear pants that expose your unmentionables. I rather thought it should have been called the "I See London, I See France Bill," but no one asked me. Again.
I recently saw a kid wearing pants that were so low I almost missed my green light trying to figure out how he kept them from falling straight down to the ground. Safety pins? Velcro? Lots of practice walking without moving his hips? I wasn't sure, but I didn't approve. I also tire of seeing teenage girls walking around with the hot pink waistband of their thong peeking from their low-rise jeans. Then again, maybe I'm just jealous.
This would be a great opportunity launch into a tirade about the days when we had a sense of decency and self-respect in regards to our appearance, but I am going to try to not do that. I remember seeing an episode of "Leave it to Beaver," when Wally and Beaver are taking a bus to visit a cousin, and Wally asks if he can wear his blue jeans for the journey. Ward replied in surprise, "Why no, Wally. You'll need to wear your slacks and a sport jacket!" It made me laugh because I know that no matter what era you choose, there have always been people muttering how they don't know what's up with kids these days.
So is there really anything wrong with kids wearing clothes that make them look like morons? I did it when I was a teenager and...well, you can draw your own conclusions there. But really, if the worst thing someone does is wear stupid-looking pants, do we really have a problem?
I think the issue is that we are worried that wearing stupid-looking pants is a gateway activity towards doing something worse. Come on, we've all looked at those kids and assumed they were up to no good. For all we know they are the valedictorian of their class, curing cancer by day and rescuing kittens by night. But if while they're doing these heroic things, we can see their underwear...well, I just have a hard time not laughing.
I think maybe this legislation should be renamed as the "You'll Thank Us Later" bill. Kids will be kids and wear their moronic clothes (and I have the family photo albums to prove it), but eventually they will be adults and, hopefully, utter those familiar words: "what's the matter with kids today?"
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Thursday, January 10, 2008
I'm Addicted to LOL
It's the new year, so its time to make some obligatory New Year resolutions. This year, I resolved to do a few things differently. For one, I am going to attempt a full year without frivilous credit card spending or fast food. Both ambitious, but both necessary for a good 2009. So I am committed. The credit cards are out of my wallet, and my road trips will be fortified with Clif bars and homemade sandwiches. I can deal.
But one resolution has been harder to keep. Every day, I am compelled by an irresistable longing to conclude each sentence in an email by letting my fingers wander to some very special letters on my keyboard: LOL. I love using LOL. Okay, so I don't use it after every sentence, but it has gotten to the point where if I was indeed laughing out loud that often, I would lose my job, or at least be gently prodded to take advantage of our employee assistance program. LOL I love to laugh, but apparently I love telling people I am laughing even more.
LOL is such a quick and easy way to say, "get it?" or "you know what I am saying?" or even "wink, wink, nudge, nudge". LOL lets me add levity to a touchy situation, or convey that my opinion on so-and-so's new haircut is only meant in jest, and if confronted I would never actually say whatever I just LOLed about. Or, it is just an expression that I am not taking myself too seriously, and that my comments on the world are mostly tongue-in-cheek.
The truth is, I do laugh a lot, and I do laugh out loud. I like to laugh, and I like to make other people laugh. But lately I've started to feel that my constant use of LOL is diluting its impact. If I LOL at everything I think is even mildly amusing, maybe LOLing isn't that big of a deal. If I LOL at the drop of a hat, people might stop trying to make me LOL, and that would be a shame.
So, this year I resolve to stop overusing LOL and use it only in cases where it is absolutely necessary. Sure, others may resolve to get out of debt or volunteer more time to charity or stop stealing office supplies from their employer. But for me, developing coping mechanisms for ignoring the itch of my fingers that desperately want to type those three little taps on the keyboard will be rehabilitation enough.
What will I do instead to convey my emotions through email? I plan to begin abusing the smiley face. :)
But one resolution has been harder to keep. Every day, I am compelled by an irresistable longing to conclude each sentence in an email by letting my fingers wander to some very special letters on my keyboard: LOL. I love using LOL. Okay, so I don't use it after every sentence, but it has gotten to the point where if I was indeed laughing out loud that often, I would lose my job, or at least be gently prodded to take advantage of our employee assistance program. LOL I love to laugh, but apparently I love telling people I am laughing even more.
LOL is such a quick and easy way to say, "get it?" or "you know what I am saying?" or even "wink, wink, nudge, nudge". LOL lets me add levity to a touchy situation, or convey that my opinion on so-and-so's new haircut is only meant in jest, and if confronted I would never actually say whatever I just LOLed about. Or, it is just an expression that I am not taking myself too seriously, and that my comments on the world are mostly tongue-in-cheek.
The truth is, I do laugh a lot, and I do laugh out loud. I like to laugh, and I like to make other people laugh. But lately I've started to feel that my constant use of LOL is diluting its impact. If I LOL at everything I think is even mildly amusing, maybe LOLing isn't that big of a deal. If I LOL at the drop of a hat, people might stop trying to make me LOL, and that would be a shame.
So, this year I resolve to stop overusing LOL and use it only in cases where it is absolutely necessary. Sure, others may resolve to get out of debt or volunteer more time to charity or stop stealing office supplies from their employer. But for me, developing coping mechanisms for ignoring the itch of my fingers that desperately want to type those three little taps on the keyboard will be rehabilitation enough.
What will I do instead to convey my emotions through email? I plan to begin abusing the smiley face. :)
Sunday, December 2, 2007
One and a Half Glasses of Wine
I wish I could live my life the way I feel when I've had one and a half glasses of wine.
When I've had one and a half glasses of wine, I can sit back and soak in the world around me. Everything my child does is genius. Solutions to problems come quickly to mind, and everything becomes simple.
When I've had one and a half glasses of wine, I become the parent I want to be, knowing that if my son told me at age 19 that he wanted to get in the car and drive to New England to see the leaves change, I will tell him to go, that he should go and experience the world.
Having one and a half glasses of wine makes me a better singer and dancer. And I can remember all of the funny lines to my favorite movies and inject them into conversation at just the right moment.
One and a half glasses of wine lets music wash over me like waves and lyrics mean so much more. A sad song is more touching, and a happy one makes me forget that I don't know any good dance moves.
When I have had one and a half glasses of wine, I become more in touch with my mortality, and become more thankful for the life that I have. My blessings are more obvious, my time is more precious, and my patience is thick with indulgence. It is a reminder that life happens once, and we are wise to stop once in a while and soak it in.
And then it hits me. What is so wrong with my life that I need to numb it with a bottle of cheap red wine to be happy? And then it hits me again - it's not my life, it's me. I can be a little intense. Some might say I am too hard on myself. I like those things about me, but everyone needs a break from themselves once in a while. What I'm trying to say is, one and a half glasses of wine lets me get out of my own way so I can appreciate just how amazing my life really is and take my focus off of the next hurdle to be cleared. And then, as it begins to fade and life resumes to normal, I become preoccupied with dishes in the sink, laundry that needs to be folded, cats that need to be fed, and all of the little things that keep me from truly living in the moment. And that's fine; having a chance to step away and see the big picture for a while reminds me that I am one lucky lady.
Life comes at us fast. In the blink of an eye, a year has passed and we can't even remember what we did last weekend. If I have a resolution for 2008, it will be to live more of each day as if I have just had one and a half glasses of wine.
When I've had one and a half glasses of wine, I can sit back and soak in the world around me. Everything my child does is genius. Solutions to problems come quickly to mind, and everything becomes simple.
When I've had one and a half glasses of wine, I become the parent I want to be, knowing that if my son told me at age 19 that he wanted to get in the car and drive to New England to see the leaves change, I will tell him to go, that he should go and experience the world.
Having one and a half glasses of wine makes me a better singer and dancer. And I can remember all of the funny lines to my favorite movies and inject them into conversation at just the right moment.
One and a half glasses of wine lets music wash over me like waves and lyrics mean so much more. A sad song is more touching, and a happy one makes me forget that I don't know any good dance moves.
When I have had one and a half glasses of wine, I become more in touch with my mortality, and become more thankful for the life that I have. My blessings are more obvious, my time is more precious, and my patience is thick with indulgence. It is a reminder that life happens once, and we are wise to stop once in a while and soak it in.
And then it hits me. What is so wrong with my life that I need to numb it with a bottle of cheap red wine to be happy? And then it hits me again - it's not my life, it's me. I can be a little intense. Some might say I am too hard on myself. I like those things about me, but everyone needs a break from themselves once in a while. What I'm trying to say is, one and a half glasses of wine lets me get out of my own way so I can appreciate just how amazing my life really is and take my focus off of the next hurdle to be cleared. And then, as it begins to fade and life resumes to normal, I become preoccupied with dishes in the sink, laundry that needs to be folded, cats that need to be fed, and all of the little things that keep me from truly living in the moment. And that's fine; having a chance to step away and see the big picture for a while reminds me that I am one lucky lady.
Life comes at us fast. In the blink of an eye, a year has passed and we can't even remember what we did last weekend. If I have a resolution for 2008, it will be to live more of each day as if I have just had one and a half glasses of wine.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
What is it with Women and Shoes?
I have a thing for shoes. I think a lot of women do. Lately I've found myself becoming a bit obsessive over them, ordering shoes online and justifying my purchases with the rationale that a good pair of shoes will last forever, so I am really making an investment in my future, right? After I complete my order, I track my package every day and revel in the anticipation of when I will arrive home from work and see a tidy little box in front of my door. When they arrive, I savor every moment of opening the package, reminding myself that I can return them if I don't like them but knowing inside that will never happen.
Over the years I have bought, worn, given away, and thrown out an embarassing amount of shoes. Some have been gorgeous, others hideous. But they have all served their purpose: they made me feel good. They made me feel pretty. And is that so wrong?
Just as most women seem to have a thing for shoes, most men seem to not understand why women have a thing for shoes. I guess I can understand the confusion. Most men have a few pairs of shoes - the requisite brown, black, and sneakers. Possibly some flip flops, the number of which seems to be directly proportional to the number of times that man says, "dude," in a given day. But generally, for men, shoes are functional, while for women, they are so much more.
Shoes are validation of our womanhood! Shoes fit you no matter what size you are this week. Shoes can mean the difference between casual or dressy, dowdy or sophisticated. The right shoes can make you feel invincible, and the wrong shoes can turn an otherwise reasonable woman into a she-devil. Out of consideration for humankind, I've been known to turn around and go home to change my shoes on my way to work, and its always been worth it. I'm doing my part.
Some women go overboard in their quest for validation through footwear. "Sex and the City" character Carrie Bradshaw famously realized in mid-shoe-shop that she had the equivalency of a down payment on a NYC apartment sitting on the floor of her closet. But it's not just fictional characters who fall victim to the smell of shoe leather in the morning. In a 2006 survey of 300 people by OppenheimerFunds, nearly half of women interviewed said they would rather buy 30 pairs of shoes than save $30,000 for retirement.
So what is it with women and shoes? I think it really comes down to a control mechanism related to want versus need. We don't need shoes. We want shoes. And there is something intoxicating about seeing something you want, no matter how frivilous, and going out and getting it. Our good friend Instant Gratification. There are a lot of things I want that I can't have, many times when I hit a brick wall on an issue, or instances of obstacles between me and a goal, but shoes is never one of them. So what I'm trying to say is, when I can't control the outcome of situations in my life, I always have my shoes. Having my shoes make those naysayers, brick walls, and obstacles easier to brush off. Sometimes it truly is the little things.
And while shoe shopping isn't the healthiest way to deal with the daily stress of life, I don't think a simple high-heeled knee-high leather boot ever hurt anyone.
Unless you're the one in my way.
Over the years I have bought, worn, given away, and thrown out an embarassing amount of shoes. Some have been gorgeous, others hideous. But they have all served their purpose: they made me feel good. They made me feel pretty. And is that so wrong?
Just as most women seem to have a thing for shoes, most men seem to not understand why women have a thing for shoes. I guess I can understand the confusion. Most men have a few pairs of shoes - the requisite brown, black, and sneakers. Possibly some flip flops, the number of which seems to be directly proportional to the number of times that man says, "dude," in a given day. But generally, for men, shoes are functional, while for women, they are so much more.
Shoes are validation of our womanhood! Shoes fit you no matter what size you are this week. Shoes can mean the difference between casual or dressy, dowdy or sophisticated. The right shoes can make you feel invincible, and the wrong shoes can turn an otherwise reasonable woman into a she-devil. Out of consideration for humankind, I've been known to turn around and go home to change my shoes on my way to work, and its always been worth it. I'm doing my part.
Some women go overboard in their quest for validation through footwear. "Sex and the City" character Carrie Bradshaw famously realized in mid-shoe-shop that she had the equivalency of a down payment on a NYC apartment sitting on the floor of her closet. But it's not just fictional characters who fall victim to the smell of shoe leather in the morning. In a 2006 survey of 300 people by OppenheimerFunds, nearly half of women interviewed said they would rather buy 30 pairs of shoes than save $30,000 for retirement.
So what is it with women and shoes? I think it really comes down to a control mechanism related to want versus need. We don't need shoes. We want shoes. And there is something intoxicating about seeing something you want, no matter how frivilous, and going out and getting it. Our good friend Instant Gratification. There are a lot of things I want that I can't have, many times when I hit a brick wall on an issue, or instances of obstacles between me and a goal, but shoes is never one of them. So what I'm trying to say is, when I can't control the outcome of situations in my life, I always have my shoes. Having my shoes make those naysayers, brick walls, and obstacles easier to brush off. Sometimes it truly is the little things.
And while shoe shopping isn't the healthiest way to deal with the daily stress of life, I don't think a simple high-heeled knee-high leather boot ever hurt anyone.
Unless you're the one in my way.
Monday, October 22, 2007
I'm not who I thought I was
I love Christmas. Everyone who knows me knows that in my world, Christmas season starts July 5. I like to stretch it out. I break out the Christmas music as soon as possible, and begin planning my decorations around Labor Day. So you can imagine that by the time October arrives I am all geared up to shop. Last weekend I had an afternoon to myself so I settled in for some online Christmas shopping. Little did I know it would be a lesson in self-discovery.
I innocently wandered over to gifts.com, a site I used last year to get gift ideas for tricky recipients. It's great - you can search on a lot of different things like age, gender, interests, and hobbies, and the website will suggest gifts that you never would have thought of on your own. It's the website that recommended the novelty toaster my sister-in-law received, which burns "I'm hot" and "bite me" into your toast, a gift which, for a panicked moment last Christmas morning, I thought had inadvertently been sent to my grandparents, but that is a different story.
This story begins when I stumbled upon a feature I hadn't noticed before - the opportunity to do a full personality profile on your friends and family to receive even better suggestions from this electronic wizard. My brother-in-law was my first victim. After entering his gender and age group, the website flashed a series of photos on the screen and asked me to click on the one that best described his interests. Is he a gadget guy or a minimalist? Would he spend his Saturday fishing with his buddies or visiting the flea market? I answered all of their questions and viola! Gift ideas abound. My curiousity piqued, I quickly saved some gift ideas in my shopping cart and moved on to my brother. My new best friend responded with even better suggestions than the first round. With my Christmas shopping list getting shorter, I spied a bit of temptation..."do it for yourself!" the website called. I let my finger linger on the mouse and slowly moved the cursor to begin a new profile. I was curious to know what this insightful little database had in store for me, so with a bit of self-indulgent entitlement, I clicked.
I entered my gender and my age, breezing through the first few questions since by this point I was a pro. Then the fun began. Would I rather wear jewelry by a local artist or a well-known jeweler? Click. Would I rather vacation in a swanky hotel or a lakeside cottage? Click. Do I wear expensive lipstick or just stick a tube of chapstick in my back pocket? Click. I finished the survey and waited with anticipation at my page of suggested gifts selected especially for me began to load on the screen.
But as I scrolled down the page, my anticipation turned to confusion. And my confusion turned to dismay. And then my dismay turned to insult as I came across one recommendation - a calendar called "Captivating Kittens".
What?!?!
Ice cream bowls. Photo-printed pillows. Little bedazzled chains for me to hang my reading glasses around my neck. Okay, so I made that part up. The point is that this website, which had so recently provided such accurate insight into my gift-giving soul, didn't know me at all. Or maybe....I didn't really know myself.
Later that evening I revealed to my husband that he was married to a middle-aged crafter with a penchant for ice cream and kittens. After retelling my tale of misguided self-exploration, I indignantly went back to the website to show him just how mean and rude it had been to me. But as I brazenly started to click through the pictures, he started questioning my every choice. Local artisan? No, he said. You're a Tiffany's girl all the way. Lakeside cottage? Nope, he replied. He did concede to the choice of chapstick over lipstick, being the recipient of the ever-prevalent chapstick-left-in-the-jeans dryer discovery. But again and again, he confirmed to me that I was not the person I thought I was.
I sat there in front of the computer, feeling shallow. Was I a fraud? Was I living a lie, pretending to be something I wasn't? Or was I simply a victim of drive-though stereotyping, trying to shove myself into a box that didn't quite fit?
I never settled on an answer, and I decided not to care. Either way, I knew one thing was true - I do not want the "Captivating Kittens" calendar for Christmas.
I innocently wandered over to gifts.com, a site I used last year to get gift ideas for tricky recipients. It's great - you can search on a lot of different things like age, gender, interests, and hobbies, and the website will suggest gifts that you never would have thought of on your own. It's the website that recommended the novelty toaster my sister-in-law received, which burns "I'm hot" and "bite me" into your toast, a gift which, for a panicked moment last Christmas morning, I thought had inadvertently been sent to my grandparents, but that is a different story.
This story begins when I stumbled upon a feature I hadn't noticed before - the opportunity to do a full personality profile on your friends and family to receive even better suggestions from this electronic wizard. My brother-in-law was my first victim. After entering his gender and age group, the website flashed a series of photos on the screen and asked me to click on the one that best described his interests. Is he a gadget guy or a minimalist? Would he spend his Saturday fishing with his buddies or visiting the flea market? I answered all of their questions and viola! Gift ideas abound. My curiousity piqued, I quickly saved some gift ideas in my shopping cart and moved on to my brother. My new best friend responded with even better suggestions than the first round. With my Christmas shopping list getting shorter, I spied a bit of temptation..."do it for yourself!" the website called. I let my finger linger on the mouse and slowly moved the cursor to begin a new profile. I was curious to know what this insightful little database had in store for me, so with a bit of self-indulgent entitlement, I clicked.
I entered my gender and my age, breezing through the first few questions since by this point I was a pro. Then the fun began. Would I rather wear jewelry by a local artist or a well-known jeweler? Click. Would I rather vacation in a swanky hotel or a lakeside cottage? Click. Do I wear expensive lipstick or just stick a tube of chapstick in my back pocket? Click. I finished the survey and waited with anticipation at my page of suggested gifts selected especially for me began to load on the screen.
But as I scrolled down the page, my anticipation turned to confusion. And my confusion turned to dismay. And then my dismay turned to insult as I came across one recommendation - a calendar called "Captivating Kittens".
What?!?!
Ice cream bowls. Photo-printed pillows. Little bedazzled chains for me to hang my reading glasses around my neck. Okay, so I made that part up. The point is that this website, which had so recently provided such accurate insight into my gift-giving soul, didn't know me at all. Or maybe....I didn't really know myself.
Later that evening I revealed to my husband that he was married to a middle-aged crafter with a penchant for ice cream and kittens. After retelling my tale of misguided self-exploration, I indignantly went back to the website to show him just how mean and rude it had been to me. But as I brazenly started to click through the pictures, he started questioning my every choice. Local artisan? No, he said. You're a Tiffany's girl all the way. Lakeside cottage? Nope, he replied. He did concede to the choice of chapstick over lipstick, being the recipient of the ever-prevalent chapstick-left-in-the-jeans dryer discovery. But again and again, he confirmed to me that I was not the person I thought I was.
I sat there in front of the computer, feeling shallow. Was I a fraud? Was I living a lie, pretending to be something I wasn't? Or was I simply a victim of drive-though stereotyping, trying to shove myself into a box that didn't quite fit?
I never settled on an answer, and I decided not to care. Either way, I knew one thing was true - I do not want the "Captivating Kittens" calendar for Christmas.
Thursday, October 11, 2007
Quitters Never Win...or do they?
Everyone has heard some over-zealous super-pumped bundle of energy proclaim in an annoyingly perky voice that, "quitters never win and winners never quit!" Okay, so most of the time, that person is me. I'll admit it - I am one of those shiny happy people who bounce out of bed in the morning ready to turn the frowns upside down. Most of the time, in the case of living with my non-morning-loving husband, that good way to get yourself scowled at. Which, of course, just makes me more motivated. But that is beside the point.
The point is that I've spent a lot of time in my life reminding myself that quitters never win, and pushing on toward goals that may be outdated or irrelevant, because I don't want to quit. Or rather, I want to win.
But lately, I've been asking myself, "win what"? Is winning accomplishing a goal or a task? Or is it really about being happy with the state of your life? I don't think the answer is necessarily an easy one. For some, accomplishing a goal makes them happy, and if the definition of winning is to be happy, well there you go. But for others, the scandal of quitting in mid-stream provides a rush of rebellion-infused adrenaline that makes them happy. So...happy despite quitting. And for still others, that frustrating, gut-wrenching, battle-to-the-death of working towards an unrealistic but technically attainable goal IS what makes them happy...and once they get there, they deflate and fret until another target it located. They won, but they are not happy.
I won't tell you which category I fall into.
The reason I've been thinking about this lately is that I have a goal I have been working towards for a long time with no luck whatsoever, and I just realized that the only reason I have not given up is because it never occurred to me. My goal is outdated, unrealistic, and very unlikely to ever happen. But I keep plodding away, scheming and strategizing, and working diligently towards it.
So I've begun to wonder if it just might be time to quit. Pack it up. Go home. Admit defeat. Reality: 1; Me: zip. I think of the things I could do with the time I would regain once I am not out pursuing my elusive goal. I could take up needlepoint. I sit with that thought for a moment and know exactly what to do.
I get back in the game. I know which category I fall into - I am the one for whom the frustrating, gut-wrenching, battle-to-the-death of working towards an unrealistic but technically attainable goal was made. What I am trying to say is, quitters never win, and winners never quit.
But the knowledge that for a minute I stopped to wonder if I could exist any other way makes me know that just working towards the goal is what makes me happy, and even if I never get there, the fight is what drives me. I almost hope I never achieve it. But I'll never admit that in public.
The point is that I've spent a lot of time in my life reminding myself that quitters never win, and pushing on toward goals that may be outdated or irrelevant, because I don't want to quit. Or rather, I want to win.
But lately, I've been asking myself, "win what"? Is winning accomplishing a goal or a task? Or is it really about being happy with the state of your life? I don't think the answer is necessarily an easy one. For some, accomplishing a goal makes them happy, and if the definition of winning is to be happy, well there you go. But for others, the scandal of quitting in mid-stream provides a rush of rebellion-infused adrenaline that makes them happy. So...happy despite quitting. And for still others, that frustrating, gut-wrenching, battle-to-the-death of working towards an unrealistic but technically attainable goal IS what makes them happy...and once they get there, they deflate and fret until another target it located. They won, but they are not happy.
I won't tell you which category I fall into.
The reason I've been thinking about this lately is that I have a goal I have been working towards for a long time with no luck whatsoever, and I just realized that the only reason I have not given up is because it never occurred to me. My goal is outdated, unrealistic, and very unlikely to ever happen. But I keep plodding away, scheming and strategizing, and working diligently towards it.
So I've begun to wonder if it just might be time to quit. Pack it up. Go home. Admit defeat. Reality: 1; Me: zip. I think of the things I could do with the time I would regain once I am not out pursuing my elusive goal. I could take up needlepoint. I sit with that thought for a moment and know exactly what to do.
I get back in the game. I know which category I fall into - I am the one for whom the frustrating, gut-wrenching, battle-to-the-death of working towards an unrealistic but technically attainable goal was made. What I am trying to say is, quitters never win, and winners never quit.
But the knowledge that for a minute I stopped to wonder if I could exist any other way makes me know that just working towards the goal is what makes me happy, and even if I never get there, the fight is what drives me. I almost hope I never achieve it. But I'll never admit that in public.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
Honesty: Not The Best Policy?
"What you have to understand about me is that I am brutally honest. If I have a problem with someone, they are going to know it because I will tell them to their face how I feel about them."
Have you ever heard someone say something similar and thought to yourself, "oh, please don't?" Have you ever nodded silently when someone boasted to you about their guerrilla-style frankness regardless of the reaction? And have you ever secretly thought they were going about it all wrong? I have.
It is often said that honesty is the best policy, and in most cases that is true. But lately I've been thinking about people who take that to a new level - people who are honest with you no matter what. People who have opinions and aren't afraid to share them. People who want everyone to know what they are thinking as soon as they think it, whether you like it or not. Everyone knows someone like them, and you might be one of them. And if you are, listen closely: Stop.
Someone once told me that they wished they could emulate the way I could "say mean things to people but make it sound nice." At the time I wasn't sure that was a compliment because I don't make a practice of saying mean things to people, but now I realize that what she meant is that she wished she knew how to be honest with tact, diplomacy, and just plain good manners. I am not convinced that I do a good job of that myself most of the time, but I do give it a good try.
Honesty is a tricky thing. When you realize you have to be honest with someone, it usually means you are going to say something they don't want to hear, so you have to find the right combination of frankness and compassion, and that is hard to do. I think that's why so many people opt for brutal honesty: it's easier. Sometimes it's easier to open your mouth, say what you need to say, and then turn around and ignore the reaction to your words. Or worse, stand there and wait for the person you've just attacked to respond, as if you have just done them a favor.
I think the real trick to honesty, though, is knowing when to say something and when to keep your damn mouth shut. That's another trait I've noticed in my brutally honest friends: that they believe their opinion always matters, all the time. And, let's be honest (pun intended), it doesn't. Your honest opinion about how I look in these jeans? Bring it on. Your honest opinion about your best friend's husband? Better keep that to yourself.
Think about it - everyone wishes they could be a fly on the wall and find out what their friends really think of them. (Or maybe that's just me.) I heard a radio interview with a guy who wanted the straight dope on his reputation with his friends...so he asked them to be brutally honest with him, to just open the floodgates and let it out: the good, the bad, and the ugly. He found out that pretty much everyone, including his own mother, thought he was a jerk. Imagine hearing that kind of honesty. Imagine having to say it.
What I'm trying to say is, honesty doesn't have to be brutal. It takes work to make the truth easier to swallow, and while some people seem to be born with a velvet tongue, the talent is one that can be honed with sincere attention to a) how much honesty someone really wants to hear, and b) whether your opinion even matters in the first place.
Have you ever heard someone say something similar and thought to yourself, "oh, please don't?" Have you ever nodded silently when someone boasted to you about their guerrilla-style frankness regardless of the reaction? And have you ever secretly thought they were going about it all wrong? I have.
It is often said that honesty is the best policy, and in most cases that is true. But lately I've been thinking about people who take that to a new level - people who are honest with you no matter what. People who have opinions and aren't afraid to share them. People who want everyone to know what they are thinking as soon as they think it, whether you like it or not. Everyone knows someone like them, and you might be one of them. And if you are, listen closely: Stop.
Someone once told me that they wished they could emulate the way I could "say mean things to people but make it sound nice." At the time I wasn't sure that was a compliment because I don't make a practice of saying mean things to people, but now I realize that what she meant is that she wished she knew how to be honest with tact, diplomacy, and just plain good manners. I am not convinced that I do a good job of that myself most of the time, but I do give it a good try.
Honesty is a tricky thing. When you realize you have to be honest with someone, it usually means you are going to say something they don't want to hear, so you have to find the right combination of frankness and compassion, and that is hard to do. I think that's why so many people opt for brutal honesty: it's easier. Sometimes it's easier to open your mouth, say what you need to say, and then turn around and ignore the reaction to your words. Or worse, stand there and wait for the person you've just attacked to respond, as if you have just done them a favor.
I think the real trick to honesty, though, is knowing when to say something and when to keep your damn mouth shut. That's another trait I've noticed in my brutally honest friends: that they believe their opinion always matters, all the time. And, let's be honest (pun intended), it doesn't. Your honest opinion about how I look in these jeans? Bring it on. Your honest opinion about your best friend's husband? Better keep that to yourself.
Think about it - everyone wishes they could be a fly on the wall and find out what their friends really think of them. (Or maybe that's just me.) I heard a radio interview with a guy who wanted the straight dope on his reputation with his friends...so he asked them to be brutally honest with him, to just open the floodgates and let it out: the good, the bad, and the ugly. He found out that pretty much everyone, including his own mother, thought he was a jerk. Imagine hearing that kind of honesty. Imagine having to say it.
What I'm trying to say is, honesty doesn't have to be brutal. It takes work to make the truth easier to swallow, and while some people seem to be born with a velvet tongue, the talent is one that can be honed with sincere attention to a) how much honesty someone really wants to hear, and b) whether your opinion even matters in the first place.
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