Edit: Sometimes when I'm missing Aidan, I go back and read blog posts about him so I can laugh and cry and remember his amazingness. Here's a post that captures an excellent example of his unique goofiness.
I was driving with A. Peevie, and I received a text from C. Peevie telling me that he had found a ride home from work.
"Text C. Peevie for me, and tell him, OK, good," I told him. Here is the actual verbatim text-versation that occurred:
C. Peevie: I got a ride.
A. Peevie posing as me: That's wonderful. What time do you expect to get home?
[Me to A. Peevie: That text sounds parental.
A. Peevie: That's how I wanted it to sound.]
C. Peevie: 7:30 or a little earlier
A. Peevie: Are you going to practice your dark magic?
C. Peevie: Yea...
A. Peevie: Good. When I get home I expect to see zombies attacking our neighbors. And I think you know which ones. Ass.
[Me: Ass? Why did you write that?
A. Peevie: I typed aargh, but autocorrect changed it.]
C. Peevie: Who is this?
A. Peevie: Dad.
C. Peevie: Immature? Ass.
A. Peevie: You know what a baby Amish person is called?
C. Peevie: No.
A. Peevie: An "Amlette!" Hahahahaha!
C. Peevie: -_-
A. Peevie: Aw schiznit! I spilled coke down my front!
C. Peevie: Im done. Im going back to work
A. Peevie: Darvit!
[Me: What does that mean?
A. Peevie: It's an Elvish swear.]
A. Peevie: I am secretly an elf.
Me, later, to C. Peevie: FYI, that was A. Peevie. In case u didn't figure it out.
C. Peevie: I didnt.
_______________________
I am so grateful for the worlds of entertainment and communication that texting has opened up to my family. Seriously, I feel bereft just thinking of those early days of parenting, before we had cell phones, before we had texting, when we had to rely on our limited periods of face-to-face conversation to communicate our deepest thoughts and intimate feelings to one another.
Showing posts with label communication. Show all posts
Showing posts with label communication. Show all posts
Friday, December 12, 2014
Sunday, January 5, 2014
Stop Saying This Word
I'm going to tell you why you should stop saying the word "should." And yes, I hear the irony.
Sometimes--especially around this time of year--we say that word to ourselves: I should lose weight. I should exercise more. I should read more books. I should drink less wine. I should be less crabby with my kids. I should call my mom more often. I should stop being a bad Christian.
Sometimes--especially around this time of year--we say that word to ourselves: I should lose weight. I should exercise more. I should read more books. I should drink less wine. I should be less crabby with my kids. I should call my mom more often. I should stop being a bad Christian.
We should all stop saying should to ourselves. I am trying to stop "shoulding" all over myself--but more about this in my upcoming memoir. (Props to my therapist, Doc, for that nearly homophonic pun.) But this post specifically addresses the use of the word should when it's directed at another person.
Stop saying "You should..." to other people. It comes under the heading "Unsolicited Advice: Never Give it."
Don't tell your sister who has stage three ovarian cancer that she should feel grateful that she doesn't have stage four ovarian cancer. This is an important sub-category of Stop Saying Should: Don't tell any cancer patient--or any person with any illness at all--that they should feel grateful. In fact, just stop telling people how to feel.
Don't tell your overweight friend that she should try yoga or pilates or aqua cycling or pole dancing classes.
Don't tell parents who are dealing with a child that JUST WON'T SLEEP, "Oh, you should try Dr. Sleep Nazi. I did, and now my kids sleep perfectly!"
Don't tell your son or daughter or friend or neighbor that they should spank their temper-tantrumming child, or that they should not give their children candy, or let them watch TV or play video games. Don't ever use the word "should" to your parenting son or daughter with regard to their parenting choices.
I know that your intentions are good. I know that you are only trying to be helpful. I understand that in your mind, when you offer an unsolicited "you should...", you are offering the benefit of your wisdom and years of experience.
But here's how it comes across: You know better than me. You would feel differently if you were in my shoes. You are better than me, and you would make different choices. It's easy if only I'd do it your way. You are trying to fix me.
Do you hear the condescension? That's how it feels. It's not helpful or constructive--in fact, it's counterproductive.
Stop saying "You should..." to other people. It comes under the heading "Unsolicited Advice: Never Give it."
Don't tell your sister who has stage three ovarian cancer that she should feel grateful that she doesn't have stage four ovarian cancer. This is an important sub-category of Stop Saying Should: Don't tell any cancer patient--or any person with any illness at all--that they should feel grateful. In fact, just stop telling people how to feel.
Don't tell your overweight friend that she should try yoga or pilates or aqua cycling or pole dancing classes.
 |
| Thanks to Mimi and Eunice for the cartoon. |
Don't tell your son or daughter or friend or neighbor that they should spank their temper-tantrumming child, or that they should not give their children candy, or let them watch TV or play video games. Don't ever use the word "should" to your parenting son or daughter with regard to their parenting choices.
I know that your intentions are good. I know that you are only trying to be helpful. I understand that in your mind, when you offer an unsolicited "you should...", you are offering the benefit of your wisdom and years of experience.
But here's how it comes across: You know better than me. You would feel differently if you were in my shoes. You are better than me, and you would make different choices. It's easy if only I'd do it your way. You are trying to fix me.
Do you hear the condescension? That's how it feels. It's not helpful or constructive--in fact, it's counterproductive.
All of this is, of course, moot if your friend/son/daughter is actually asking you for advice. Then it's OK to make suggestions--although This Blog still recommends that you do it without using the phrase "you should." Try these alternatives: "Have you tried..."; "What worked for me was..."; or "I wonder if you could..." These phrases have a degree of humility and compassion.
By the way, I should people all the time. It's an instinctive reaction, I think--when we see someone we care about struggling, we want to help, to fix, to advise. One time I told my friend Roseanne, who was struggling with money issues, "You should cancel your cable subscription." To this day, I hear myself saying that, and I cringe. Who the hell am I to tell her how to live her life and balance her checkbook? None of us know enough about another person to tell her what she should or should not spend her money on--UNLESS SHE ASKS US FOR ADVICE.
What unsolicited shoulds have you received lately? And have you dished any out?
By the way, I should people all the time. It's an instinctive reaction, I think--when we see someone we care about struggling, we want to help, to fix, to advise. One time I told my friend Roseanne, who was struggling with money issues, "You should cancel your cable subscription." To this day, I hear myself saying that, and I cringe. Who the hell am I to tell her how to live her life and balance her checkbook? None of us know enough about another person to tell her what she should or should not spend her money on--UNLESS SHE ASKS US FOR ADVICE.
What unsolicited shoulds have you received lately? And have you dished any out?
Tuesday, September 3, 2013
How To Say What You Mean
I recently saw this quote on Pinterest:
"Sometimes when I say, 'I'm OK,' I want someone to look me in the eyes, hug me tight and say, 'I know you're not.'"
I do not understand this, and even though I know I should not be judgy, I sort of am. I realize that I am a horrible person. I realize that many people in my life, including people that I love, and including people in my family, can probably totally identify with this.
The Pinterest quote reminded me of an episode on a recent vacation: I had prepared and served a festive meal for the family, and a few minutes after we finished eating, and well before our digestive systems had fully engaged, my SIL started clearing the dinner dishes. "Sit down," I suggested, "Relax. I'll get to those later."
She kept cleaning up, and said, "You don't really mean that." She asserted that everyone appreciated help with the dishes after whipping up dinner for a bunch of people. "I always do this for my girlfriends," she said, "Even when they say, 'Oh, don't bother!'--because I know they don't really mean it."
"Well, I really mean it," I said. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. It's really nice of you to do the cleaning up, but I honestly wouldn't mind cleaning up a little later. I'd be happy to have you sitting down and relaxing."
Apparently, this is what people do: they say things they don't mean. Folks seem to believe that people don't say what they really feel, and that their true meaning and intention must be discerned from something other than their words. And on the flip side, they communicate in the same way, skirting around a direct statement and expecting their listeners to read between the lines or interpret their body language.
Sometimes I feel like I am from a different planet, or that I have some kind of narrow form of autism that makes me unable to read social cues, because this just does not make sense to me. This confusing mentality leads to Harlequin-romance-type misunderstandings and conflict.
I believe that we should take people at their word, and act accordingly. Say what you mean. Don't say what you don't mean. Ask for what you want or need--but at the same time, have very limited expectations of what people can and will do for you. This is the Peevie Rule for Clear and Sensible Communication.
My immediate response to that Pinterest quote is, instead of saying that you're OK, why wouldn't you say, "I'm not OK. Could I have a hug?" This seems more--incoming judgyness!--mature--and more likely to elicit the outcome you hope for.
It is a fundamental sign of emotional health to take responsibility for one's own happiness. I tell my kids, "You are responsible for your own happiness. Not me, not your siblings, not your teachers, not your friends. If you are not happy, do something about it."
What good does it do to say you're OK when you're really not? I mean, unless you're in a social situation, like your workplace, where it's not necessarily appropriate to ask for hugs and to lay your true feelings right out there. But I'm guessing that those are not the people you want looking deep into your soul and sussing out your need for a moment of physical reassurance.
When you're around people from whom a hug is appropriate and would feel good--why would you not just say, "I'm so sad. I could use a hug"?
It is one goal of this blog to encourage people to say what they need, and to express in direct, non-metaphorical language, how they feel and what would help them feel better. Let's practice together:
"I'm feeling lonely. I'd like someone to hang out with tonight. Are you available?"
"I feel sad. I really miss [person's name that you miss]. I'd like to talk about him/her."
"Would you be willing to help out with the dishes tonight?"
"I'm sorry to cut you off, but I need to get off the phone now."
"I know you want to keep reading my delightful blog, but I really want to end this post and go watch some TV."
Let me know how it goes. Alternatively, let me know if you think my expectations are completely unrealistic and that I don't have any understanding for how real people communicate in western culture. I can handle it.
"Sometimes when I say, 'I'm OK,' I want someone to look me in the eyes, hug me tight and say, 'I know you're not.'"
I do not understand this, and even though I know I should not be judgy, I sort of am. I realize that I am a horrible person. I realize that many people in my life, including people that I love, and including people in my family, can probably totally identify with this.
The Pinterest quote reminded me of an episode on a recent vacation: I had prepared and served a festive meal for the family, and a few minutes after we finished eating, and well before our digestive systems had fully engaged, my SIL started clearing the dinner dishes. "Sit down," I suggested, "Relax. I'll get to those later."
She kept cleaning up, and said, "You don't really mean that." She asserted that everyone appreciated help with the dishes after whipping up dinner for a bunch of people. "I always do this for my girlfriends," she said, "Even when they say, 'Oh, don't bother!'--because I know they don't really mean it."
"Well, I really mean it," I said. "I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it. It's really nice of you to do the cleaning up, but I honestly wouldn't mind cleaning up a little later. I'd be happy to have you sitting down and relaxing."
Apparently, this is what people do: they say things they don't mean. Folks seem to believe that people don't say what they really feel, and that their true meaning and intention must be discerned from something other than their words. And on the flip side, they communicate in the same way, skirting around a direct statement and expecting their listeners to read between the lines or interpret their body language.
Sometimes I feel like I am from a different planet, or that I have some kind of narrow form of autism that makes me unable to read social cues, because this just does not make sense to me. This confusing mentality leads to Harlequin-romance-type misunderstandings and conflict.
I believe that we should take people at their word, and act accordingly. Say what you mean. Don't say what you don't mean. Ask for what you want or need--but at the same time, have very limited expectations of what people can and will do for you. This is the Peevie Rule for Clear and Sensible Communication.
My immediate response to that Pinterest quote is, instead of saying that you're OK, why wouldn't you say, "I'm not OK. Could I have a hug?" This seems more--incoming judgyness!--mature--and more likely to elicit the outcome you hope for.
It is a fundamental sign of emotional health to take responsibility for one's own happiness. I tell my kids, "You are responsible for your own happiness. Not me, not your siblings, not your teachers, not your friends. If you are not happy, do something about it."
"Most folks are just about as happy as they make up their minds to be." --Abraham Lincoln
What good does it do to say you're OK when you're really not? I mean, unless you're in a social situation, like your workplace, where it's not necessarily appropriate to ask for hugs and to lay your true feelings right out there. But I'm guessing that those are not the people you want looking deep into your soul and sussing out your need for a moment of physical reassurance.
When you're around people from whom a hug is appropriate and would feel good--why would you not just say, "I'm so sad. I could use a hug"?
It is one goal of this blog to encourage people to say what they need, and to express in direct, non-metaphorical language, how they feel and what would help them feel better. Let's practice together:
"I'm feeling lonely. I'd like someone to hang out with tonight. Are you available?"
"I feel sad. I really miss [person's name that you miss]. I'd like to talk about him/her."
"Would you be willing to help out with the dishes tonight?"
"I'm sorry to cut you off, but I need to get off the phone now."
"I know you want to keep reading my delightful blog, but I really want to end this post and go watch some TV."
Let me know how it goes. Alternatively, let me know if you think my expectations are completely unrealistic and that I don't have any understanding for how real people communicate in western culture. I can handle it.
Sunday, January 13, 2013
RUOK?
Texting with Aidan was always fun. He spurned text shorthand, and tried to write everything grammatically. Here's one of the last exchanges we had; I was at work, and he was traveling to his home school co-op:
Aidan: Can you look up how long you need to wait before your bladder explodes?
Me: Why?
A: I really have to go to the bathroom and Im on the train.
A: Im starting to feel like Im going to faint.
Me: Put ur head down between ur knees.
Me: Ru ok? I tried to call u.
A: Im not sure.
Me: Answer your phone.
Me: How now?
A: Im on the train. I dont want to be rude.
A: How now?
A: How do you mean, brown cow?
Me: Its not rude when ur mom is worried that ur going to faint.
A: Im feeling less of that now, but can you answer my question about bladder eruption?
Me: No I can't right now. Sorry. It is not going to explode.
A: Just you wait...
and later...
A: I need my levothyroxine, my heart beats are super uneven.
Me: Levo does not affect ur heart. It's for your thyroid.
Me: R u worried?
A: Not really.
Me: Ok. I will try to pick up ur levo on way home tonight.
A: The only thing Im worried about is your text talk.
Me: Heh.
Aidan: Can you look up how long you need to wait before your bladder explodes?
Me: Why?
A: I really have to go to the bathroom and Im on the train.
A: Im starting to feel like Im going to faint.
Me: Put ur head down between ur knees.
Me: Ru ok? I tried to call u.
A: Im not sure.
Me: Answer your phone.
Me: How now?
A: Im on the train. I dont want to be rude.
A: How now?
A: How do you mean, brown cow?
Me: Its not rude when ur mom is worried that ur going to faint.
A: Im feeling less of that now, but can you answer my question about bladder eruption?
Me: No I can't right now. Sorry. It is not going to explode.
A: Just you wait...
and later...
A: I need my levothyroxine, my heart beats are super uneven.
Me: Levo does not affect ur heart. It's for your thyroid.
Me: R u worried?
A: Not really.
Me: Ok. I will try to pick up ur levo on way home tonight.
A: The only thing Im worried about is your text talk.
Me: Heh.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Why Can't We All Just Get Along?
Sometimes I tweet (follow me @EPeevie) political links or comments, and then my conservative friends and family reply, and then we get into these long debates in which we talk past each other without making any progress toward mutual understanding or consensus. Take this dialogue, for example:
EPeevie: Why are so many middle-income folks so intent upon preserving the inordinately low tax rates of the super-rich?
(This was in reference to a prior tweet posting a link of a Fortune Magazine interview with Warren Buffett in which he proposes tax cuts for all but the super-rich.)
TeaPartyPolly: Because I think we should all pay less taxes as it is. Again, I'll cite the IRS statistic: The top 1% of tax earners already pay 39% of the taxes; the top 25% of earners pay 86% of all taxes; the top 50% pay 97% of the taxes. When will enough be enough?
EPeevie: So what if 1% pay 39% of the taxes? That figure is meaningless out of context. Maybe they pay 39% of the taxes, but they make 90% of the income. I'm not saying this is true--just that context makes a difference.
I still don't get why middle incomers oppose Buffett's proposal that taxes should be reduced for most people but increased for the super-rich. Buffett himself says it would have no impact on entrepreneurism--and I guess he should know.
TPPolly: My reference is the Constitution and the writings of the founders of our country who envisioned a place where people are free to work as hard as they are motivated and the government gets out of the way as much as possible. The things that people want to increase taxes on the wealthy for are not things that the Constitution/founders envisioned government taking a role in.
ReverendP: Hitting those with inomes over $250K is hitting small business, as I noted in my previous post. Small business persons invest in widgets, widget machines, and hire widget makers and widget sellers. It is called employment. Why do you suppose K. Marx was committed to a graduated income tax?
OfficerFriendly: Those are the people who create the jobs. The government takes money, and while government helps a small percentage of people, it wastes far more money than it puts to use.
BTW, I'm middle income, and my taxes went up this year, and if the Bush tax cuts don't get renewed, my taxes will go up this year by $4,000. Also, they've delayed our property tax bills until after the election because they raised the multiplier. That means that even though my house gets water every time it rains, and is worth half as much as it was five years ago, my taxes continue to rise every year.
And we'll have to pay the taxes at Christmas. The only reasons politicians talk about "the rich" is to get you to look up so you don't see the uppercut to the chin coming. We should stop worrying about how to hurt other, rich evil people and start worrying about what they are doing to us.
TPPolly: The class envy card that liberals play is so subtle that it's powerful.
EPeevie: Somehow I don't think Warren Buffett is motivated by class envy.
Warren Buffett was talking about increasing the tax rate for the super-rich, not small business owners. 100K, as you mentioned earlier, and even 250K, do not qualify. Think hedge fund managers, with multi-million dollar bonuses. The lowest earning hedge fund manager in 2004 made $65 MILLION DOLLARS.
And finally, I believe that the Constitution did not envision many things that we are dealing with today. It is a great document, but "Constitutional idolatry" takes us down the wrong road.
I totally agree that the federal government is bloated and often wasteful and ineffective. But I don't agree that the first place we should look to de-bloat is social programs that help the poor because the Constitution, written by aristocrats, didn't address the problem.
OfficerFriendly: You are falling into the trap laid for you, namely that the only choices are to raise taxes or hurt poor people.
TPPolly: Warren Buffett is not motivated by class envy because he's not a politician seeking re-election on the basis of "vote for me and I'll soak those rich people and give you their money."
I would also say where the Constitution is wrong then let's change that...otherwise we must play by the game rules we've been given and not cheat against our agreed-upon rules by running around the end and undermining the Constitution.
RevP: I think Warren Buffett, Obama, O'Biden, Kerry and George Soros should volunteer to make larger contributions (taxes). But why should the government put a gun to our heads (the tax system) in order for them to determine who gets their handouts of my money?
OfficerFriendly: How come everybody quotes Warren Buffett when he says that the government should raise taxes on the super-rich, but then conveniently forgets to quote him on the second half of his comment. Context works both ways.
EPeevie: Which part, OF, the part where he says raising taxes on the super-rich won't inhibit entrepreneurs, or the part where he says that taxes should be reduced for people at lower incomes?
OfficerFriendly: Taxes should be reduced on middle and upper middle income. That part is never talked about by politicians. The debate now is whether to raise our taxes or leave them the same--not reduce them.
TPPolly: It is simply not the government's place to decide an arbitrary number at which anyone has "made enough." We don't know what they do with that money--they may want to give large amounts to charity. Frankly, it isn't anybody's business what people do with what they make.
How frequently must we say it...ours is not a nation founded upon socialistic redistribution of wealth. If that's what we want, then let's change the Constitution to look like North Korea's.
OfficerFriendly: Plus, if there is a ceiling above which you cannot rise, no matter how hard you work or how lucky you get, then people would stop trying hard or taking chances.
EPeevie: Yes, I'm going to stop trying hard or taking chances if the government taxes me at above 17 percent once my income reaches ONE MILLION BAJILLION DOLLARS per year.
...
At this point, I interrupted the debate to ask permission to use the conversation in a blog post because "I think it is a brilliant example of how "liberals" (I know that's how you think of me, even though I don't think of myself that way) and conservatives talk past each other." Everybody agreed, and TPPolly added a bit of what I saw as irony:
TPPolly: I don't think I'm talking past anyone...I'm making points, but they are not being responded to. Specifically, you seem unable to get past the issue of our Constitution.
What do you think? Were we talking past each other? That's how I see it: I raised a question about taxing the super-rich, and the conversation turned to the straw-man arguments of income ceilings and local property taxes and whether or not the Constitution allows for graduated income tax.
Clearly, my friend TPPolly did not see it that way. For him, the Constitution question was integral to the discussion of tax rates; and whereas I felt like I had addressed the issue, he believed I avoided it.
Is this little FB debate a microcosm of the national political debate? Is there any hope for political consensus, or even compromise?
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Anti-Logic
I just had a conversation with a government employee that made my brain bleed, and might possibly cause me to become a Libertarian.
I'm working on a government grant application, which all by itself is enough to cause spontaneous combustion. (Is that an oxymoron--"cause" and "spontaneous"? Educate me.) But today I had to call the Housing and Urban Development programmatic information help line--and I use the word "help" so loosely that it might fall right off the page.
My client had been told that a certain percentage should be allocated for salaries, and I wanted to confirm the percentage and clarify whether the salaries should be a certain percentage of the total grant request, or of the total budget? Simple enough, right?
Except not when you're dealing with a civil servant. Pardon my cynicism.
First, she referred me to a completely irrelevant section of the RFP, and was reading to me about conflicts of interest and partnerships. "This has nothing to do with my question," I pointed out, but she insisted that it did. She patiently "explained" it to me, over and over again, as though repetition would make it more relevant.
I think that's "magical thinking," government employee-style.
Finally, something I said got through to her, and she realized that she had been looking at the wrong section of the guidelines. Phew. I thought my troubles were over, and that I'd soon have the information I sought. "Hahaha," laughed God.
The actual relevant section of the guidelines stipulated that we must "indicate what percentage" of our award would be spent on salaries and benefits, and I said, "So what is the percentage you're looking for?"
"We can't give out that information," she bureaucratted. "It's based on a scale that we don't give out."
"Wait, what?" I protested. "But we will lose points if we don't have the correct percentage!"
"That's right," she agreed. "If we told people what our scales were, they would always pass the rating factor. They'd adjust their budget to fit the scale."
I am not even lying.
"But isn't that the point," I argued fecklessly, "for us to complete the application in the most acceptable way possible? How can we aim for the right percentage if you won't tell us what the percentage is?"
"You just put down what your plan is, and we'll tell you if you got it right," she said.
"You are fucking kidding me!" I almost said, "that is the most ass-backward thing I have ever heard!"
Pardon my French. But seriously, isn't it just about enough to make you want to vote for Ron Paul?
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Three LittleThings That Bug Me
I don't want to sound like a giant crankopotamus here, but certain things bug me. I'm going to get them off my ample chest here and now, and then I'm going to Choose to be Cheerful again. K?
1. I hate getting emails with a subject line that reads "Re:". Just "Re:". Re: what? People: are you really SO BUSY that you can't take the time to write even ONE WORD to identify the content of the email? ONE STINKING WORD?
An email without a subject line is like a canned good without a label--open at your own risk. It's also a missed marketing and communications opportunity. Q: Are you listening?
2. "Lol" tacked onto the end of texts, FB comments, and emails to show that you have just made a joke. If we can't tell it's a joke without you including a virtual laugh-track, then it's certainly not laugh-out-loud funny. So knock it off.
Friday, May 7, 2010
A Lesson in Apologizing
I learned something about apologies today.
I had grabbed A. Peevie's thumb playfully--but I accidentally hurt him, and he was mad at me. "I'm sorry, A. Peevie," I said. "I didn't mean to hurt you." He was still mad, and not ready to forgive.
"You really, really hurt me," he said, cradling his injured thumb in his other hand.
"I know," I said, and again: "I'm really sorry. I wasn't gentle enough." He stared out the window, frowning. I gave it another try, even though by this time I wanted to tell him to get over it, it wasn't that bad.
"A. Peevie," I said, "I'm sorry I hurt your thumb. I didn't mean to do that." No answer. More frowning. I gave up.
Several minutes later, I glanced back at him to see if he was ready to forgive and move on. He still looked grumpy and unforgiving. "I've already apologized three times," I thought to myself. "Geez. He really needs to get his Jesus on, forgive me, and get over it."
A song came on the radio, and I saw my opportunity to try to make peace one more time. "A.," I said, "Who sings this song?"
"Green Day," he said in a smallish voice, like he was on the verge of liking me again; and that's when I realized several things about apologies:
1. It's wrong-headed to keep track of how many times you've said "I'm sorry" for the same injury.
2. You may have to keep on saying "I'm sorry" until the person you've hurt is ready to hear it.
3. To say "I'm sorry" once or twice or even several times, and then to unilaterally decide that you've apologized enough, is essentially the same as telling the other person how to feel--which Green Room readers will know is Just. Not. Right. The unspoken message is, "You should not feel hurt any more; get over it." It is not your prerogative to tell another person how to feel.
So I apologized again. "A. Peevie," I said, "I really am sorry that I hurt you."
He smiled at me with gentle forgiveness on his face. "It's OK, Mom," he said. "I forgive you."
Saturday, June 20, 2009
When Our Words Turn Around and Bite Us In the Butt
My kids and I walked to Chicago All Stars sports memorabilia store (known affectionately around our house as "The Card Shop") today to browse and buy baseball cards. And by "my kids" I mean two of my own kids, plus three friends. The owner is a friendly guy named Ronnie, and he told me that he started his business when he was nine years old. Nine. That's when he started collecting baseball cards, and decided that he wanted to open his own memorabilia shop. It didn't happen for many, many years--but I admire his tenacity and vision. His store is the epitome of the American Dream.
(If you clicked on the link, you may have noticed that Ronnie's web site needs some work. The site does not do justice to the quantity and quality of his multi-sport memorabilia inventory. Plus, he's got a replica of The Great Wall--the ivy-covered brick wall in center field at Wrigley--in the shop, complete with baseballs trapped in the grate above the ivy. If you're looking for a gift for a sports fan, this place is worth the trip; and this is not a paid endorsement.)
Most of the kids bought cards, and M. Peevie also purchased a binder for her baseball card collection. (Ronnie threw in some free plastic pocket pages to get her started.) She could barely wait to get home so she could start loading the cards into the pages.
I walked into the room when M.P. had started sorting through her plastic Dominick's bag of baseball cards and inserting them randomly into the plastic sleeves.
"M. Peevie," I suggested, "Why don't you put your more valuable cards in first?"
"Why?" she asked.
"Because it makes sense to make sure your more valuable cards are protected before you protect your less valuable cards," I explained.
"But why do you care so much," she asked.
I was a little taken aback. "I don't really care," I said. "I was just making a suggestion."
And here's where I learned that apparently she does listen to what I say. Sometimes.
"But mom," she said earnestly, and without a trace of disrespect, "I didn't ask you for advice. You always say, don't give people advice unless they ask you for advice."
I was flummoxed. She was absolutely right: I do say that. I hate being on the receiving end of unsolicited advice.
"You're right, M.," I admitted, "I do say that. And in general, I think it's a good rule." I was going to add something about the situation between parents and minor children being a bit of an exception to the rule, but in the end I decided that I did not have the energy to take the conversation in that direction.
"You go ahead and put your cards in the binder however you want," I said instead. I felt proud that her eight-year-old self cleverly made the connection between my suggestion about the cards and our long-ago conversation in which I told her that her advice-giving, though no-doubt motivated by love and helpfulness, might not be well-received.
I think she's going to be a lawyer someday. She will give advice all day long, and people will pay her for it.
Sunday, May 24, 2009
Love and Marriage
For those of you out there who are starting to believe that marriage sucks, that it always ends unhappily, that the mere fact that Drew Peterson could find four women who wanted to marry him indicates an inherent problem with the institution: don't throw out the baby with the banns.
Yes, it appears to be true that marriage is in trouble. The stats on marriage are not hopeful: The divorce rate (3.6 per 1000) is half that of the marriage rate (7.5 per 1000), according to the CDC. (And why this is a statistic that the Centers for Disease Control collects, I have no idea.)
Please note: This does NOT mean that half of all marriages end in divorce. It means that half as many divorces occur every year as marriages--but that's not the same thing. Do I need to spell it out? Fine. If 1000 people get married, and 500 people get divorced, the divorces don't only come from the 1000 new marriages, but from all current existing marriages. Get it?
So articles like this and this are just not getting it right. This NY Times piece posits that "the statistic is virtually useless in understanding divorce rates." Nevertheless, as The Straight Dope points out, the stats are not good on the marriage survival rate even when they are interpreted logically.
Marriage is hard work even when you're married to a near-perfect specimen, as I am; and the problem is, most of us don't want to work that hard.
Fortunately, Mr. Peevie is willing to work very, very hard to make our marriage blissful; and so far (cross your fingers) he has not indicated that he will be seeking to replace me with a younger, cuter, lower-maintenance model. (Version, not runway.)
Here's a teensy anecdote that illustrates how sometimes, one person is giving, patient and peace-making, and the other person tends slightly toward cluelessness, over-reaction, misinterpretation, and general irascibility:
The day started with ten "Mommies" before 7:30 a.m. "Mommy, can you get me breakfast?" "Mommy, I need help with my math homework!" (Note: I don't do well on math after 10 a.m., let alone before 8 a.m.) "Mommy, what's the temperature going to be?" "Mommy, come look at my ginormous poop!" etc., etc.
Between 3 p.m. and 10 p.m., the "Mommies" expanded exponentially, as though there were 16 kids in the house and not just three. I was sick and tired, SICK and TIRED, of people needing something from me.
Then Mr. Peevie came home late after running a 3.5 mile race downtown and snagging some BBQ at the DePaul post-race chow tent. One of the first things he said were these words: "Did you wash any darks today?"
An innocent question, no? But what I heard was, "I need something from you. I need you to make sure my dark socks are clean." What I heard, my therapist cleverly pointed out to me, was, "Mommy!"
I detonated. "Everybody needs a piece of me!" I snapped. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did wash darks today. In fact, I washed four frickin' loads of laundry, plus two loads of dishes, plus..."
Poor Mr. Peevie just looked at me. "E. Peevie, I just want to know..." he started.
"Yes, I washed your damn clothes!" I martyred, "and I'll go downstairs right this very second to make sure they're done in the dryer!"
Mr. Peevie, God bless him, chose not to repay evil with evil. This is what makes a marriage work: one person being a peacemaker when the other person is unreasonable and a teensy bit insane.
"Honey," he said gently, "I really just wanted to know the answer to the question. I'm not asking you to do anything for me." Talk about a soft answer turning away wrath! This guy lives the Bible, Old Testament and New, every day with me. Marriage is hard work--for him; but for me, it's easy. (Most of the time.)
His words threw sand on the blazing campfire of my hostility, and finally, I heard what he was really saying instead of what I heard through the filter of the irritating context of my day.
"Um, yes, I did wash darks today," I said cautiously. "I don't remember if the last load is in the washer or the dryer, though."
"OK," said my hero, "Thanks. I'll go check in the laundry room." See how easy that was?
Happy 25th anniversary, sweetheart. (Almost two weeks late...)
Yes, it appears to be true that marriage is in trouble. The stats on marriage are not hopeful: The divorce rate (3.6 per 1000) is half that of the marriage rate (7.5 per 1000), according to the CDC. (And why this is a statistic that the Centers for Disease Control collects, I have no idea.)
Please note: This does NOT mean that half of all marriages end in divorce. It means that half as many divorces occur every year as marriages--but that's not the same thing. Do I need to spell it out? Fine. If 1000 people get married, and 500 people get divorced, the divorces don't only come from the 1000 new marriages, but from all current existing marriages. Get it?
So articles like this and this are just not getting it right. This NY Times piece posits that "the statistic is virtually useless in understanding divorce rates." Nevertheless, as The Straight Dope points out, the stats are not good on the marriage survival rate even when they are interpreted logically.
Marriage is hard work even when you're married to a near-perfect specimen, as I am; and the problem is, most of us don't want to work that hard.
Fortunately, Mr. Peevie is willing to work very, very hard to make our marriage blissful; and so far (cross your fingers) he has not indicated that he will be seeking to replace me with a younger, cuter, lower-maintenance model. (Version, not runway.)
Here's a teensy anecdote that illustrates how sometimes, one person is giving, patient and peace-making, and the other person tends slightly toward cluelessness, over-reaction, misinterpretation, and general irascibility:
The day started with ten "Mommies" before 7:30 a.m. "Mommy, can you get me breakfast?" "Mommy, I need help with my math homework!" (Note: I don't do well on math after 10 a.m., let alone before 8 a.m.) "Mommy, what's the temperature going to be?" "Mommy, come look at my ginormous poop!" etc., etc.
Between 3 p.m. and 10 p.m., the "Mommies" expanded exponentially, as though there were 16 kids in the house and not just three. I was sick and tired, SICK and TIRED, of people needing something from me.
Then Mr. Peevie came home late after running a 3.5 mile race downtown and snagging some BBQ at the DePaul post-race chow tent. One of the first things he said were these words: "Did you wash any darks today?"
An innocent question, no? But what I heard was, "I need something from you. I need you to make sure my dark socks are clean." What I heard, my therapist cleverly pointed out to me, was, "Mommy!"
I detonated. "Everybody needs a piece of me!" I snapped. "Yes, as a matter of fact, I did wash darks today. In fact, I washed four frickin' loads of laundry, plus two loads of dishes, plus..."
Poor Mr. Peevie just looked at me. "E. Peevie, I just want to know..." he started.
"Yes, I washed your damn clothes!" I martyred, "and I'll go downstairs right this very second to make sure they're done in the dryer!"
Mr. Peevie, God bless him, chose not to repay evil with evil. This is what makes a marriage work: one person being a peacemaker when the other person is unreasonable and a teensy bit insane.
"Honey," he said gently, "I really just wanted to know the answer to the question. I'm not asking you to do anything for me." Talk about a soft answer turning away wrath! This guy lives the Bible, Old Testament and New, every day with me. Marriage is hard work--for him; but for me, it's easy. (Most of the time.)
His words threw sand on the blazing campfire of my hostility, and finally, I heard what he was really saying instead of what I heard through the filter of the irritating context of my day.
"Um, yes, I did wash darks today," I said cautiously. "I don't remember if the last load is in the washer or the dryer, though."
"OK," said my hero, "Thanks. I'll go check in the laundry room." See how easy that was?
In every marriage more than a week old, there are grounds for divorce. The trick is to find, and continue to find, grounds for marriage. --Robert Anderson, Solitaire and Double Solitaire
Love seems the swiftest but it is the slowest of all growths. No man or woman really knows what perfect love is until they have been married a quarter of a century. ~Mark Twain
Happy 25th anniversary, sweetheart. (Almost two weeks late...)
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Why Can't We All Just Get Along?
The night before the inauguration, I mentioned to my mom that I'd be keeping my kids home to watch the swearing in, and to do inauguration-related learning activities. I was excited about the historical significance of the event, and thrilled that my kids were involved and aware and enthusiastic about learning more.
"It's so great, Mom," I said. "I don't want them to miss a minute of it. They even seem to get that it's a historical moment!"
"Because he's our first Arab-American president?" she said.
Oh, yes she did. Of course, being me, I took the bait.
Yes, he has Arabic family connections, I said--but so what? Why is that the important thing to emphasize? Because it's the TRUTH, she said. I care about the TRUTH. Don't YOU?
But why is that important? I asked her. Because no one ever mentions it, and it's the TRUTH, she said. I pointed out that Obama has written two memoirs, in which he has very openly and clearly talked about his family heritage, and in fact, one is called Dreams From my Father--but apparently she still thinks he's trying to hide something.
It just sounds like you're being disrespectful of him, and not really appreciating what an enormously important thing this is for our country. What, she said, that we now have an ARAB-American president? He's not black, why do they always say he's black? Arabs are not black!
He has dark skin, mom, I said. It's got to be so encouraging and hopeful for people who have darker skin to actually see someone become president who looks a little more like them--maybe it makes them feel a little more included, or a little more optimistic. He's not black, she repeated. Arabs are not black. He's not African-American; he's Arab-American. Why are they trying to hide the TRUTH?
Mom, I said. Seriously? He's very clearly not an old white guy, and that's one thing that's different. Of course my mother found that remark to be disrespectful, and I apologized.
"I'm not trying to be disrespectful," I said. "I'm pointing out the obvious--that he LOOKS different, and his background is different, and to me and many other people, he also SOUNDS different." Either way, it's historic and important--why would she want to be hostile and angry about it?
And she's not the only one. Another family member sent me an email the other day saying this:
I suggested that if the 15-16 who died were civilians, then it is not a time for ribbing, but for mourning. And I also submitted that it's ridiculous to suggest that Democrats are more vicious, stupid and arrogant than Republicans, just because of their party affiliation. Both groups are comprised of sinners, and neither side can claim moral superiority.
I'd like him to be more supportive of our new president and not, like the mascot of the Right, Rush Limbaugh, hope that he fails. But barring that, couldn't we just agree to disagree, with civility, and not make everything a black and white moral issue? Apparently not. He firmly stands by his assertion that the Dems are hateful and vicious, and he said, "You'd really have to reach to find anything close" on the Republican side. How can you even have a civil, constructive conversation with someone who makes party affiliation a moral issue?
Don't get me wrong. I do believe in black and white moral issues. I do believe there are absolutes. But even in absolutes, there can be civility and courtesy. There can be benefit of the doubt, and peacemaking. Maybe we all need a primer on what civility looks like in operational terms:
Now I gotta go scream at my kids because they're making too much noise and tearing through the house.
"It's so great, Mom," I said. "I don't want them to miss a minute of it. They even seem to get that it's a historical moment!"
"Because he's our first Arab-American president?" she said.
Oh, yes she did. Of course, being me, I took the bait.
Yes, he has Arabic family connections, I said--but so what? Why is that the important thing to emphasize? Because it's the TRUTH, she said. I care about the TRUTH. Don't YOU?
But why is that important? I asked her. Because no one ever mentions it, and it's the TRUTH, she said. I pointed out that Obama has written two memoirs, in which he has very openly and clearly talked about his family heritage, and in fact, one is called Dreams From my Father--but apparently she still thinks he's trying to hide something.
It just sounds like you're being disrespectful of him, and not really appreciating what an enormously important thing this is for our country. What, she said, that we now have an ARAB-American president? He's not black, why do they always say he's black? Arabs are not black!
He has dark skin, mom, I said. It's got to be so encouraging and hopeful for people who have darker skin to actually see someone become president who looks a little more like them--maybe it makes them feel a little more included, or a little more optimistic. He's not black, she repeated. Arabs are not black. He's not African-American; he's Arab-American. Why are they trying to hide the TRUTH?
Mom, I said. Seriously? He's very clearly not an old white guy, and that's one thing that's different. Of course my mother found that remark to be disrespectful, and I apologized.
"I'm not trying to be disrespectful," I said. "I'm pointing out the obvious--that he LOOKS different, and his background is different, and to me and many other people, he also SOUNDS different." Either way, it's historic and important--why would she want to be hostile and angry about it?
And she's not the only one. Another family member sent me an email the other day saying this:
Now that your man is in, I have to rib you a bit. An AP wire reported that US military planes attacked a group of Afghans and killed 15-16. The president of Afghanistan says they were all civilians. If the republicans were as vicious, stupid and arrogant as their democrat rivals they would be printing bumper stickers reading, "Obama Lied, People Died".I don't get it. I understand that he didn't vote for Obama, and that he would probably never vote for a Democrat. That's fine. But to smear all democrats as "vicious, stupid and arrogant" is so over-the-top that it's not even possible to return to a civil disagreement. Or am I wrong? But I cannot not take the bait--even though I did not ask for this fight, and never initiate political conversations with my family because I always end up feeling beat up.
I suggested that if the 15-16 who died were civilians, then it is not a time for ribbing, but for mourning. And I also submitted that it's ridiculous to suggest that Democrats are more vicious, stupid and arrogant than Republicans, just because of their party affiliation. Both groups are comprised of sinners, and neither side can claim moral superiority.
I'd like him to be more supportive of our new president and not, like the mascot of the Right, Rush Limbaugh, hope that he fails. But barring that, couldn't we just agree to disagree, with civility, and not make everything a black and white moral issue? Apparently not. He firmly stands by his assertion that the Dems are hateful and vicious, and he said, "You'd really have to reach to find anything close" on the Republican side. How can you even have a civil, constructive conversation with someone who makes party affiliation a moral issue?
Don't get me wrong. I do believe in black and white moral issues. I do believe there are absolutes. But even in absolutes, there can be civility and courtesy. There can be benefit of the doubt, and peacemaking. Maybe we all need a primer on what civility looks like in operational terms:
- avoid broad-brush, inflammatory statements
- use clear, specific and representative examples
- don't assume that you know what your opponent believes or agrees with. Instead, ask, and listen.
- be aware of how you are coming across. If you become aware that you have offended, take responsibility, and rephrase. Why? Because the relationship, or the person, is more valuable than the point you are making.
- Show restraint, respect, and consideration in your words and actions.
Now I gotta go scream at my kids because they're making too much noise and tearing through the house.
Friday, September 5, 2008
Believe In Something Much, Much Better Than This Crappy Ad
Does anyone else find the U.S. Cellular billboards to be creepy?
I'm referring to the ubiquitous (in Chicago, at least) billboards featuring a little girl peeping out of a carboard box, with the slogan, "Believe in something better."
I do have a degree in advertising, but that's a lifetime of not being in the advertising industry ago, and I'm not writing this from the perspective of an advertising expert. I'm writing this from the perspective of a prospective customer who, instead of being attracted by the ads, is creeped out, confused, and irritated.
I can't really put my finger on why this image disturbs me. The little girl has messy hair, and she's hiding in a box. She might be there because she's having fun...but the expression on her face is more like, "I wonder if the scary man saw me crawl in here?"
And what's with the shanty-town box? Is she believing that someday she won't have to live in a box under the overpass with her drug-addict mom? I'm just sayin'.
I'm also confused by the emphasis on the word something. Why is that word emphasized, as opposed to the more logical choice, better? Even believe would make more sense. But when the design emphasizes the word "something," it sounds like a desperate plea for something, anything, to be better in this miserable world of pain. "Believe in something better," even if it's only a bigger cardboard box, or a better location under the el tracks, where the wind doesn't bite so much in the winter, and there's a little protection from the elements.
It just sounds kind of desperate, you know?
This ad irritates me, probably mostly because I'm peri-menopausal, and pretty much everything irritates me. But also because it doesn't say anything, and it does not even make any sense; and I do not want advertisers cluttering up my skyline with useless, meaningless slogans. "Believe in something better" begs the question: what the H-E-double-hockey-sticks am I supposed to believe in?
It sounds almost spiritual--but for crying out loud. We're talking about wireless service, people. Let's lose the pretentious, and get real, 'kay?
Maybe it's just me, but these ads suck.
What do you think?
I'm referring to the ubiquitous (in Chicago, at least) billboards featuring a little girl peeping out of a carboard box, with the slogan, "Believe in something better."
I do have a degree in advertising, but that's a lifetime of not being in the advertising industry ago, and I'm not writing this from the perspective of an advertising expert. I'm writing this from the perspective of a prospective customer who, instead of being attracted by the ads, is creeped out, confused, and irritated.I can't really put my finger on why this image disturbs me. The little girl has messy hair, and she's hiding in a box. She might be there because she's having fun...but the expression on her face is more like, "I wonder if the scary man saw me crawl in here?"
And what's with the shanty-town box? Is she believing that someday she won't have to live in a box under the overpass with her drug-addict mom? I'm just sayin'.
I'm also confused by the emphasis on the word something. Why is that word emphasized, as opposed to the more logical choice, better? Even believe would make more sense. But when the design emphasizes the word "something," it sounds like a desperate plea for something, anything, to be better in this miserable world of pain. "Believe in something better," even if it's only a bigger cardboard box, or a better location under the el tracks, where the wind doesn't bite so much in the winter, and there's a little protection from the elements.
It just sounds kind of desperate, you know?
This ad irritates me, probably mostly because I'm peri-menopausal, and pretty much everything irritates me. But also because it doesn't say anything, and it does not even make any sense; and I do not want advertisers cluttering up my skyline with useless, meaningless slogans. "Believe in something better" begs the question: what the H-E-double-hockey-sticks am I supposed to believe in?
It sounds almost spiritual--but for crying out loud. We're talking about wireless service, people. Let's lose the pretentious, and get real, 'kay?
Maybe it's just me, but these ads suck.
What do you think?
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
My Husband Made Me Cry
Last night I was sitting in The Green Room, wasting time on the computer, as I am wont to do (I know you're suprised) and Mr. Peevie came in. He said, with a serious expression on his face, "I have something to say to you." He looked around. "Here, let me sit down," he said ominously.
My stomach flapjacked, and my heart Titanicked. "Is it bad?" I worried. "Did something bad happen? Did I do something bad?" (My vocabulary shrinks in the face of fear.) Nobody follows "I have something to tell you" with "I better sit down" unless it's difficult to say, right? And bad news is tough to deliver. It was only a brief moment, but I can still feel the dread on my neck.
"No, not at all," Mr. Peevie quickly reassured me. "It's good."
Whew. Then why all the seriousness? I wondered. Why the sitting down? Why the formality?
And then came one of the sweetest, tenderest moments of my 23.75 years of married life.
"I thought about sending you an email today to tell you this," Mr. P said, "but it just didn't happen, and it didn't seem like the best way to say it."
Now I'm thinking, oooh, he bought me a present! He bought me a really great present that I'm going to love, and it's being shipped, and he's going to tell me about it! Because that's how my mind works. But it wasn't a present. Actually, it was better than a present--which, coming from me, the queen of loving to get presents, is shocking.
Mr. Peevie leaned forward and looked into my eyes. "I just want to tell you," he said, "that you are always building up my self-esteem, always telling your friends how wonderful I am, and telling stories that put me in a good light. I want you to know that I wouldn't be half the man I am without you."
By this time, the tears are totally rolling right down my cheeks. But there was more.
"I never had very good self-esteem until I met you. I wasn't a very good communicator, and I especially wasn't very good at expressing my feelings. But you have taught me those things, and you appreciate the things I'm good at."
I kept on leaking salty tears, and he kept on talking. "I'm glad I didn't try to put this into an email," Mr. Peevie continued. "It's better in person. I want to look right at you and tell you how much I love you, and how much I appreciate you, and what you mean to me. You make me a better person."
I don't even have words to tell you what a gift that was to me. I hugged Mr. Peevie and left tear-marks his sleeve. "Too much credit," I said, but he just hugged me harder.
Anne Lamott said in Grace, Eventually, "A good marriage is supposed to be one where each spouse secretly thinks he or she got the better deal"--and the only point I'd contest is that it's no secret.
My stomach flapjacked, and my heart Titanicked. "Is it bad?" I worried. "Did something bad happen? Did I do something bad?" (My vocabulary shrinks in the face of fear.) Nobody follows "I have something to tell you" with "I better sit down" unless it's difficult to say, right? And bad news is tough to deliver. It was only a brief moment, but I can still feel the dread on my neck.
"No, not at all," Mr. Peevie quickly reassured me. "It's good."
Whew. Then why all the seriousness? I wondered. Why the sitting down? Why the formality?
And then came one of the sweetest, tenderest moments of my 23.75 years of married life.
"I thought about sending you an email today to tell you this," Mr. P said, "but it just didn't happen, and it didn't seem like the best way to say it."
Now I'm thinking, oooh, he bought me a present! He bought me a really great present that I'm going to love, and it's being shipped, and he's going to tell me about it! Because that's how my mind works. But it wasn't a present. Actually, it was better than a present--which, coming from me, the queen of loving to get presents, is shocking.
Mr. Peevie leaned forward and looked into my eyes. "I just want to tell you," he said, "that you are always building up my self-esteem, always telling your friends how wonderful I am, and telling stories that put me in a good light. I want you to know that I wouldn't be half the man I am without you."
By this time, the tears are totally rolling right down my cheeks. But there was more.
"I never had very good self-esteem until I met you. I wasn't a very good communicator, and I especially wasn't very good at expressing my feelings. But you have taught me those things, and you appreciate the things I'm good at."
I kept on leaking salty tears, and he kept on talking. "I'm glad I didn't try to put this into an email," Mr. Peevie continued. "It's better in person. I want to look right at you and tell you how much I love you, and how much I appreciate you, and what you mean to me. You make me a better person."
I don't even have words to tell you what a gift that was to me. I hugged Mr. Peevie and left tear-marks his sleeve. "Too much credit," I said, but he just hugged me harder.
Anne Lamott said in Grace, Eventually, "A good marriage is supposed to be one where each spouse secretly thinks he or she got the better deal"--and the only point I'd contest is that it's no secret.
Monday, February 18, 2008
Limp-Wristed Handshakes: HATE.
Today I experienced the dreaded "limp-wristed handshake." You know what I'm talking about--when a grown-up who should know better reaches out to shake your hand, and before you know it, you're engaged in that lamest-of-all-handshakes, that flaccid excuse for a metacarpal contract, the limp-wristed handshake.
Do you hate it as much as I do? Do you do your best to anticipate it, to make a mid-air approach adjustment in order to mitigate the limpness? You can see it coming: the telltale obtuse-angled wrist, thumb standing like a misleading sentry of strength. You know there is no real way to mitigate it; that the shake-initiator has all the power. Why is that? It makes no sense; it's completely counter-intuitive.
I feel cheated by a limp-wristed handshake. Expecting a firm, reassuring, human connection that communicates with energy and warmth, "Yes! I'm glad you're in the world!", instead I get an unconvincing, half-assed "Ummm. Yes, I see you have a hand. Whatever."
I can almost--almost!--understand this handshake from a woman. I assume when a woman shakes my hand like she has fragile bone syndrome of the wrist, that she was just never taught that a firm handshake communicates honesty and genuine good will. Sometimes I'll even let her in on the firm handshake code.
But--and I know this is not totally fair--when a man can't even summon the strength, initiative, and determination to put his hand out there like he means it, and greet me with an unambiguous, robust handshake with a firm wrist and sincere eye-contact, then I'm automatically annoyed.
Talk to me, people. Is this blog completely off-base? Is a handshake, after all, just a handshake? Or does it communicate way more about a person than he or she may even realize?
I'm just sayin'.
Do you hate it as much as I do? Do you do your best to anticipate it, to make a mid-air approach adjustment in order to mitigate the limpness? You can see it coming: the telltale obtuse-angled wrist, thumb standing like a misleading sentry of strength. You know there is no real way to mitigate it; that the shake-initiator has all the power. Why is that? It makes no sense; it's completely counter-intuitive.
I feel cheated by a limp-wristed handshake. Expecting a firm, reassuring, human connection that communicates with energy and warmth, "Yes! I'm glad you're in the world!", instead I get an unconvincing, half-assed "Ummm. Yes, I see you have a hand. Whatever."
I can almost--almost!--understand this handshake from a woman. I assume when a woman shakes my hand like she has fragile bone syndrome of the wrist, that she was just never taught that a firm handshake communicates honesty and genuine good will. Sometimes I'll even let her in on the firm handshake code.
But--and I know this is not totally fair--when a man can't even summon the strength, initiative, and determination to put his hand out there like he means it, and greet me with an unambiguous, robust handshake with a firm wrist and sincere eye-contact, then I'm automatically annoyed.
Talk to me, people. Is this blog completely off-base? Is a handshake, after all, just a handshake? Or does it communicate way more about a person than he or she may even realize?
I'm just sayin'.
Monday, May 21, 2007
Lame-tastic Communications Workshop
Today I went to a workshop on communication. I was underwhelmed.
The workshop description promises to teach you to deliver messages with "precise focus, "crystal clarity," and "influential power."
The whole method starts with the premise that there are only two types of speeches: persuasive/motivational, or instructive/informative. Is this really true? Isn't every speech or message persuasive and informative? If it's not persuasive, then why should your audience listen? And if it's not informative, then by what means do you actually persuade? With funny facial expressions? I'm just saying.
It seems to me that information is the river that the canoe of persuasion floats on. Or something like that.
According to this copyrighted method, the speaker first writes a proposition using a formula that goes something like this:
Every ______________ should/can _______________ because/by ______________.
This statement expresses the objective of your talk.
That's it. That's the magic formula for brilliant communication. The "should/because" combo frames the persuasive/motivational type of proposition, and the "can/by" combo frames the inform/instruct type of proposition.
Oh, and the "because/by" statement needs to include a plural noun. Because otherwise you'd just have one explanatory point rather than the requisite three or more.
Uh huh.
(Oh, and I just saved you $67. Let's split the difference; you can just pay-pal me $33.50 and we'll call it even.)
The workshop description promises to teach you to deliver messages with "precise focus, "crystal clarity," and "influential power."
The whole method starts with the premise that there are only two types of speeches: persuasive/motivational, or instructive/informative. Is this really true? Isn't every speech or message persuasive and informative? If it's not persuasive, then why should your audience listen? And if it's not informative, then by what means do you actually persuade? With funny facial expressions? I'm just saying.
It seems to me that information is the river that the canoe of persuasion floats on. Or something like that.
According to this copyrighted method, the speaker first writes a proposition using a formula that goes something like this:
Every ______________ should/can _______________ because/by ______________.
This statement expresses the objective of your talk.
That's it. That's the magic formula for brilliant communication. The "should/because" combo frames the persuasive/motivational type of proposition, and the "can/by" combo frames the inform/instruct type of proposition.
Oh, and the "because/by" statement needs to include a plural noun. Because otherwise you'd just have one explanatory point rather than the requisite three or more.
Uh huh.
(Oh, and I just saved you $67. Let's split the difference; you can just pay-pal me $33.50 and we'll call it even.)
Can you imagine trying to force your thoughts into this arbitrary framework every time you prepare a message? I totally get the need for a clearly conceived and stated objective. But the formula is artificial and unnecessary. I'd like to propose my very own Miracle Communication Formula for Powerful Messages Every Time:
(Audience) will (get this value) from (this information). Every speech you give, every lesson you teach, must have an objective framed in this formula. Every portion of your speech must lead to accomplishing this objective.
Try it, and let me know how it works out. Maybe I'll copyright it and market it and become a millionaire, and you can say you knew me when.
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