I recently heard the comment by a cool, post-modernist speaker that it’s harder for people to lean into what they’re good at, rather than what they’re not. For instance, if you compliment someone, even if the person knows they’re good at whatever it is, more than likely, they’ll downplay it. No, no, I’m not all that great, they’ll say, it’s not that big a deal. The person who made the comment then continued, if you know you’re good at something, if you’ve been gifted at something, saying you’re not isn’t humble; it’s dishonest.
I was a little stunned when I heard this, because my first thought was, but… everyone does that. How is it dishonest? But even asking that was silly, because I’ve done it so often, I know it is. I know when I say I’m not great at something, and I am, my ethics twinge. I tell myself that I’m just saying what other people my age say, or that it’s just the way that we communicate – but it’s still a lie.
So. I lie. To fit in.
And that’s not unique or hip. It’s certainly not worth lying about, or for. In fact, it’s kind of sad, and the exact opposite of the oft-stated post-modernist idea that we are all worthy, wonderful, and fabulous because we’re unique and different; because we’re honest – with ourselves, about our selves, and the world we live in.
According to Merriam-Webster’s definition, post-modern can be defined as “of, relating to, or being any of various movements in reaction to modernism that are typically characterized by a return to traditional materials and forms (as in architecture) or by ironic self-reference and absurdity (as in literature).”
I can honestly say I excel in ironic self-reference. And because I know that, it beats my ego like a MMA champ with a heavy bag that I’ve allowed myself to be less than honest for no other reason than I wanted to be like everyone else. I tell myself I don’t care what other people think; that being a freak is ok, or at least, doesn’t bother me; that I don’t expect anyone else to be like me, or me like anyone else, because that would be boring. But, then I lie to be like someone else so I won’t feel quite so unique and alone.
My little, easier-on-the-ego lie becomes a habit, something to say to fill the space; and I become lesser for it, thinking I’m really cooler because of it.
Why?! Because I want to have friends and be liked. Because I can only stand my own company for so long. Because silence is terrifying.
Because love is not easy.
To be honest requires accepting vulnerability, and accepting that I have accepted the lie of invincibility. It means standing in the middle of my broken toys with my dirty hands and wrecked life and not making excuses. It means apologizing for when I am too vain to be truthful.
I could continue in my denial, thinking that it’s just a phrase, or that I’m being hip by brushing off compliments. But denial’s never worth the effort it takes.
Honesty, on the other hand, always is.
And given the option between being deniably cool or honestly broken, I’ll take the second. The first can’t be fixed, and the second, well, that’s just a cool place to be.
I was a little stunned when I heard this, because my first thought was, but… everyone does that. How is it dishonest? But even asking that was silly, because I’ve done it so often, I know it is. I know when I say I’m not great at something, and I am, my ethics twinge. I tell myself that I’m just saying what other people my age say, or that it’s just the way that we communicate – but it’s still a lie.
So. I lie. To fit in.
And that’s not unique or hip. It’s certainly not worth lying about, or for. In fact, it’s kind of sad, and the exact opposite of the oft-stated post-modernist idea that we are all worthy, wonderful, and fabulous because we’re unique and different; because we’re honest – with ourselves, about our selves, and the world we live in.
According to Merriam-Webster’s definition, post-modern can be defined as “of, relating to, or being any of various movements in reaction to modernism that are typically characterized by a return to traditional materials and forms (as in architecture) or by ironic self-reference and absurdity (as in literature).”
I can honestly say I excel in ironic self-reference. And because I know that, it beats my ego like a MMA champ with a heavy bag that I’ve allowed myself to be less than honest for no other reason than I wanted to be like everyone else. I tell myself I don’t care what other people think; that being a freak is ok, or at least, doesn’t bother me; that I don’t expect anyone else to be like me, or me like anyone else, because that would be boring. But, then I lie to be like someone else so I won’t feel quite so unique and alone.
My little, easier-on-the-ego lie becomes a habit, something to say to fill the space; and I become lesser for it, thinking I’m really cooler because of it.
Why?! Because I want to have friends and be liked. Because I can only stand my own company for so long. Because silence is terrifying.
Because love is not easy.
To be honest requires accepting vulnerability, and accepting that I have accepted the lie of invincibility. It means standing in the middle of my broken toys with my dirty hands and wrecked life and not making excuses. It means apologizing for when I am too vain to be truthful.
I could continue in my denial, thinking that it’s just a phrase, or that I’m being hip by brushing off compliments. But denial’s never worth the effort it takes.
Honesty, on the other hand, always is.
And given the option between being deniably cool or honestly broken, I’ll take the second. The first can’t be fixed, and the second, well, that’s just a cool place to be.
No comments:
Post a Comment