I’m a woman. So I’m no stranger to overreacting.

I mean, I’m a woman, I’m no stranger to being told I’m overreacting.

And overreacting is bad. It’s not reasonable is it. It’s not rational. Zeal is way out. Overreacting is passe. We hear things, snippets of things, small ideas or words and think these things:

• That’s a minority opinion.
• Everyone knows that’s crazy.
• They don’t mean it.
• There’s a kernel of truth.
• Listen to the other things they’re saying.
• Give them another chance.
• You didn’t hear it right.
• You’re misinterpreting.
• Maybe he’s a racist, but he’s a nice guy otherwise.

So we let behavior slide, and we let words slide because we don’t want to make a big deal out of something that is “probably nothing”. And we have been doing this, culturally, for years and we have done it most profoundly harmfully to minorities in this country.

Here’s the things I have myself though in response to racism around me:

• I don’t want to get into politics with him.
• He’s an idiot, of course he thinks that.
• This isn’t the time or place.
• I don’t know enough about this to say whether he’s wrong or right.
• I probably am overreacting.
• Maybe I’m just a bleeding heart liberal.
• I’m just too focused on the one side.
• I wasn’t there, how can I really know.

My lack of zeal is the problem. My willingness to let things slide is the problem. My stance toward casual racism is in part what contributes to an entire country having a casual approach toward racism. And it’s easy to be casually racist, because it requires you to do nothing but think and act defensively. To remind yourself when you hear about racism that

• It’s probably not how it actually went down — the media skews things in favor of minorities.
• They’re making things difficult for themselves.
• If they’d just focus on keeping their heads down and doing work this wouldn’t be a problem.
• It’s not like I have it that much easier.

This is an absence of zeal. An absence of love. An absence of empathy. This is selfishness. This is apathy. This is complacency. This is rationalizing.

I’m a good protestant. I believe in total depravity. And because I believe in this wholeheartedly, it is my job to work against it with every fiber of my being, in my own self and in the world at large.

There are too many Christians who believe in “tough love” to minorities. The old adage “pull yourselves up by your bootstraps”. They believe that minorities ought to put in a little effort and try a little harder to earn the support — financially and otherwise — from the Christian community.

This is completely against the saving grace of God and the state he found me in when he saved me.

We are not to reach out to the oppressed because they earned it, they deserve it, or they’re worth it. We are to reach out to the oppressed because we are to show the love of God to whomever we can.

Sin is easy. Sin is the natural default. Doing nothing is easy. Doing nothing is the default.

Be zealous. Be loving. Start in your small circle to take the important stance that racism in all its forms and colors is not okay. It’s sinful.

It is when the majority of people do nothing, that insanity is free to reign. This has been shown in history time and time again and in every age the human reaction is the same.

• I’m probably overreacting.
• It’s probably going to pass.
• This isn’t that big of a deal.

Please, overreact to racism. Please overreact to ideologies that inflame violence, incite hatred, and beget pain. Things pass only when we take a stand against them. Things only become unacceptable when we say they’re unacceptable.

I’m terrified of what my friends and neighbors will think of me being so passionate about this topic, isn’t that tragic? I’m afraid of what they’ll say about me.

But if I’m being totally honest, I’m more afraid of what the future will say about me if I don’t stand up and speak up for what’s right. I’m afraid for the people who will get crushed under the wheel of my apathy. I’m afraid for the people I could have helped, but didn’t because it didn’t affect me. I’m afraid of the way history will remember me if I’m okay with what’s happening now. I’m afraid of the history we’re creating because we’re unwilling to overreact.

I had a physical therapy appointment this week, got new instructions on how to properly build muscles in my legs. My therapist’s parting words were, “when you stand up, don’t have your knees together. You’ll want to keep them shoulder width apart.” I’m sure he thought this was a simple trick to help build muscle in my legs, but for me it was revolutionary.

As a girl, from the second you start wearing dresses you are told to keep your legs together. Standing, sitting, reclining, legs should be together. I remember when I found out that the ladylike crossed legs position wasn’t good for blood flow. I felt irritated that I’d have to instead keep my knees together because it took so much more energy and focus then simply crossing your legs.

When you get a hip replaced these instructions are even more seriously followed and you learn not to cross your legs at all because it’s bad for the replaced joint. But it wasn’t until today that I realized that sitting like a lady was bad for me either way, replacement or not.

My first reaction to my physical therapist’s announcement was “It’s going to look so indiscreet if I’m wearing a dress! And it’s going to look so mannish if I’m in pants!” Can you believe this was my very first reaction to my therapist’s simple advice? How would it look to someone else. I hadn’t realized how ingrained my concepts of femininity were with my every day movements.

In my head the concept of femininity was the overriding value — at least initially — trumping my own health and mobility.

Of course, that’s not really foreign to women, is it? How often do women, in search of beauty or femininity, harm their own bodies? We could go all the way back to ancient practices of foot binding or killer makeup made with mercury, but that isn’t necessary. Hair removal fits the bill nicely, given that hair is a protective layer on every human body, particularly around the pubic area, and that hair removal can and often does lead to infection. We could talk about risky surgeries people undergo to modify their appearance, or eating disorders.

The quest for femininity and beauty doesn’t have to be toxic, but we continue to make it that way ourselves. We often sacrifice our own health and well-being for the fleeting sensation of physical perfection, or the approval of others.

To be honest with you, for me, losing muscle around my legs is too high a cost for being ladylike. Maybe I won’t come off as refined at the next cocktail party, but I’ll certainly be a lot more comfortable.

 

Today I opened a new pack of gum and tried to pluck out a piece, but was rewarded only with the paper tearing. I tried this three or four times until I had a small pile of gum wrapper confetti on my desk, and still no gum. In my head I angrily composed a letter to the gum company about how hard is it to supply consumers with gum they can access and chew on? Would it kill them to make chewing gum the ONE SPOT IN MY DAY THAT WASN’T AWFUL?

Obviously I realized I was on a real tear (pun!) and was being overly dramatic and ragey before I got around to looking up a complaints hotline. In my head I simply added the hashtag #firstworldproblems to my rant and moved on.

But I’ve been thinking about all the little things in the day that can truly ruin what’s going on in life. How absolutely absurd that is, but almost unavoidable. Mostly it happens when I’m conditioned to enjoy myself.

I was staying at a hotel the other week when a series of small annoyances happened. Let me list them as these slights are too fresh to be forgotten:

• I found a large ant crawling across the carpeting and had to kill it.
• The lamp next to the couch was out.
• One of the lamps in the vanity over the sink was out.
• Housekeeping was bothering me at NINE AM (ON A SATURDAY)
• The WiFi cut in and out and I couldn’t finish my Bollywood movie (Diwali) and had to watch the REAL TV. (It honestly took me about ten years to figure out where the mute button was on the remote too. I kinda forgot how those things work.)

In the end, when I checked out of the hotel I didn’t mention any of these problems at reception. One, they didn’t ask. And two, I’m petty, but I’m not so petty that I want other people to actually know I’m petty.

But in the moment, on Saturday night, let me tell you something. I was almost incensed. I was so upset that I couldn’t even go to a damn hotel and have a nice time. What? Is it so much to expect my hotel to be insect free?? To have all light bulbs functioning?? To have actual working WIFI???

I don’t have to go to a hotel to be angry about small things though. I can’t be the only one who stacks things on a shelf or on a table and expects them to stay in that exact pose no matter how precarious. I can’t be the only one aggressively bending book spines because the pages turn each time I get up to get myself a snack and I can’t be bothered with a bookmark. Am I the only one, perhaps, who gets pissed when a car going the speed limit keeps me from getting to the light right as it goes yellow and they COAST through while I sit there fuming?

And the longer the day goes on and the more the small problems of the world add up the angrier I get. At almost literally everything.

But if you want to know the truth, having arthritis is a lot like living with a bombardment of petty problems.*  Let me show you what a real average day is like for me (and please, auto-immune conditions are varied enough that you shouldn’t use me as a template for any of your auto-immuney friends).

• Wake up achey because I turned over weird and now my arm aches for about thirty seconds.
• Consider sleeping in because I’m still tired. Realize this is exactly how I felt yesterday and we made it through that day so what makes today special.
• Take out my mouth guard and realize my jaw hurts when I open and close my mouth for about five minutes.
• Get out of bed and have trouble walking for about three steps, maybe because I just woke up, but also maybe because the bones in my feet can’t remember what it feels like to have my weight on them.
• Walk into the bathroom, hate my hair because I slept on it weird (this is not arthritis, but I mean, come on, it’s pretty damn irritating)
• Walk up the stairs to my office, feel a twinge in my foot and panic that I’m going to be limping all day and everyone will ask what’s wrong and I’ll have to say “you know, life.”
• Sit at my desk and rotate my shoulders, hear them pop, continue working.
• Feel my wrists ache, consider putting braces on, decide it’s too much work.
• Open those lever handles on the doors between the hallways, get mildly angry each time because my wrist doesn’t bend like that, but what are you going to do? Stop going through doors?
• Carry a full water glass and tea mug back to my desk, get stopped halfway and stand there trying to converse and simultaneously wonder how long I can hold these items before I drop them both.
• Rotate shoulders again, stretch, feel a weird pain come down my arm, decide it’s nothing.
• Discover my thumb is having a bad day. Try to coddle it without appearing to.
• It’s 2:30. Tired has crept back up, but it creeps up on everyone so there’s no reason to mention it. Get tea.
• It’s now 4. I’m acutely aware of my wrists, but I’ve only got an hour left. This is fine.
• Try to plan a mental meal, realize I don’t care what I’m eating tonight because I’m actually exhausted. Remember I still have errands to run.
• Drive home? Road rage.

For the record, this is a cliffs notes list. I gave you the moments in an average day that I recall. But right now, because I’m deliberately thinking about this, I’m aware that my elbows ache, have been for awhile now, I think. I’m aware my one shoulder which is NEVER happy is currently unhappy, and that my thumb wants to act up even though we’ve talked about this and we had a deal. I’m thinking about my feet in an uncomfortable/but more comfortable than anything else position, and I’m wondering about the damage I’m furthering in my wrists because I’m not wearing my braces. I’m also wondering about that whole exercise thing. Because body and I agreed we were going to do that, and now body’s like “oh I’m tired” which is true EVERY day, but who’s being a baby now?

It’s all minor, it’s all petty. And most of the time, I don’t even realize I’m in a bad mood because my body hurts until I’ve been harsh to half a dozen people.

On top of all that, I still have energy to get mad at gum wrappers and traffic incidences, people who lack my verbal precision (because I am 100% the best communicator…), and general workplace grievances too stupid to mention.

Everyone’s got their own set of personal petty that keeps coming up, that takes energy to address that isn’t acknowledged verbally or publicly. Maybe it’s even something they think shouldn’t matter to them, shouldn’t affect them. And yet it’s always there, always ready to preemptively ruin a day that you were going to be SO GOOD at. And of course, that adds to the frustration that you’re not handling life well at all, and shouldn’t you be? After all, you’re __ years old, you should know how to do this by now.

But here you are, having a tantrum because the damn door won’t stay fucking shut and WHO MADE THIS ANYWAY WHY WOULD THEY DO THIS TO ME. That’s it. Fine. I’m burning my apartment down.

Petty problems are simply the result of unmet expectation. I expect my hotel experience to be completely luxurious. And if it’s not? Rage. I expect my day to go by unruffled. And when it’s not? Rage.

When it comes to my health…I may have had arthritis for eighteen years, but I’m chronically surprised that there’s always that smidgen of pain. This isn’t how life is SUPPOSED to be, you know? Everyone else is healthy (I know this isn’t true), everyone else is living a life where they don’t have to think about these things, but I have to?

So if you’re wondering why the rants section of this blog is so large, it’s probably this.

I’m sure there’s a better way to handle this. Zen, or yoga or whatever, but to be honest with you, I can’t bend myself into those poses.

 

…time to write another blog.

 

 

*Literally I just mean this for me. If you’ve got arthritis or something else and you mind that I compared arthritis to petty issues in the day, don’t worry, I just mean my arthritis. I don’t mean yours. I don’t know what yours is like, obviously.

Because we live in a media saturated environment where all opinions are weighted equally until popularity makes one opinion greater than the other, one person greater than the other, we live in a time of poor relating.

Critical thinking and holding your tongue have always been hard for humans. Both require genuine effort. But today it seems as if no one is exercising either ability, so why bother trying it out ourselves?

Recently I attempted to help a friend by sharing my experiences and it resulted in a bad conversation for both of us. Fortunately for me it was just a bad conversation, but for her it was an exchange she carried with her to the end of the day and had to overcome by discussing with a more sympathetic partner.

It’s not the first time I’ve messed up my part of a relationship, and it’s most assuredly not going to be the last. But I’d like to share with you my personal list of no-nos when it comes to how we respond to those who are struggling.

• “I Win” — I’ve talked about this one before, but it’s any person who hears the issues of another person and says “that’s nothing, I…” and proceeds to illustrate that they’re better than you because of what they can handle and because of who they are now as a person. Winning is the one of the worst tendencies of childhood that gets translated to adults. I hear this one particularly when I say the words “I’m tired”. In our busy-ness oriented society “tired” is a key word to start winning the conversation.

• Full House Syndrome — This is my neat way of saying “wrap up the problem and put a bow on it.” It’s when someone tries to solve your problem in 30 minutes or less. It’s when people moralize your struggle “for the greater good” or tell you to “look on the bright side”. Neither of which are helpful. Though sometimes helpful is watching an actual episode of Full House.

• Cosmetic Sufferer — We disguise these as “First World Problems”. Or what I like to consider “inconveniences”. These crop up when I’m annoyed, and they build throughout the day. They’re not actual problems, just an excuse to be in a bad mood and complain to someone else for a little bit of unnecessary sympathy.

• Self-Inflicted — I have a good friend who does insane things like run 100 mile marathons and scream at mountain lions in the wild to make them go away. She’s incredible, really and I’m always awed by her approach to life. I’ve also appreciated that she doesn’t share a walking chronicle of her injuries that result from her constant harrowing activities. If you’re going to put yourself in harm’s way, on purpose, because you want to, and as a result –surprisingly– you got injured, don’t whine about it. If it was your idea to swim jellyfish infested waters naked for four hours, I don’t want to hear about how often you got stung and isn’t that just the worst. It is the worst because you’re an idiot, not because it happened.

• Any Opportunity — When I was a kid my sister got glasses. I was so jealous. I wanted glasses. Glasses were cool (she’s my older sister, everything she did was cool). So I lied about how I couldn’t see the chalkboard (yeah, I went to school when there were chalkboards). Truly I couldn’t see the chalkboard but it was because Kelly’s head was in the way. And then I proceeded to lie during the eye exam until I felt guilty and started telling the truth and didn’t get glasses until I was in my 20s and at college — not because I read too many books but because I watched movies on my laptop which was placed on my stomach as I lay in bed. Good times.

The prestige of having a problem is intoxicating. You wonder why there are high drama people in the world? Because having a problem gives meaning. It’s why we have hypochondriacs too, it’s validation. It means people have to listen when you talk.

A good way to tell if you’re a suffering opportunist is to ask yourself “did I consider this a personal problem before I heard someone talk about it?” Or did I perk up and think, “if I rationalize this, I’ve experienced the same thing!”

Being left out — even being left out of suffering — increases feelings of isolation, abandonment, uselessness. It’s natural to want to get in on the angst, it’s also bad for you as a person and bad for society.

• “I Understand” — I’m prone to this one especially. “I hear what you’re saying about getting kicked in the nuts and I totally know what that’s like as a woman because one time I…” If it hasn’t happened, you don’t know. If you didn’t struggle with it, you don’t know. You might have an idea, you might have heard other accounts, but “I understand” quickly takes all the power from the sufferer in terms of owning and experiencing their suffering in their own way. I’ve noticed that “I understand” is more prominent among white people, male people, and American Christians when it comes to a marginalized segment of society voicing frustration, fear, or concern. Let’s be clear on this. You can have all the facts, you can know the full history, and you still won’t have the experiences. You can’t know.

There are plenty of people who have a hard time living in this world because that’s what got handed to them upon their arrival in this world. Others got every benefit known to man and have encountered many challenges as a result of that “privilege” as well. Life affords every human challenges and obstacles. Everyone understands suffering in their own capacity.

So make sure you give people the chance to express it in their own capacity, give people the space to feel their hardships. Suffering is universal and pervasive and the least we can all do is recognize its presence without trying to moralize it or make it all about ourselves.

I come from a tall line of tallish women. One of the most common refrains I remember from my 5’9” grandmother was on the subject of height. She’d refer to a pair of short male twins in her small school in rural Colorado and how they could never see over the crowd. I can’t imagine there were many crowds to be found in rural Colorado , but she’d actually go so far as to pantomime being short and having to look through people and not over them. Nevertheless, her story would end with “always be proud of your height”.

My mom and her younger sister are both over six feet tall and my sister and I both come in at the reasonably tallish height of 5’9”. My mom never made a fuss about physical appearance at all.  When it came to her daughters, the only thing she ever tried to cure me of was slouching. You stand tall, you put your shoulders back, and you be proud of your height.

Not always the easiest advice to follow particularly in the awkward middle school years in which you ARE a head taller than most of the girls and all the guys. That’s the last place you want to be someone who stands out, and yet there you are, trying to be proud of your height as you display your latest bad haircut, unkempt eyebrows and newly discovered acne patches. Also, show me a middle school girl who doesn’t feel that “shoulders back” is synonymous with “breasts thrust forward” and is therefore completely mortified by any such show of confidence like proper posture.

But my mom was always a giant who didn’t mind being a giant (as a teen she wasn’t excited about her height, but she only went so far as fudging the math. For years she’d claim to be 5’12” just to seem not so giant), and so I got over being a lesser giant fairly quick. I also had a “short dad” (5’10”) who was never phased or censorious of the tall women in his life. Despite wearing alarming platform shoes to his wedding, I’ve never seen him embarrassed of his size in relation to my mother. It simply wasn’t an issue.

The only times I’m ever embarrassed of, or note my height as an inconvenience in any way, are when I’m in a group photo with only women, and when I hear any man say “I’d never date a girl taller than me”.

The group photo phenomenon shouldn’t exist which is why it’s so maddening. You’ll know what I mean after I describe it, and if you’re tall, you already know exactly to what I’m referring. In girl group photos you have several critical factors at play. 1) no girl wants to be in the front. 2) we somehow think it’s bad etiquette to reference if someone is actually shorter or taller than us. Rearranging is a minefield of polite innuendo. Inevitably what results is a front row of shorter women squatting so that the women in the back are still visible.

Of course, they shrink down so much that the row behind them is also forced to squat so as not to stick up and out of the photo, ruining it for everyone. What results is row upon row of squatting women who now look like some kind of overdressed cheer squad doing a routine in their spare time. Or as if the gravitational pull of that square of pavement is stronger and they’re helpless to resist. We’re in an age of selfies AND group crouch which is like being in an age of Ugg boots and short skirts.

The secondary phenomenon of “I’ll never date a woman taller than me” is only maddening because tall girls have a firm paranoid, and not entirely wrong belief that short women are a hotter commodity than tall women. We could go into a million reasons why this a belief, why it’s true, why it’s paranoid, but it’s long standing enough that I don’t need to defend the belief, you just need to know it exists.

It’s hard for many women to be proud of their height when it’s an actual impediment to their social life. When height is literally the main reason someone crosses you off as a romantic prospect, it’s difficult not to associate your tall stature with a lack of femininity and desirability. What you end up hearing is, “she’s great friend material because there’s no sexual tension with a tree.”

I’m positive this is an unfair synopsis, but it’s what results when people put ultimatums on their dating partners. I’m sure it’s equally emasculating for men to hear from women, “I’d only date a guy who was taller than me.”

Sure, there are legitimate reasons to use this criteria when considering a romantic partner, but at the end of the day, I can’t help but wonder how much of it is conditioned by our own insecurities about what height represents.

So please, take my mother and grandmother’s advice. Be proud of your height (whatever your height) and put your shoulders back and stand up straight. A little bit of confidence does a great deal more for your insecurities than any tape measure. (It also does a lot better in photos than a crouch)

I recently watched a snippet of a video where a pensive man crossed mountain ranges and wide open land patches armed with only a backpack…and a camera crew, so that he could tell me that old people near death regret “not living”.

Apparently backpacking the world is “living”. So I guess I’m doing it wrong. Yet again.

My newest least favorite phrase is “you haven’t lived until you’ve…” and fill in the blank with some thing you’re not doing that is ruining your life but you don’t even know how much it’s ruining your life because you’re not doing it.

But boy will you regret it someday.

What’s fun is you can put anything in here, anything that you have actually done. Here’s a short list of things on which you can critique the “liveliness” of other peoples lives.

• Getting Married
• Traveling to Europe
• Camping
• Climbing a Mountain
• Eating Exotic Foods
• Going to a Concert
• Breaking an Arm
• Getting Stitches
• Almost Dying
• Having a Child
• Catching a Fish/Hunting
• Going on a Road Trip

You can always come up with your own, though and that’s the beauty of this statement. 1) You get the superiority of having done something that qualifies your life on earth as “worthwhile and well spent”. 2) You get to tell someone else they’re doing it wrong. Who doesn’t love a good condescension?

The added bonus is that instead of focusing on what you can do to make your own life worthwhile, you can make other people regret things they never had plans to do, nor still want to do, but now think they should because they OWE LIFE.

And what if on their death bed this is the moment they look back and thing “why did I not go bungee jumping”?

First of all: Deathbed regrets are usually things that you GET TO regret. It means you’ve made it this far in life and you’re allowed to now say “given I got safely to the end, I wish I’d taken more risks in the middle”, but it’s that middle risky part that hard to determine how those risks would have turned out. It’s that age when fear gets in the way of throwing yourself through space to the earth, perhaps, or trying out deep sea diving.

As one of my favorite comedians John Richardson says, “I don’t understand why people are supposed to get over their fears. Fear is a legitimate thing to stop you from dying.” Getting to your deathbed alive is kind of something to be proud of. Of course, everyone makes it to their deathbed alive…uh oh, rabbit trail.

Second of all: Everyone is different. Don’t make the mistake of transmuting your fears and failures to another human as a way of getting a universal feeling of regret. Some people, no matter how much you may disagree, will never regret not going skydiving, spelunking, or any of a number of activities that could end with some kind of new tropical disease.

Nor are all adventures and new experiences feasible for all people. Just because you were able to enjoy something that changed your life does not mean it’s feasible for the person you’re gushing to about zip-lining through the Amazon. For some, no matter how amazing that may sound, it’s never going to be something they get to enjoy for any number of reasons.

For a lot of us, hearing your story is plenty. Do I want to go white water rafting in New Zealand? No I really don’t. But I DO want to hear about my friend who did. And I want to see pictures. She feels the same way about my movie marathons. (It’s totally the same thing)

You can’t experience everything in life. You just can’t. But there are stories out there from others who have experienced different things in life. Listen to those stories. Take time to hear about how other people have lived and add it to your own life.

Go do the things you want to do, or can do, and then hear about all the rest. Live a life of listening.

 

I was in high school when I first heard the term “prairie dogging” in a movie. A girl shouted it while sticking her head out the car window. I assumed it meant the act of sticking your head out a car window. I used to think oral sex was talking about sex. Given that oral reports are spoken reports, I still don’t think I’m wrong.

I used “ad nauseum” in conversation the other day — correctly, but when confronted about what it meant all I could think was “it’s the right word for the context”. On the other hand, I’ve been using “non sequitur” wrong for years. Once in high school I ruined an entire ski weekend by holding onto a joke for too long. One friend wouldn’t speak to me for the entire next year.

I’ve chronicled my misadventures with “Netflix and chill” before, so now I’m beginning to wonder: how many things out there are things I don’t properly understand?

This past week I did laundry at a friend’s house and accidentally left my bra there. I texted asking, “did I leave my bra there?” and got a response back of, “yes, I’m wearing it.” I told this story to four different women who all enjoyed the implied punchline. When I told this story to two men their response was “ew gross” and when I explained she was kidding they responded with “well women wear each other’s clothes all the time”.

Speaking is hazardous because speaking implies understanding of your audience, their situation, and your relationship to them. Speaking, at the least, implies you have a good valid reason to be opening your food hole. I’ve heard we get better at this with age. As yet, I’m no walking advertisement for it.

At least twice a week I urge myself to shut up and let other people talk. I realize that my overabundance of words creates an atmosphere of expectation. Now I am EXPECTED to always talk. It is ASSUMED. If there’s something to be said, I will say it, don’t worry. If I DON’T say anything, there’s probably something wrong with me. A glitch in the constant stream of words finding an outlet from brain to lips — hopefully from brain to lips.

If I had to lose a native ability, I wouldn’t mind losing speech. i’d mind losing my ability to hear and my ability to see, my ability to touch, but I wouldn’t mind a tremendous amount about a loss of speech. I think it’d be good from me. I’m definitely someone that should get a severe case of laryngitis at least once a year just to let the people around me have a chance.

And yet. talking is how I relate. It’s even sometimes how I pay attention. If I finish your sentence for you it’s not because I want you to stop talking, I just want to make sure I’m paying attention and keeping up with you. If I crack jokes before meetings it’s to help make the meeting go more smoothly. If you share a sad story, I’ll share one in return — not to make comparisons, but to encourage, to plumb deeper into what’s happening in your life.

Those moments when I say something rude, tactless, inappropriate, awkward, offensive, sarcastic, stupid… I don’t know what to tell you about those. I could blame genetics for some of it. I could blame a sheltered upbringing, if I was really reaching for a reason, or I could blame a dirty mind. But there’s something in me that’s intrigued by the idea of abruptly ending a conversation and ruining the atmosphere for everyone. Well, something must enjoy it. I ruin too many conversations for it to be anything other than deliberate intent.

I hesitate to give a tutorial on parties, especially in the interest of not being bitter. This is not because I don’t enjoy telling people what to do, but because generally speaking, there’s no wrong way to throw a party. Even bitter parties. My brother-in-law and sister had a delightfully themed “Old Sad Bastards New Years Eve” party. It ended around 8 pm, I think.

No, any party is a good party, except when you HAVE TO throw a party. There’s almost nothing messier or more awkward than an obligatory party.

Several years ago a close friend of mine was expecting her second child. Her first was an adorable little girl and this new child was a boy. I exchanged frantic glances with my friend’s sister-in-law. Were we supposed to throw her a shower???

If so, we were already late to that one. She was only weeks away. Truly though, the horror was more for ourselves. We didn’t know ANYTHING about babies. Neither of us wanted one and neither of us expected to have one. It’s hard to throw a party for something you’ve got zero interest in.

It’s the exact reason I don’t throw Super Bowl parties.

The REAL fear, however, the one layered beneath having to get diapers and  non-alcoholic drink options and pastel decorations, was that somehow I would lose my friend status by being negligent in the friendship duties of throwing a party for anything remotely resembling an occasion.

My friend reassured us that she expected no such thing. Graciousness incarnate, that one.

Now this is not a knock against sprinkle showers (showers for second babies), I’ve been to a couple of those and find them to be as innocuous and normal as a first baby shower.

No, this is about situations where somehow your friendship hinges on a party. I’m about 70% certain this isn’t a problem in male culture. It’s a strict female culture horror.

I’ve been a maid of honor in two different weddings. The first time I had to throw a shower practically on my own. Fortunately it was for my sister and even though I spaced on what decoration I wanted on the cake (I settled for it just saying her name, you know like claiming a food item in the company fridge. “Yvana”) she wasn’t able to unfriend me because she’s my sister. She’s stuck with me.

The second time I had to throw a wedding shower it went better. Because I didn’t throw it by myself and adults were present to supervise. So much better, friends. So much.

But I’ve capped out at two. I have a limit. Fortunately, my sub-par services aren’t in high demand. If you’re mediocre enough at something you never get asked to do it again. Win!

But, friends, I have met some really bitter, angry party throwers. They’re angry because they’re doing the socially correct thing and they resent it. They know that hosting the party makes them the “good” friend and so they’re being the good friend and gritting their teeth trying not to curse the bride and marriage in general.

You want to know how you get bitter single women? Force them into merriment for an institution they don’t partake in, and then ask them to fork over a present and several hundred in planning supplies with the guarantee that “someday someone will do this for you”…if you ever get married.

So I have two pieces of advice for singles here.

Don’t throw a party you don’t want to go to. It’s pretty simple, this. If you didn’t want to do it, don’t do it. All it builds in you is resentment for the friend you’re supposed to love. Don’t hate someone because of a social construct they didn’t ask to be part of. They just wanted to be married, or a parent. It’s not their fault society insists on parties for relational success.

This next piece of advice is harder and messier and not perfect, so bear with me. Learn how to enjoy parties for things you may never have. Learn how to celebrate the milestones of those you love — because you DO love them, right? If you don’t, I wouldn’t even bother going to that party at all. It’s not worth whatever social currency you think you’ll get out of it.

And as a note to those with the relational success so many singles crave: don’t forget to celebrate you single friends.  Celebrate the random moments. The friendship milestones. Lavish on them the love they lavish on you, but do it just because, because sharing love begets more love.

And that’s worth having a party for!

I’ve been in the middle of an ongoing argument for about ten years now on the caliber of Keanu Reeves acting ability. I’m not arguing with anyone specifically, just anyone who comes along and disparages one of my favorite actors.

I’ve been in an ongoing argument for several decades now on the correct pronunciation of “almond” (I was raised to treat the “L” as silent).

And with the dawning of the year 2016 I began arguing for a lot more things that struck me as “obvious”. As obvious as Keanu’s blockbuster successes and “amond” the correct way to pronounce that delicious nut’s name.

I’m assuming you think I’m wrong about at least one of these. Maybe you even disagree with me violently and aggressively. What we’re arguing about in these situations is specifically taste and experience, yours conflicting with mine. And the reason we argue about these intangibles is because we’re always convinced by our own judgments. There are actually things in life you feel you CAN’T be wrong about, just misunderstood.

Here’s a short list of the most flagrant offenders:

• Sense of Humor: You have a good sense of humor, don’t you? Sure, maybe it’s a little weird, or dry, maybe it’s even macabre, but you think you’re funny. You know what you find funny, and it’s funny.
• Visual Aesthetic: You know how you want to look and how you think other people should look. Even if you don’t value appearance, you know what you like when it comes to fashion because it’s comfortable and that’s what you want to be.
• Taste in Media: Maybe your vice is Keanu Reeves or Kenny G or Thomas Kincaide or Stephanie Meyer, doesn’t matter. You like what you like and you’ll defend it too.
• Palate: People think it’s weird that you like white vinegar on your vanilla ice cream but it’s only because they haven’t tried it yet. And if they try it and hate it? Well it’s because their palate isn’t as refined as yours. They don’t know what they’re missing.
• Reason: I’ve never met someone who thinks they’re unreasonable. They may even SAY “May I’m being unreasonable but…” but what they mean is “even if I’m wrong, I’m still sure I’m right.”
• Rationality: Whatever you’re doing today it’s because it’s rational. Someone may look at you and think you’re insane, but you know what you’re about. It makes perfect sense — if only they were you.
• Well-Informed: If there’s anything I’ve learned from the election it’s that we all think we’re perfectly qualified to argue important points in economics, and policy, and government. We’re all confident we’ve read the right articles, listened to the right news anchors and hold the most correct, most accurate opinion ever.
• Politics: We can believe we’re well-informed on a lot of things, but we usually use our dogmatic approach to it for political points. We’re all speaking from personal experiences and perspectives and distinct worldviews, but that doesn’t mean we’re not completely qualified to explain to other people how they’re getting it wrong and we’re totally right.
• Religion: Almost nothing is more divisive than religion. Even Christians can’t agree on who qualifies as “Christian” and there have been splits upon splits about the finer points of doctrine for hundreds of years. Everyone is convinced they have the most correct most accurate view of God.
• Driving Ability: This one could just be me. But I haven’t heard someone yet persist in saying they’re a “bad” driver. Maybe cautious, maybe inexperienced. Never bad. Listen, I’ve been in six or more accidents and I STILL think I’m a good driver. That right there says something about our ability to maintain innocence in the face of overwhelming amounts of condemning evidence.

So when you’re sitting there at your computer getting incensed by the plethora of morons and idiots out there, wondering how its possible that so many people have it so very, very wrong, remember that self-awareness is always the thing we could do with a little more of.

Use that self awareness you claim to have for treating others kindly and with respect. Remember, experiences differ. So when someone disagrees with your opinion? That’s kind of okay. Take a moment to listen to their experiences and maybe you’ll understand.

And most importantly of all, don’t confuse opinion with fact. That might just be my opinion but…I’m totally right about this one.