Defending the territory of good behavior
EtiquetteDog.com
My 211-lb Life
So I'm watching reruns of TLC's fascinating series, "My 600-lb Life." It is riveting and so inspiring to me. It reminds me of how great I feel that I am down about 70 pounds down from my all-time high of 211 in 2007. When I first hit my goal weight of 135, I wanted to see how far down I could go, just because for the first time in my life I felt in control and able to go for it. I got down to 126 for a week or so. That was 85 pounds. A weight loss of 85 pounds—in my entire life, I never dared dream I could really do it.
Since then, it's been an up-and-down maintenance roller coaster, holding on to not gaining more than 15 pounds from my firm goal of 135. Three years since hitting that goal, I am about 8 pounds away from it, and I'm finding things a bit easier to manage (at last!), and I think it's because I have completely eliminated sugar.
I had to do this when I was horribly sick from a virus that attacked my liver in January and February. I was constantly nauseated and so terribly ill some days, I wondered if I'd have to go to the hospital. After being reminded that "sugar feeds a virus" by a friend who's had to deal with her son's viral infections, I just stayed away from it. And I'm on the verge of astonishment that it seems to be making a tremendous difference for me. I don't miss it. I avoid high-carbohydrate stuff, too, since carbs turn to sugar in the body (although I do indulge in air-popped popcorn in the evening). I'm finding I don't have to be so draconian with my portions and restrictions. I'm rather delighted that the advice of Dr. James Surrell in his book, SOS (Stop only Sugar) Diet, has proven to be true: it's sugar that is the major source of all the weight problems.
But back to "My 600-lb Life": I am inspired by these people whose lives have gotten so out of control that their lives are consumed by what they consume. I was never that big, of course, but the feelings about being fat are the same. I felt alone, unable to stop eating, utterly self-loathing, thoroughly discouraged, always saying, "I give up." I know the frustrations of trying to maintain, of avoiding what I simply cannot—must not—eat, of feeling the unfairness that my body is so different from everyone else's but also aware I'm the one who messed it up. Every sensor is broken, and Dr. Barbara Berkeley, on her blog and in her book of the same name, "Refuse to Regain," has explained how we who have been significantly overweight most of our lives have ruined the normal processes of our bodies. We really are different. We can eat the same things as a person of normal weight, and the normal person will not gain weight and we will gain 5 pounds. What all the weight loss and maintenance websites say are the calories I can consume daily to maintain my weight are way too much for me. I'll gain weight if I consume that many calories.
There is an experience that those who have lost hundreds of pounds share to which I certainly cannot relate, but I do know what it feels like to be way overweight—clinically obese—and feel a complete misfit, unattractive, depressed, and without hope. Watching these brave people do whatever it takes to get their bodies under control is a reminder to me of how much I want to stay here.
Since then, it's been an up-and-down maintenance roller coaster, holding on to not gaining more than 15 pounds from my firm goal of 135. Three years since hitting that goal, I am about 8 pounds away from it, and I'm finding things a bit easier to manage (at last!), and I think it's because I have completely eliminated sugar.
I had to do this when I was horribly sick from a virus that attacked my liver in January and February. I was constantly nauseated and so terribly ill some days, I wondered if I'd have to go to the hospital. After being reminded that "sugar feeds a virus" by a friend who's had to deal with her son's viral infections, I just stayed away from it. And I'm on the verge of astonishment that it seems to be making a tremendous difference for me. I don't miss it. I avoid high-carbohydrate stuff, too, since carbs turn to sugar in the body (although I do indulge in air-popped popcorn in the evening). I'm finding I don't have to be so draconian with my portions and restrictions. I'm rather delighted that the advice of Dr. James Surrell in his book, SOS (Stop only Sugar) Diet, has proven to be true: it's sugar that is the major source of all the weight problems.
But back to "My 600-lb Life": I am inspired by these people whose lives have gotten so out of control that their lives are consumed by what they consume. I was never that big, of course, but the feelings about being fat are the same. I felt alone, unable to stop eating, utterly self-loathing, thoroughly discouraged, always saying, "I give up." I know the frustrations of trying to maintain, of avoiding what I simply cannot—must not—eat, of feeling the unfairness that my body is so different from everyone else's but also aware I'm the one who messed it up. Every sensor is broken, and Dr. Barbara Berkeley, on her blog and in her book of the same name, "Refuse to Regain," has explained how we who have been significantly overweight most of our lives have ruined the normal processes of our bodies. We really are different. We can eat the same things as a person of normal weight, and the normal person will not gain weight and we will gain 5 pounds. What all the weight loss and maintenance websites say are the calories I can consume daily to maintain my weight are way too much for me. I'll gain weight if I consume that many calories.
There is an experience that those who have lost hundreds of pounds share to which I certainly cannot relate, but I do know what it feels like to be way overweight—clinically obese—and feel a complete misfit, unattractive, depressed, and without hope. Watching these brave people do whatever it takes to get their bodies under control is a reminder to me of how much I want to stay here.
Snorting Draincleaner
I guess everyone has seen the reports on television of the latest getting-high craze amongst the young: ingesting hand sanitizer, distilling it for the alcohol with instructions found on YouTube, or simply pumping it into the mouth and swallowing. Emergency rooms are seeing increased numbers of the young and incredibly stupid showing up with hand sanitizer (which is about 70% ethyl alcohol) in their systems. Some are dying from alcohol poisoning.Why? Why is this generation so desperate to be impaired? I'm referring to the generation of time of the past 40 or 50 years. Everything from glue to paint to insane chemical combinations are being injected and inhaled. In this day, when it is so obvious that things like this can kill or permanently brain damage, what is the appeal? What is the draw to see if rat poison in the right amount could send one to nirvana? Since the introduction of recreational drugs by my own foolish, arrogant Baby Boom generation that threw off restraint and thought "turn on/tune in/drop out" was a good idea, the resulting generational cohorts have delved further and further into altering mental states. For what?
Is life fully lived, fully experienced without filters, such a horrible prospect? When I was in high school, I wanted to experience everything "to the max," as we used to say, and I even crazily refused to put ketchup on my McDonald's french fries because I wanted to taste the complete, delicious flavor of the potato. What is the desperate spiritual state of young people today who are so lost, so incomprehensibly dull, that they will open up the cabinet beneath the sink and wonder to themselves if snorting draincleaner might be a good high? They have nothing with which to fill the void.
Don't tell me this is the way kids are and this is how it's always been. It is not. It is not. Do not dismiss this as youthful indiscretion. This is serious tragedy. Do they hate themselves? Do they hate life? Why are they fighting to die? This is serious spiritual desolation.
We Have a Responsibility
We hear it again and again from the spokespersons for companies caught doing unscrupulous-but-not-technically-illegal things, or that have been found to be supporting some nefarious activity. When put on the spot for an explanation, or attempting to weasel out of righting a wrong, the PR guy will say, "We have a responsibility to our shareholders."
What is that responsibility? To keep making shareholders money no matter how they go about doing it? Certainly some shareholders will not care how money is made, but many others would object to sweatshop labor, deceit, funds diverted to brutal dictators, moral depravity, and characterless behavior.
Why isn't there a responsibility to do what is right? A responsibility to avoid evil and wrongdoing? Why is there only a responsibility to make money? Is there a responsibility to make money no matter how it's done? Is there a responsibility to make money by selling weapons to terrorists, or by hooking up with Communist governments? Is there a responsibility to make money by polluting rivers or selling children into slavery? Where does it end?
Where is the responsibility to goodness and truth? Is there only a responsibility to money?
It's all slippery, lying, weaseling spin. I have a responsibility to say so.
What is that responsibility? To keep making shareholders money no matter how they go about doing it? Certainly some shareholders will not care how money is made, but many others would object to sweatshop labor, deceit, funds diverted to brutal dictators, moral depravity, and characterless behavior.
Why isn't there a responsibility to do what is right? A responsibility to avoid evil and wrongdoing? Why is there only a responsibility to make money? Is there a responsibility to make money no matter how it's done? Is there a responsibility to make money by selling weapons to terrorists, or by hooking up with Communist governments? Is there a responsibility to make money by polluting rivers or selling children into slavery? Where does it end?
Where is the responsibility to goodness and truth? Is there only a responsibility to money?
It's all slippery, lying, weaseling spin. I have a responsibility to say so.
Talking Down
I am very aware that my personality leans toward the get-it-done, get-out-of-my-way, let's-move locomotive activity. We who are of this temperament often unwittingly—and I sincerely mean that we don't realize it—speak to people in ways that are perceived as arrogant or unnecessarily instructive, sending the message we think we have to slowly repeat ourselves to the less-than-bright intellect.
It's not intentional. It's not! It is the result of a brain on fire to accomplish. I can hear myself doing it sometimes and can quickly adjust, but sometimes I simply assume that others know me and know I don't mean to offend.
Some with this proclivity cannot hear themselves. They can't see their tendencies. They are caught up in the world in their heads and simply don't see the effect they're having on those with whom they live, work, and play. That happens. It's understandable. Often, their communications simply are arrogant and dismissive, because in their world, they are more together than you or I. In this case, their weakness becomes an offense.
My mouth (and my pen) have gotten me into a lot of trouble. When I am not vigilantly on top of the ways I can perceived, I really screw things up. I hope I'm getting better. I think I am having to apologize less than I used to.
I was just "talked down" to by someone, and I realize how it can pinch. Sometimes it's just best to step away and let such a person figure out what they did. If they don't eventually figure it out, well . . . if they're humble, you can speak to them about it. If not, let it go. And to all of you I've offended with my talking down—please forgive me. It is not in my heart to deliberately offend.
It's not intentional. It's not! It is the result of a brain on fire to accomplish. I can hear myself doing it sometimes and can quickly adjust, but sometimes I simply assume that others know me and know I don't mean to offend.
Some with this proclivity cannot hear themselves. They can't see their tendencies. They are caught up in the world in their heads and simply don't see the effect they're having on those with whom they live, work, and play. That happens. It's understandable. Often, their communications simply are arrogant and dismissive, because in their world, they are more together than you or I. In this case, their weakness becomes an offense.
My mouth (and my pen) have gotten me into a lot of trouble. When I am not vigilantly on top of the ways I can perceived, I really screw things up. I hope I'm getting better. I think I am having to apologize less than I used to.
I was just "talked down" to by someone, and I realize how it can pinch. Sometimes it's just best to step away and let such a person figure out what they did. If they don't eventually figure it out, well . . . if they're humble, you can speak to them about it. If not, let it go. And to all of you I've offended with my talking down—please forgive me. It is not in my heart to deliberately offend.
Downton Abbey Virtues
Wherein Lord Grantham does not take advantage of young housemaid Jane because, as he tells her, it is unfair to her, not to mention morally wrong, and he practices self-regulation.
Like millions, apparently, who are besotted with the rarified world of Robert and Cora Crawley, their family, their house staff, their relatives, and their acquaintances, I'm glued to the television set on Sunday nights to watch the PBS Masterpiece Classic "Downton Abbey." The sets are jaw-dropping, the clothes are exquisite, and the plot is pure high-brow soap opera. It's a palm-rubbing delight!
I was struck by the emotional subtext of last night's episode (the 6th in Season 2) surrounding Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, head of Downtown Abbey, and his attraction to a young war widow recently hired on as a maid. Lord Grantham is feeling disconnected, out of place and time, ignored, and useless, and his lovely wife is busy with other things. He's been finding Cora's opinions and ideas tedious. He's angry. He is lonely.
Impressed by Jane, whose husband perished on the killing fields of World War I, Robert is sympathetic to her sacrifice and finds himself drawn to her, and when she indicates her infatuation with him, he pulls her into his room and is nearly about to do the dirty deed when there's a knock at the door. It's just his valet, Mr. Bates, asking when he'd like to be awakened in the morning, but it's enough to break the spell of the British version of animal heat. Robert tells Jane that as much as he is attracted to her, as much as he wishes to give in to his desires, it would put her in an impossible position. "I wish everything were different," he tells her, and he makes her leave. For once—a scene in which the one with power did not exert said power over the helpless and less thoughtful servant.
I'm thrilled that the writer and producers of "Downton Abbey" do their best to portray the conventional mores of the period (unlike James Cameron's utter disregard for them in his 1997 blockbuster, "Titanic"). Yes, Robert's daughter Mary is quite the entitled little tart, flaunting propriety in her dalliance with that foreign man who died in her bed, but look at the lengths she's going to keep it under wraps! And poor, arrogant, dimwitted Ethel, the maid who flung caution to the wind for one night with a soldier and is paying for it dearly now—Mrs. Hughes dishes out real compassion with real truth in telling her, "You're not respectable now. That's the real world." One just didn't broadcast one's inability to control passions in that time and that culture.
We don't think today, or don't care, that our actions will have consequences; if not for us personally, certainly for others. The woman who has an affair with her married boss may unwittingly set into motion a nasty divorce that affects children who never get over it and ruin their own lives in sordid ways, in turn damaging their children. But she doesn't have to think about that, says conventional wisdom (wisdom?); consenting adults should do as they please. You've got to do what feels right for you, we're told, so men and women see no value in practicing self-control, in reminding themselves they are not driven by instinct like feral cats but can, in fact, decide to do what is right even when everything in them wants to do wrong. And we wonder why our lives are so out of control.
Hip, hip, Lord Grantham. Splendid, my man. You done right, Robert.
Like millions, apparently, who are besotted with the rarified world of Robert and Cora Crawley, their family, their house staff, their relatives, and their acquaintances, I'm glued to the television set on Sunday nights to watch the PBS Masterpiece Classic "Downton Abbey." The sets are jaw-dropping, the clothes are exquisite, and the plot is pure high-brow soap opera. It's a palm-rubbing delight!
I was struck by the emotional subtext of last night's episode (the 6th in Season 2) surrounding Robert Crawley, Earl of Grantham, head of Downtown Abbey, and his attraction to a young war widow recently hired on as a maid. Lord Grantham is feeling disconnected, out of place and time, ignored, and useless, and his lovely wife is busy with other things. He's been finding Cora's opinions and ideas tedious. He's angry. He is lonely.
Impressed by Jane, whose husband perished on the killing fields of World War I, Robert is sympathetic to her sacrifice and finds himself drawn to her, and when she indicates her infatuation with him, he pulls her into his room and is nearly about to do the dirty deed when there's a knock at the door. It's just his valet, Mr. Bates, asking when he'd like to be awakened in the morning, but it's enough to break the spell of the British version of animal heat. Robert tells Jane that as much as he is attracted to her, as much as he wishes to give in to his desires, it would put her in an impossible position. "I wish everything were different," he tells her, and he makes her leave. For once—a scene in which the one with power did not exert said power over the helpless and less thoughtful servant.
I'm thrilled that the writer and producers of "Downton Abbey" do their best to portray the conventional mores of the period (unlike James Cameron's utter disregard for them in his 1997 blockbuster, "Titanic"). Yes, Robert's daughter Mary is quite the entitled little tart, flaunting propriety in her dalliance with that foreign man who died in her bed, but look at the lengths she's going to keep it under wraps! And poor, arrogant, dimwitted Ethel, the maid who flung caution to the wind for one night with a soldier and is paying for it dearly now—Mrs. Hughes dishes out real compassion with real truth in telling her, "You're not respectable now. That's the real world." One just didn't broadcast one's inability to control passions in that time and that culture.
We don't think today, or don't care, that our actions will have consequences; if not for us personally, certainly for others. The woman who has an affair with her married boss may unwittingly set into motion a nasty divorce that affects children who never get over it and ruin their own lives in sordid ways, in turn damaging their children. But she doesn't have to think about that, says conventional wisdom (wisdom?); consenting adults should do as they please. You've got to do what feels right for you, we're told, so men and women see no value in practicing self-control, in reminding themselves they are not driven by instinct like feral cats but can, in fact, decide to do what is right even when everything in them wants to do wrong. And we wonder why our lives are so out of control.
Hip, hip, Lord Grantham. Splendid, my man. You done right, Robert.
You are so fat!
I cannot remember the name of the comedienne, but a VERY funny woman from Texas I remember hearing many years ago commented on how Texan women could say the rudest things while sounding as though they were delightfully enthusiastic. She demonstrated by placing her hand on her hip and smiling as she exclaimed, in her widest drawl, as though addressing someone she found fascinating, "You are SO fay-at!"
I've grown up with the "you are so fat" refrain in my head, and not in the funny, unconsciously rude manner this performer parodied. No, in my life it was my mother's semi-constant whine: "Oh, HONEY," she'd say in exasperation and something between disgust and frustration, "you are so FAT." I can remember her saying this to me when I was, oh, 9 years old—maybe 8. "Look at you! You're so FAT." The emphasis would always be on that contemptible word, fat, as though it represented the sum total of all that could be wrong with life.
I heard it so often throughout my days I can't shake it, even though my mother has been gone for 15 years. A few years ago, I was finally able to lose 80 pounds, and while I know that I weigh far less than I've ever weighed in my adult life (in fact, I've never been this weight, not since I was about 12), I can feel the dark evil of a state of FAT the moment a few pounds creeps up. It can be the source of a terrible self-loathing that keeps me from looking in mirrors, that has me gauging the rolls on my midsection by touch and deciphering how much I weigh without getting on a scale (because I wouldn't be able to handle what I saw) but by pulling on different pairs of jeans that tell me where I fall in my fluctuating weight spectrum. It can have me sobbing when feeling exercise clothes a bit too tight or heading for a nap to escape the deep depression of worthlessness.
The sad-but-true fact is that even though I wear a size 4, and struggle without end to prevent myself from sliding into a size 6, I feel FAT. I know cognitively this is ridiculous, foolish, downright clinically worrisome, but I can feel like an enormous cow, like I used to at any point in my life where my mother's words would rise up and anoint me a failure because even though I could have lasting friendships and a love for learning, even though I might excel at public speaking and have a gloriously satisfying marriage, I was still . . . so . . . FAT. Today, I can stand in front of a mirror and see that I look pretty good . . . well, I look kind of good, but when I walk away, that internal image, forged in the misfit-y inadequacies and self-consciousness of childhood, projects itself brightly and I feel huge, as big as when I weighed greater than 200 pounds. I turn sideways down aisles and try on clothes that I am certain are way too small until I pull them over my head and look in the mirror with astonishment at their perfect fit. I see the reflection and say with surprise and relief, "Oh! You look okay after all!"
It's a real curse, one passed on to me by a mother obsessed with weight. I don't know why, precisely; she was rail thin when she was young and hated it, was mocked by schoolmates. In the years prior to her death, she grew quite large herself due to medications and a completely undisciplined diet. But she could never comment on my looks with pure, unfeigned appreciation. She'd always add, "If only you weren't so FAT." She couldn't believe my husband wanted to marry me. She couldn't understand why people liked me so much. "Really? The audience thought you were good? Did anyone comment on your weight?"
She didn't mean to do it. It was some sort of fear she had about how things would go for me if I had certain obstacles. What's interesting is that when I look back at photos of myself at 8, 10, 14 years old—I looked just fine. I don't see FAT there at all; just a girl. Who was she comparing me to?
I'd love to be free of it. I don't know how to rid myself of it. I've totally forgiven my mom for what I know was something she thought she was doing out of love, but I can't begin to tell you how it overwhelms me with grief during times when I need all the internal resources I can muster. Should she have talked to me about my weight? Of course! But to link my worth and my talents to the size on the label has hobbled me. When I'm battling with my reluctant body and the pounds are creeping up, I practically need medication to prevent a breakdown. Honestly, sometimes it wears me out. One thing I know for sure is that parents can pass on messages that will lodge in an interior crawlspace in the brain and never be flushed out. Consider what you're communicating in your words and in what you're modeling.
I've grown up with the "you are so fat" refrain in my head, and not in the funny, unconsciously rude manner this performer parodied. No, in my life it was my mother's semi-constant whine: "Oh, HONEY," she'd say in exasperation and something between disgust and frustration, "you are so FAT." I can remember her saying this to me when I was, oh, 9 years old—maybe 8. "Look at you! You're so FAT." The emphasis would always be on that contemptible word, fat, as though it represented the sum total of all that could be wrong with life.
I heard it so often throughout my days I can't shake it, even though my mother has been gone for 15 years. A few years ago, I was finally able to lose 80 pounds, and while I know that I weigh far less than I've ever weighed in my adult life (in fact, I've never been this weight, not since I was about 12), I can feel the dark evil of a state of FAT the moment a few pounds creeps up. It can be the source of a terrible self-loathing that keeps me from looking in mirrors, that has me gauging the rolls on my midsection by touch and deciphering how much I weigh without getting on a scale (because I wouldn't be able to handle what I saw) but by pulling on different pairs of jeans that tell me where I fall in my fluctuating weight spectrum. It can have me sobbing when feeling exercise clothes a bit too tight or heading for a nap to escape the deep depression of worthlessness.
The sad-but-true fact is that even though I wear a size 4, and struggle without end to prevent myself from sliding into a size 6, I feel FAT. I know cognitively this is ridiculous, foolish, downright clinically worrisome, but I can feel like an enormous cow, like I used to at any point in my life where my mother's words would rise up and anoint me a failure because even though I could have lasting friendships and a love for learning, even though I might excel at public speaking and have a gloriously satisfying marriage, I was still . . . so . . . FAT. Today, I can stand in front of a mirror and see that I look pretty good . . . well, I look kind of good, but when I walk away, that internal image, forged in the misfit-y inadequacies and self-consciousness of childhood, projects itself brightly and I feel huge, as big as when I weighed greater than 200 pounds. I turn sideways down aisles and try on clothes that I am certain are way too small until I pull them over my head and look in the mirror with astonishment at their perfect fit. I see the reflection and say with surprise and relief, "Oh! You look okay after all!"
It's a real curse, one passed on to me by a mother obsessed with weight. I don't know why, precisely; she was rail thin when she was young and hated it, was mocked by schoolmates. In the years prior to her death, she grew quite large herself due to medications and a completely undisciplined diet. But she could never comment on my looks with pure, unfeigned appreciation. She'd always add, "If only you weren't so FAT." She couldn't believe my husband wanted to marry me. She couldn't understand why people liked me so much. "Really? The audience thought you were good? Did anyone comment on your weight?"
She didn't mean to do it. It was some sort of fear she had about how things would go for me if I had certain obstacles. What's interesting is that when I look back at photos of myself at 8, 10, 14 years old—I looked just fine. I don't see FAT there at all; just a girl. Who was she comparing me to?
I'd love to be free of it. I don't know how to rid myself of it. I've totally forgiven my mom for what I know was something she thought she was doing out of love, but I can't begin to tell you how it overwhelms me with grief during times when I need all the internal resources I can muster. Should she have talked to me about my weight? Of course! But to link my worth and my talents to the size on the label has hobbled me. When I'm battling with my reluctant body and the pounds are creeping up, I practically need medication to prevent a breakdown. Honestly, sometimes it wears me out. One thing I know for sure is that parents can pass on messages that will lodge in an interior crawlspace in the brain and never be flushed out. Consider what you're communicating in your words and in what you're modeling.
Defender of Lost Causes
Two books that appeal to me greatly (for obvious reasons) are Tim Gunn's Gunn's Golden Rules: Life's Little Lessons for Making it Work, and Clinton Kelly's Freakin Fabulous: How to Dress, Speak, Behave, Eat, Drink, Entertain, Decorate, and Generally Be Better than Everyone Else. Both are insanely funny, and I find funny people to be super-smart, and they are both made crazy by the complete lack of concern in today's American society for civility, decorum, deportment, respect, speaking well, managing perceptions, simple good manners, and . . . caring. Caring about things that used to matter, such as the aforementioned list. Caring for what's missing. I call it character, although the outward appearance of character is easy to fake. The thing is: if you don't have it, please, go ahead and fake it. It just makes social interaction more pleasant all the way around. If you don't even know how to fake it well, these books will help.
Respect Trumps Everything
I don't care how much you detest someone's life choices, or what you think of their clothing, or if you can't stand their table manners. For goodness' sake, be respectful. You can keep your thoughts to yourself. You can maintain an attitude of respect even if someone doesn't smell good. You can be kind to someone who's lifestyle you find odious.
What is it with people who feel they have to express their personal feelings about someone's stuff? Since when is that required? Jerks who are rude to women in hijabs, who recoil from those who differ in politics, who act like smokers or gays or the obese are beneath simple human courtesy are just a scourge on this society, and the most glaring indication of a culture without conscience.
I don't deny that some people can really push my buttons, especially when they press themselves on me and demand I not only accept and celebrate their choices, but love them for it. For me, whether or not I love you is not going to have anything to do with your actions; it's a decision I make. But here's the thing: even if I decide not to love you, I can still be respectful in simple interactions. That's my goal. I acknowledge I'm not always successful, but it is my goal.
A room full of left-wingers and right-wingers can treat each other courteously. It is possible. It is entirely doable for people who have strong personal feelings about homosexuality to work companionably with gay men and women, because there's no requirement that we wear our opinions like a big sign for everyone to read. Get over your need to establish with others where you stand on the way they think or live. I won't turn up my nose at your excessive eating habits if you'll keep quiet about how much you hate Christians. Let's just treat each other with civility. That's how civilizations of different kinds of people have always thrived.
What is it with people who feel they have to express their personal feelings about someone's stuff? Since when is that required? Jerks who are rude to women in hijabs, who recoil from those who differ in politics, who act like smokers or gays or the obese are beneath simple human courtesy are just a scourge on this society, and the most glaring indication of a culture without conscience.
I don't deny that some people can really push my buttons, especially when they press themselves on me and demand I not only accept and celebrate their choices, but love them for it. For me, whether or not I love you is not going to have anything to do with your actions; it's a decision I make. But here's the thing: even if I decide not to love you, I can still be respectful in simple interactions. That's my goal. I acknowledge I'm not always successful, but it is my goal.
A room full of left-wingers and right-wingers can treat each other courteously. It is possible. It is entirely doable for people who have strong personal feelings about homosexuality to work companionably with gay men and women, because there's no requirement that we wear our opinions like a big sign for everyone to read. Get over your need to establish with others where you stand on the way they think or live. I won't turn up my nose at your excessive eating habits if you'll keep quiet about how much you hate Christians. Let's just treat each other with civility. That's how civilizations of different kinds of people have always thrived.
What mother would say
Just seen on Facebook: "Never email anyone anything you wouldn't want your mother to see. Never email anything with content about a third party you wouldn't want that third party to read. What happens on the Internet stays . . . "
I will add: Never post anything anywhere you wouldn't want someone—anyone—to see or read, whether an enemy, an employer, a potential client, an old friend, a coworker. Stop posting rabid political opinions on social networking sites if someone important to you who holds opposing views might see it and think twice about you in some significant capacity. (Is it really absolutely necessary that everyone know your political views at any given moment?) Don't post a stupid party photo of yourself on LinkedIn, where employers check out your professional qualifications; as well, don't insert your favorite blog or fan site or Facebook page as your "Personal Website" on LinkedIn.
Don't engage with idiots in the idiotic, I-have-too-much-time-on-my-hands-and-spend-all-my-hours-commenting-on-blog-posts, quarreling, inane fighting comments on a blog. Don't get drunk and cuss out your family members on Facebook; even in writing, it's obvious you're plastered. As well, don't start a family or friend feud on FB—why on earth do you want everyone to see your sad, childlike, unaware, impaired baiting of perceived enemies for whom most of your list of friends care not one little bit?
An aphorism widely attributed to Abraham Lincoln, but which was more likely Samuel Butler: "Tis better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt." Force yourself to stop and wait before you hit "enter." Give it an hour, or maybe a day. How about just disciplining yourself not to send a nasty response or start an incendiary thread? Be wise. It's so rare these days.
I will add: Never post anything anywhere you wouldn't want someone—anyone—to see or read, whether an enemy, an employer, a potential client, an old friend, a coworker. Stop posting rabid political opinions on social networking sites if someone important to you who holds opposing views might see it and think twice about you in some significant capacity. (Is it really absolutely necessary that everyone know your political views at any given moment?) Don't post a stupid party photo of yourself on LinkedIn, where employers check out your professional qualifications; as well, don't insert your favorite blog or fan site or Facebook page as your "Personal Website" on LinkedIn.
Don't engage with idiots in the idiotic, I-have-too-much-time-on-my-hands-and-spend-all-my-hours-commenting-on-blog-posts, quarreling, inane fighting comments on a blog. Don't get drunk and cuss out your family members on Facebook; even in writing, it's obvious you're plastered. As well, don't start a family or friend feud on FB—why on earth do you want everyone to see your sad, childlike, unaware, impaired baiting of perceived enemies for whom most of your list of friends care not one little bit?
An aphorism widely attributed to Abraham Lincoln, but which was more likely Samuel Butler: "Tis better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to speak and remove all doubt." Force yourself to stop and wait before you hit "enter." Give it an hour, or maybe a day. How about just disciplining yourself not to send a nasty response or start an incendiary thread? Be wise. It's so rare these days.
Can I blame it on the culture?
I had lunch with a friend yesterday, and as we talked about the things of which I speak to audiences and the issues that ignite my passions, he remarked that while he agreed wholeheartedly with what I was saying, as a business executive, a "black-and-white-guy," he had to ask himself if what I had to offer was worth paying for. I responded that the black-and-white considerations occur when character fails on the job so spectacularly that it gets a company sued. "The first time your controller gets stupid drunk at a company function and dances on the banquet table while making insulting sexual comments to your female clients, you will suddenly find the kind of training I do and the question I encourage people to address is suddenly very important indeed," I said. That question is: does character matter? And here are more relevant questions: does respect for others keep a company running? Does a workforce that knows its worth, understands each other's personalities, can adjust to meet clients and customers individually, and manages with integrity as a high priority make money or lose it? Do people who know how to act professionally and with a perspective of what is right and wrong and appropriate build a company or tear it down? All it takes is one egregious, uncivil incident to destroy an organization's reputation and send it to the poorhouse with legal costs that could have been avoided if someone in charge had realized that, oh yes, this is a black-and-white issue.
I care about this stuff, and it matters. The way we present ourselves matters, not just in outward appearances, but from the inside, where we make decisions to behave according to moral and ethical principles or not. How we "see" each other and respond to the specifics of personality and expression can make all the difference in the way executives, supervisors, and even the lowliest line workers interact with one another. Morale can be fabulous or it can be crap. Employees can stay for years, engaged and excited, or they can stay for years angry, bored, and sabotaging all success, or they can just leave in droves, costing enormous amounts in hiring and training.
This executive went on in our conversation to tell me of the owners of his company, who routinely get sloshed at functions and encourage the female employees to dress something like the servers at Hooters—and this is a firm that supplies products to corporate offices. "If the guys at the top won't get on board with it," he said, "it will never stick." And while that is certainly true, it's also true that, as with his division, any true leader who cares about this stuff can affect his or her corner of the organization. He leads his team with the utmost civility, encourages them to be the most professional in the company, and teaches his staff to treat customers and coworkers with respect. (I suspect his career in the military has much to do with the way he expresses his values.) He and his staff are highly respected and clearly out ahead of much of the rest of the organization. He obviously considers it a black-and-white thing, even if he doesn't consciously see the immediate value.
I told my husband of my lunch with my executive friend, and how I felt that I am somehow not able to show people that what I've got to say, train, and coach others in can save them dollars and increase their value, their ability to interact intelligently and professionally, and thus create a reputation of quality. I need to find some other work to bring in funds for a while, because I feel like I need to work more to refine and clarify how I position myself. We discussed the economy and how people don't want to spend money on "soft" issues during tough times, but my wise husband commented, "Remember this: part of the reason could be that you are talking about character in a world that doesn't care much about it at all."
Is that true? Maybe. I think lots of people care but think it can't be taught or reinforced or encouraged. I believe it can. I think it's more than just opinion or cultural context or back-in-the-day-when-we-were-taught-differently. I think it can be concrete and verifiable as adding to what makes people live thoughtfully and well, to what makes organizations run beautifully and adds loads to the bottom line. I agree with Neal Mayerson, the director of the VIA Institute on Character, when he says, "The time has come to dedicate a serious scientific effort to map the complex terrain of human character—those aspects of human personality that account for us being our best selves and living our best lives." Read his further comments here at a Discovery blog, and pardon me while I start looking for work to subsidize my passion.
Sue Thompson
I develop people and organizations from the inside out! I'm an author, a speaker, a coach, and a consultant. See my website at www.BeExceptional.biz. Sign up for my unique newsletter!