I was asked to make a short TikTok to advise young people. “Don’t set yourself on fire!” seemed too obvious. Advising young people – or anyone else for that matter – flies in the face of the truth that we don’t listen until we are either ready to listen or forced to. The one I did as part of the challenge didn’t fit directly. It does, however, imply the superpower of silence in the face of argumentative accusation or criticism. The last few years seem to have made it apparent that we all must practice the fine art of allowing information to penetrate our idiotic heads. To give people the benefit of the doubt when we want to judge them. To know that despite the consequences of our actions, most of the time, our intentions didn’t lead us there. To know that idle gossip is fun (of course it is), but it also perpetuates misinformation. This happens both in our personal lives and in our society in general.
I’m as guilty as anyone else of doing it. We all recognize the dragonfire of defensiveness when we hear people repeat things that are wildly untrue. Or worse, when they are actually true!
I have no right to advise anyone, regardless of age. I’ve learned so many lessons that I obviously can’t consistently implement. I guess you could say Life Lessons are algebra. You’ll learn it but never use it again.
People forget my background and the way I was raised. Yes, it was damaging. But it also left me with a visceral radar. There are times when I doubt it. I don’t know why because time after time, I discovered later that it was dead on, even when there wasn’t anything overt to signal my reaction. It’s important to know that I’ve been wrong, too – at least as far as I know. For people who don’t have it, I can’t quite explain the discomfort and unease some people transmit. It made me feel like the damage from my childhood broke something in me. Though I don’t like it now that I’m older, I think it is a strength. It’s sometimes caused me problems because I struggle to explain to people that other people around them might be concealing some serious defects. They look at me like I’m crazy. I’d like people to stop and seriously consider what I’m telling them, even if there is no evidence to support my radar.
Today, I discovered that I was more than right about someone. It gave me a little bit of PTSD for the day not long after my surgery when I thought I might have to do some serious damage. It led me to take one-on-one self-defense tutorials. Even with a long, painful scar in the middle of my stomach. The truth is that no one can stop bad people. The police, if they help at all, only ‘help’ after the crazy person has caused harm.
Today’s discovery was a revelation and affirmation. It proved that I wasn’t crazy, at least not that way.
Most people walking around are good, decent people. I still believe that.
But I also know that people have many secrets. Some dark, some personal. And among them are a few interspersed evil human beings among us.
I’m not going to share the details of one of the people I was right about. It’s disgusting any way you look at it. I knew the person was bad. I didn’t know how right I was. I was lucky – and so were a lot of other people. There were days when I expected the worse. There were days when I almost hoped I’d have to react. At least then, the person wouldn’t be around to do further harm. Or I’d be beneath a pile of brush somewhere in the fields. That I recognize a residual part of my dad in me, what I call “The Bobby Dean,” makes me laugh and a little nervous.
I realize that a small part of my continuing to do push-ups and stay in shape is that people will see an older man with a smile. They’ll assume I don’t have a radar that warns me about them. I’m still wondering why I continue to have self-doubt when it goes off. My life teaches me over and over that I shouldn’t. I never fear people when they approach me, when they need help, or even when they are acting strangely. I’m very open to people. It’s the ones you don’t see coming that cause so much havoc.
Before finishing, I’d also like to say I’m disheartened that our system doesn’t do more to help people when they’ve identified the bad people. Someone in my satellite circle is currently experiencing a little bit of a nightmare trying to navigate the impersonal and bureaucratic system that is supposed to protect them. I’d like to be hopeful and enthusiastic, but I also know that there are times when things go wrong. Afterward, the people who could have done something inevitably ask, “What could we have done?”
The answer is, “Well, something!”
PS I don’t like the tone of these words, but since I’m an imperfectionist, I’m leaving them as is. Everyone brings their own filters and preconceptions to our behavior and words anyway. There’s no use trying to control or curate it.
“It’s not WHAT you’re hiding. It’s THAT you’re hiding.”
Another Dave Worthen classic line.
Since your partner hasn’t seen whatever you’re doing or hiding, they only have one set of responses: fear, anger, helplessness, and unlovingness.
You could be hiding a picture, a text, or anything. You could be hiding a huge secret. A secret life.
The reality is that they don’t know what it is.
It could be anything.
Given how common this sort of thing is, they’ve witnessed innumerable marriages and relationships explode as a result of these secrets. There’s good reason for them to fear it. Some people on the wrong end were great examples of loving, trustworthy partners. And they still fell victim to it. They know it might not reflect the person, but what solace can someone take from the fact that it wasn’t really about them?
That’s why hiding things is poison to a relationship. You might convince yourself you’re doing so to avoid hurting your partner. You aren’t. They deserve to know and to be able to respond and react accordingly, based on whatever is being hidden.
Relationships are partnerships. Both need access to the truth to feel trusted and trusting.
The act of hiding anything is a hammer to your foundation.
Everyone knows this because it is obvious.
But each person doing the hiding has a rationalization and a set of at-the-ready explanations. If they are approached with questions, usually the Dragonfire comes out to burn anyone getting close.
The person hiding simply prolongs the inevitable discovery of what’s being hidden.
That’s two blows: the hiding as an act and the content of what’s being hidden.
It significantly impacts them and their ability to trust other people – or even themselves. They had a spidey sense of something amiss and ignored it for the sake of the relationship. It impairs the current relationship. If it ends, it damages their ability to leave it behind them when they attempt to be with another person. The person hiding things goes on to another relationship, too, and without learning why how they handled their last one wrong will probably lead them to double down on the hiding with the next partner. It degenerates into an endless cycle for them.
High-value partners don’t want this in their most important connection in life.
I stopped at the inconvenience store on the way home. The Nepali clerk was stocking the lottery scratch-off rolls. She had one loose one left that she didn’t want to place loosely in the holder. “Do you want it?” she asked. “No,” I initially replied. But then I realized I should tempt fate. “How much is it?” I asked. “$10 dollars.” Hmmm. “Well, okay, let’s tempt fate. Maybe this will be one of those stories of coincidence.” The guy behind me said, “That would be amazing!” I took it over by the self-scanner and scratched the reader strip without bothering with the top half. I won my $10 back. Though it sounds stupid, for just a moment, I had this feeling that perhaps the universe was about to open one of its rare surprise boxes for me. The clerk and the other man felt it too. We all laughed in recognition of thinking that maybe we almost witnessed a surprise.
As I headed to my car, two addicts approached, a man and a woman. I recognized the man from a previous encounter. He’s difficult to understand. They were walking a large, sweet-natured dog, which I kneeled and petted. I figured out the man wanted a cigarette, so I went inside and got them cigarettes. The woman was beyond appreciative. They moved to the side of the building to smoke. She held her back in a certain way, which I recognized as serious back pain. She’d seen better days. Her clothes were dirty, and her hair was probably a mess three days ago. But she smiled back at me, even as she seemed to understand what her male companion was saying. Though I grew up with the worst mumbler on the planet, my dad, I scarcely understood every fifth word her companion uttered. The woman looked at me again and made eye contact.
I smiled back, hoping an infusion of a bit of my energy might reach her.
You never know.
About any moment.
. . .
Earlier in the week, I received an unprovoked attack email that denigrated me with seething anger. Happy people don’t write words like those. I felt sorrow and sympathy for the author. I’m certain that the author doesn’t understand that the mere act of sending such an email telegraphs to anyone with an appreciation for human behavior and psychology that they are unhappy. Part of their motivation was to be a revisionist of the past; that’s normal, and everyone does it. People need to buttress their self-image. Revisionists are easy to spot because of their reluctance to admit wrongdoing or cast themselves in a questionable light. That’s not to say that some of what they wrote isn’t accurate! It is incomplete, however.
The other part was an attempt to silence me when I write about parts of my life that overlap. I go out of my way most of the time to avoid spilling people’s secrets or the things that they prefer to be kept hidden. Most people aren’t like me. They won’t share their warts, believing that people don’t otherwise know. This is one of the reasons I can’t be blackmailed. I’ll spill my secrets regardless of whether I need to. I’ll release nude pictures of myself after eating six Happy Meals. I don’t care. It’s hard to shame someone who willingly shares their life. I think back to dealing with some of my family, who spent years failing to dissuade me from finding out some of my family history.
As for convincing people that they have the wrong idea about me, that’s foolish. If people have only a partial story, it’s hard to blame them for listening to the person with the ax to grind. “Only the spoon knows what is stirring in the pot” is always an apt phrase to remember. As for the rest, slander is when you willfully and knowingly speak mistruths, and libel is when you write them. And if it is true? It’s neither.
It’s odd to see self-righteousness from someone who doesn’t share their full story. I don’t feel self-righteous precisely because I’m the first to say I’ve been a hypocrite. But I’m not ashamed to share the stupid things I’ve done. But I do know that I know a lot that would embarrass the hell out of people. It’s not my job to share it, nor do I want to. I write about this when I reference seeing behind so many people’s curtains.
I willingly open my curtains, even if makes you wonder if I’ve lost my damn mind.
I won’t open your curtains unless it overlaps with my story.
Go be happy.
It’s easy NOT to hear me or read my words. Change the channel, don’t look at my social media or blog, and just live a happy life.
P.S. Parenthetically Speaking 