You Have to Believe Me!

A while back in a Facebook status, I promised never to write the words "You have to believe me!" ever in anything. I don't think my friends quite understood why. Frankly, it's because it's the stupidest cliche I've ever heard. It's not actually going to convince anyone (it should have quite the opposite effect, because it's essentially telling somebody else what to think), and I don't think anyone would actually say it: I think the cliche has simply been perpetuated as a cinematic convention to express Cassandra's frustration.

And yet, I find myself nearly that desperate in my communication with close friends and acquaintances. I have recently been on several dates with men not of my faith (okay, more like not adhering to it) for reasons. For several of them, in fact. Those relationships are not going forward for other reasons. These men are not really a problem (anymore), but they did cause a huge problem that reiterated to me something I nearly learned about myself in High School: I have pushy friends.

That was just a little facetious. Truly, I have very caring, loving, and pushy friends. The problem is that I too often spend any time at all listening to how they think I should live my life. I actually listen, and think that I should put stock in their totally ignorant opinions. While admittedly, sometimes an objective perspective is necessary (if you see me letting myself be abused, please, feel free to call 911, stage an intervention, or even mention it to me sometime, with maybe a few reliable articles to back up your observations) I am still the only expert on how to live my life.

I have sat silently through massive rants scattered all the way along the spectrum from "IMMEDIATELY CEASE ALL CONTACT; AVOID CONTAMINATION!" to "You HAVE to marry him and start popping out half-Mormon kids!" (there's no such thing. I blogged about that a couple of years ago). I listen quietly because these people are trying to express their own kind of love, but what they're actually saying more loudly than that OR their denotative point is "I don't trust you - you're going to screw this up. Again." It's a poisonous message.

I am not eighteen anymore, though. I am older, and I have learned to trust myself. I may turn to others for validation (and never, ever, ever get it because my irl friends, while being adorably concerned, are also insensitive to an extreme degree), but I know where I get my instructions. I belong to several clear chains of command, and none of them are on any of them. Not a single one. Friendship does not ever entitle someone to inspiration about what I should do: only about what THEY should do. And none of them are listening to the Spirit tell them to STFU. (mostly because he doesn't use that word, but also, because they aren't perfect - I have also ignored such inspiration, to my chagrin).

Ah, my imperfect friends: Keep your poisonous expressions of concern to yourselves. I will do as I always have done: exactly as I please, with the agency God gave me.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Joy in the Ugly Process

Image
 Today I sat on a panel of colleagues at a "Meet the Professor" activity hosted by the English student committee. It was awesome! Such bright and interested English majors. Meanwhile, I was sitting there, a middle-aged woman, on a panel of people who had "arrived." They had reached their destination. Each of them took a moment and explained how they had succeeded, how they had found acceptance. Even those who had detoured through other paths before they got what they wanted described those detours as some kind of success: some successfully raised families, some had other jobs, etc. Some were convinced that it was because of a particular habit or capability. For several minutes, I just sat there feeling horrible, right in the middle of this impressive panel. I should have stayed silent. Blerg. I can't stay silent. I'm not that wise. So I added my two cents: I explained that I would tell them something the others would not: that sometimes you don't arrive,...
Read more

High and Low Horses

 I have not blogged in a LONG TIME and I'm so rusty.  Politics these days, amirite? My little brother pissed me off a few weeks ago in the throes of a political kerfuffle (not reasoned enough to be an argument by either definition). He accused me of posing - I don't remember exactly what he called it, but it was something like "virtue signaling." And very, very rapidly, I was trapped. I could not even attempt to do the right thing without knowing that I was doing exactly what he had just sneered at. I suppose I could go back and carefully analyze the rhetoric of the conversation and delicately unravel exactly what was happening. I am capable of that kind of analysis, but this is a blog, not a school paper, and I'm more interested in the abstractions at play. I'm always more interested in the abstractions. Let's imagine that you have a stick figure in a two-dimensional world. I'd draw it and upload it for you, but somebody stole my reMarkable. Stick fig...
Read more

The Guilt-Edged Life

Folk philosophers and self-help "experts" (seriously: what kind of person claims to be an expert in living somebody else's life!? I mean, BESIDES me) have hypothesized about the negative emotions that we struggle with when we become painfully aware of our own flawed natures. In my own experience, I can identify three, and this year, I'm going to deal with each of them differently than I have before. 1) Shame. Shame is that mortification and humiliation I feel when I see my flaws through somebody else's eyes: a symptom of valuing their opinion above its worth. I want to learn how to put negative feedback - verbal and nonverbal - into context, subordinate to what I know is true about me, the world, and God. And I want to distinguish between my actions and my identity. I can be mistaken, but I am NOT a mistake. I am Batman, but that doesn't mean I accept all the pop-philosophy of the Christopher Nolan films. 2) Guilt. Guilt is the puritanical conviction that I ha...
Read more