There are things about me I don’t want you to know about. I’m using the universal you. I don’t want you people who are reading my blog to know about them. I don’t want my friends to know about them. I don’t want my family to know about them. Sometimes, I don’t even want God to know about them.
I fall short and am weak. I don’t live up to the standard. It is hard because there are a lot of standards out there. Our culture has standards for us. Our friend groups have them too. Our parents and our bosses and our teachers. They all expect things from us, and sometimes, every once in a while, we fail to live up, and I am no different.
I’ll give you a little example: I’m not buff.
The American standard dictates that as a guy, I should be buff. I should like to eat a lot of food. I should love to play sports and be super competitive. I should win at all costs.
I don’t. I lose.
I’m not buff, and I don’t love to play sports all the time. In fact I’m pretty skinny and skrawny. I hate the weight room, and working out hurts too much for me to be partake consistently. I played volleyball in high school, not a sport that puts a lot of muscle mass on you, and wasn’t even that good.
Let’s put it this way. If guys who meet the standard of weight and muscle mass are rich in American social currency, then I’m poor. Not super poor. I have a job and can pay my rent, but I’m eating spaghetti every night.
Why am I telling you this? Shouldn’t I be hitting the weight room and working out to get big and strong like I’m supposed to be if I want to be rich? And until I get there, shouldn’t I be wearing long sleeve shirts to cover up my skinny, white arms?
Yes, if I wanted to be rich in American social currency, I probably should. I should hide my deficiencies by overcompensating, use humor to distract, and do my best to measure up.
You should too, actually. In those areas where you fall short of the standard, you should cover them up with make-up, clothing, and humor. You probably already do. Those things you’re ashamed about are probably hidden behind layers and layers of armor, armor protecting you from everyone’s judgment, protecting you even from yourself.
I’m using my gaunt figure as a silly example, but I have much bonier skeletons in my closet, and the armor I wear to protect myself from their skin is heavy and weighs me down.
Here is the question, here is where this is all leading toward: what if I took all my armor off and stopped hiding for good?
I think that men and women communicate differently.
Shocking observation, I know. I’m sure that statement will blow the minds of every single one of you. You never saw it coming. Completely out of left field. Like Galileo.
I’m being sarcastic. But seriously, I want to talk about one way we communicate differently.
Last night I was spending time with my gf and her friend. Her friend was having a mini-melt down over a conversation she had just finished with her bf (by the way, these mini-melt downs seem to happen to girls pretty consistently. I had no idea how much you girls talk about these things. crazy). Anyway, my gf was consoling, suportive, and basically coddled her friend like a baby.
I, on the other hand, did everything I could to stay out of the conversation, at first. I tried my best to watch The Office–which I don’t even like that much. It was very clear to me that this mini-melt down wasn’t even over something that was a big deal, so what help was I going to be. It was a silly miscommunication which would be really easy to fix:
She had read between the lines where she shouldn’t have. He hadn’t been as clear as he could have. Don’t read between the lines. Be more clear.
Done.
But no, we had to talk about it for 20 minutes. And that’s when I realized just how different men and women are. Well first of all, my gf wouldn’t let me be distracted. She would poke me in the middle of the convo and say, “Look at you, pretending to be distracted.”
“I’m not pretending,” I whispered. “I’m actually trying.”
“You’re so silly,” she said.
I felt a little guilty, so I turned off the office and listened, and actually it was good. Even though it was over a small thing, the conversation approached some pretty deep relationship issues, and I like deep. While the solution seemed so simple to me, and I took every opportunity I could to simplify it for her to something like,”JUST FIX IT ALREADY,” or better, “JUST GET OVER IT,” I saw the benefit in talking it out.
The big thing I noticed was the most important thing for men is to fix the problem. The most important thing for women is to nurture so the person feels better.
Both are good. Both are crucial actually. Both approaches require very different communication styles.
Shocking is it.
Oh, by the way, if you want relationship advice, don’t come to me if you need coddling. I’ll just tell you how to fix it. Sorry. It’s just the way I am.
It’s a little windy outside. Through my tint shadowed window I can see the fog shadowed sky. The trees seem a deeper green than usual, just like the way the bouganvilla by the side of the freeway looked brighter and deeper pink because of the rose colored tint on my sunglasses.
There is a long, leafy branch that is blown whenever a car goes by. It goes up. It goes down, and then in bobs for a while, like a bobber on a fishing line, only the car is the fish that got away.
Plants and humans are like lovers. I breathe a deep meal of air. A little nitrogen. A side of carbon dioxide. An entree of oxygen. My lungs digest the oxygen, giving a carbon dioxide present in return, which is, to a plant, almost like flowers or a box of chocolates, wrapped beautifully in sparkly silver wrapping paper with a red ribbon tied around it.
The plant outside my window loves chocolate. She unwraps the box carefully, making sure not to tear the paper–she’s saving that for her scrapbook–and opens the box, enamored. Then, carefully, she picks up the smallest piece and nibbles on the end, glancing every once in a while at the beautiful flowers it was given. She knows she’s loved. In return, she puts food on the table every night.
Or every breath. It’s a beautiful relationship.
Sometimes it is nice to put on my rose tinted sunglasses and stare at the world like this. It staves of cynicism, and like those AIG commercials always say, probably adds 4 years or so to your life. Unlike those AIG commercials, however, my rose tinted sunglasses don’t worry about whether I’m going to outlive my money.
The 20s are a time of experimenting, or at least that’s what I’ve heard. Sometimes I wonder if they’re just a time of unrealistic dreams and confidence shattering disappointments.
The unrealistic dreams part is definitely true for me. For example, today I was thinking, “Maybe it’s time to go to seminary. Maybe I should go be pastor.” I had just opened Fuller Theological Seminary’s website when I got interrupted and had to go do something else.
While I was working on it I got totally distracted from my thoughts about seminary. Then, in a completely separate thought, I decided all I really want to do is be an entrepreneur and start a business. Not 100% sure what that business would be, but I want to do it.
Later today I thought about how I want to work as a writer, working on articles for newspapers and magazines, and taking off time to write dozens of books.
I’m okay with dreaming for the most part. I like to dream big, and it works for me. It gives me a creative edge and motivation to compete with just about anybody. However, it gets dangerous when the dreams become like a medieval torture device, stretching my limbs apart until I break like a rag doll.
The best thing to do in these situations is to take a deep breath, write all your dreams down, then forget about them for awhile. You don’t want to forget about them forever, but right now they are more trouble than they are worth. Get them on paper, then get out.
It’s Friday, and on Friday’s, here at joebunting.com, we exclude. Sometimes we exclude people (like Good Charlotte). Sometimes we exclude feelings (like envy). Today, I’d like to ask the stupid germs in my body, the ones making me achy and giving me chills as I type this, to kindly leave.
It all started yesterday. I felt like crap all day. My bones hurt. My back hurt. I was dizzy. I was sick to my stomach (although I didn’t throw up like I did HERE which is good). Work had never been longer, especially because I had to make cold calls (I don’t like cold calls).
That’s a funny story, by the way. So I made my first cold call ever yesterday. I had a script and I was calling someone to follow up on a mailing we had sent them. The receptionist answers the phone and and says, “Hello, thank you for calling blah blah blah blah.” I couldn’t hear her.
So I asked, “Oh… hi… um… did you say this is [name of the place I was supposed to call].”
She said, “Yes, that’s right.”
I paused, confused, unsure of what to do next. Keep in mind this was my first cold call ever and that I was nervous and unhappy with having to do it in the first place.
“Oh… um…” Pause. “Sorry, I think I have the wrong number.”
“That’s quite alright. Have a good day.”
Pretty smooth, huh?
Anyway, germs, please leave. I don’t like you very much right now. Grr.
The little green cruise control light is on and the mph needle points just a bit above 65. After reading a post about hurry by Seth, I decided it was time to relax my bad driving habits. Now, the red little needle rarely gets above the 70 mark, usually hovering between it and 64 or so.
I think the needle feels a little uncomfortable it that zone. It’s used to being up by the 75 or 85 mark, but I’m sure some of the other drivers on the road appreciate the change. They’re used to looking through their rearview mirror to see a little black Honda Civic about five feet from their bumper with me snarling at them to go faster. I call myself a road rager for a reason.
I use cruise control whenever I can to help me keep from speeding. I set it to 65, then don’t think about it again. The interesting thing is because of my set speed, I observe firsthand just how inconsistent humans are.
For example, there was a black pick-up behind me driving home the other night. I had the cruise control on and was in the fast lane passing a slow, beige sedan. The pick-up looked impatient, so as soon as I could, I got into the slow lane. Mr. Pick-up didn’t know what to do. It was as if he was surprised to all of a sudden have the road to himself. Instead of zooming by like I thought he would, he slowly inched up next to me.
For some reason, after that he slowed down, and eventually got behind me again. Next, with the fast lane wide open, he got closer and closer to my bumper, tailgating me. “I have cruise control on buddy,” I said. “I’m not gonna go faster.” I hate it when people tailgate me, so instead of speeding up, I pushed the cruise control stick down and slowed by a couple miles an hour.
Right before he was about to hit me (seriously, he was that close, and in the SLOW lane of all places), he got into the fast lane again. Then, he oscillated back and forth, speeding up, slowing down, speeding up, and finally pulling back into the slow lane in front of me.
He slowed down again. “I’m not gonna slow down buddy,” I said. “I have cruise control on.” He kept getting closer. Finally, he was so close I had to get into the fast lane so I wouldn’t hit him with my automated consistency.
Then, he stepped on it. Seeing me in the fast lane, about to pass him, was too much for him I guess. He sped off 10 miles an hour faster than me.”That was weird,” I said.
This is a bad case, but in reality people oscillate in speed like this all the time. I would not have noticed it though, unless I started going the speed limit and using cruise control. Usually, when a car is in the right lane, trying to pass me, I speed up a little and get close to the guy in front of me.
It’s common in our postmodern culture to get rid of the standard. People say, “Well that might be okay for you. But for me…” I remember how Arch Bishop Rowen Williams suggested Muslim’s in England should have their own system of laws to accomodate Sharia. We go with the flow without knowing for sure whether things are right or wrong, without really caring. What is important for our postmodern society is whether it’s acceptable or not.
The question is, what happens when the incorrect thing becomes acceptable? For example, cohabitation, or living together, has become standard practice. People even have some good reasons to do it too, but statistics tell us that couples who live together suffer a much higher divorce rate.
From my vantage point, going 65 miles an hour with cruise control, everyone else seems wobbly. They speed up. They slow down. They get behind me. They pass me. They are inconsistent But I don’t notice when my goal is to go as fast as I can get away with because we’re all doing the same thing. It doesn’t look wobbly because we’re all wobbling.
The same is true for life. Perspective matters. Standards matter. The postmodern culture which denies this is doomed to be out of whack. The question then is, whose standard do you choose? But that’s the subject for a whole other post.
The United States women gymnasts were fantastic last night. They went head to head with the Chinese and found themselves equal or superior in every way, even with China’s more difficult—and therefore more rewarding—program. When the Chinese started to boffle on the balance beam, the US found themselves looking at an opening to gold.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t go through it. Nerves and pressure got in the way, and Alicia Sacramone, the team leader and oldest American gymnasts, fell twice. Nastia Liukin and Shawn Johnson both stepped out on their floor excercises. The United States lost by 2.375 points.
The team huddled at the end, their coach, Márta Károlyi, spoke encouraging words in her thick Hungarian accent. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I imagined her saying something wise and folky and soothing.
“We made some mistakes today. No one will deny that, but what would man be if we didn’t make mistakes. I am most proud of this team, not because you trampled the competition, but because you were beautiful today. You were inspirational, darlings, graceful, both in your great success and in your small failures. Now, go be graceful in defeat.”
They were. It was a beautiful sight to watch the USA and Chinese athletes and coaches embrace after the competition, watching the Chinese coach take the remarkable Shawn Johnson’s face in his hands. You were amazing team USA. Thank you.
