Fine lines and wrinkles

I am shocked every time someone does or says something nice to me. I cannot emphasize this enough.

In fact, I’m taken so off guard that I often respond with confusion or an idiotic non sequitur. I say something overly serious in response to a joke; I say something sarcastic in response to a serious personal statement. I in all ways fail to recognize “the hand of friendship.” I hit my head with my palm as soon as I leave the room, wishing I could return and ask for a “do-over.”

I can be gracious. I have learned to say “thank you” to compliments even when they seem patently false; there’s no need to discuss the issue, drawing even more attention to my lack of good quality X. The complimentor would only insist, necessitating my increasingly specific and personal examples of times when I showed terrible judgment in the area of X. And anyway, there’s no need to argue if I already know the truth.

So even in my “gracious” moments, I spend most of my time defending myself against other people’s good opinions of me.

I send gifts, write emails, call people up, occasionally say nice things. I apologize for actions or comments that I feel stupid about, even when I was probably the only one who noticed. I try to be helpful, as much as I can. I like to inform, to take on extra work for others, to do favors. I will listen to interesting people talk for hours and wish they would continue. And despite my own tendency to grow suspicious and wary of anyone being this nice to me, I expect other people to accept this as their natural due, and not to question.

But often, they do.

(At least the good ones do.)

In the attempt to answer, I make stuff up: I like doing this kind of spring cleaning; I’m good at writing emails; I can’t live without spending hours at [insert apparently boring task here]. It’s not all lies – I would go so far as to say 90% of the time, my reasons are practically lie-free – but it’s not the whole truth, either.

The truth is that sometimes, I don’t know why I do what I do, and that sometimes, it’s your fault.

Call me a closet optimist – very closeted, some would stipulate (with a derisive laugh) – but I’m easily inspired by people doing great things, or by great people doing anything. I want to get on board when people I like are involved (see post on high culture). I want to understand (see post on ed psych). I want to relate (see…um, the whole blog, I guess). That's the end-game.

But then I explain, or try to explain, to people who ask, that I have some selfish reason for all of this. It seems rude to blurt out "because you're cool." Instead, I try to convince them that I’m doing it for me; this has the bonus effect of releasing them from the obligation to pay attention, or feel guilty, or reciprocate or, worst of all, thank me.

I expect to be invisible. This is obviously a stupid expectation; I have no superpowers, and I only know three or four blind people (who can hear very well, so I’m not even invisible to them). But I expect my work, my efforts, my presence, to be taken for granted, and also to not, myself, take others for granted. It’s a terrific double standard that should work out well for everyone.

The main problem with expecting to be taken entirely for granted is that it requires that everyone else in the world be a jerk, and the people I know are not jerks at all. In fact, they’re mostly pretty great, which is why I do all that stuff for them.

It’s a fine line, of course, between doing things for people because I like them and doing things for people because I like them, and whatever the reason, the results are the same. I end up doing the same whatever-I’m-doing. I end up learning a lot, about people and spring cleaning/emailing/apparently boring task Y. There’s no need for me to ever reveal my real people-oriented motivations.

But here’s the wrinkle in my plan to hide my true, relational purposes: It occurs to me that it might matter to you, my many, many readers, who could feel used or undervalued by my pretensions to a mercenary motivation. So be assured: It all comes from affection. I don’t have a mercenary soul; I’m not even that practical, in the end. I just like you, and I’m not looking for anything in return.


Now get cracking on those “carte blanche” questions.