Truth or Complaint

   I’ve presented myself a challenge to really monitor and curtail any complaining I might be doing for this week. I’m hoping that I find at the end of the week a new focus on the words I use and the attitude they are shared with.

   So, the first day came and went and as I look back, I think that one area that must be buttoned up is the difference between truth and complaint. If someone sidles up and asks, “How are you?” If we are honest, we may have to say something other than the standard answer of fine. Instead, we may need to answer that we are really having a rough day, perhaps feel poorly, or are just so-so. There is a difference between acknowledging truth, even unpleasant truth, and complaining.
   It is the next breath that the complaint can come. Complaints are the whining and nagging that can come after. For a Sunday, it wasn’t too hard overall, but there were a few moments when I caught myself afterward. Was that a bit of sarcasm and carping that just came out of my mouth? Where is the duct tape when I need it? Again, I stress that it is not the same thing as discussing or simply stating facts, but it is when the criticism comes in. So, it was hard, but I did find my focus was a little different as I tried to be more fact based and less fault finding.

The Sum of Parts

   I have heard writers refer to being more than the “sum of the parts” for years. But, I haven’t really given much thought as to what that meant. Then, flipping through the Guidepost, I saw an article by Glenn Close. She wrote about mental illness in her family, and how her sister said that she was “not her disease, but was being treated for her disease.” I love that! That to me made the sum of parts all fall into place.

   I am more than the sum of my parts. I am more than my hopes and fears, my insecurities and confidences, my successes and failures. I am more than what could be and what is. What a relief! I can find myself riding the tidal wave of current events and being pushed right up onto the beach so quickly that my head is in a tail spin. Everything is going along fine and then, woosh, the speed picks up and I can feel the wave to start wanting to pull me into a tumble again. When the parts get to be overwhelming, I want to stand up and yell, I am not a disease, a failure, a perception, a success! I am me and I am more than the sum of my parts!

Staged Face

She stood on stage. She had the smile perfectly practiced. Her poise came through and she seemed to speak calm and sweetness. Every movement was practiced, the way the microphone was held, the tilt of the head. To the most casual and even slightly mediocre observant watcher, she appears content and happy. It is in the eyes that you can catch a glimpse of the girl who is hiding behind the stage face. The doubt of her self-worth, the pain of hurt, and the uncertainty of growing up are present behind the mascara and eye-liner.
She is beautiful. And she doubts this. She is capable. And she doubts this. She is loved. And she doubts this.

I saw through the stage face. I have worn one as well at times. It is the face you put on when you don’t want people to comment, to state the platitudes which are well known and overly used. They are handy things, perhaps not good – but handy. Especially when having to face a crowd that is hostile, overly emotional, or just blasé. It is a helpful skill when stage lights are in your eyes and you can’t see the crowd at all. Yet, they think that you have singled one of them out specially. It is useful even when dealing with other tasks, which are unpleasant and require some sort of interaction. Yes, useful – but not always good. It isn’t always good because there is no one to disrupt the influence of the lie, to help us relearn truth.
Look beyond the stage face, look in the eyes. Let someone see past yours. Then, the healing can begin.

Swing Sets and Subtle Lies

Kasey was her name, a blond girl who was playing by herself on the swings in the elementary school playground. I, in my moment of fashion independence and with Punky Brooster influence, was in double layer socks of different colors. She looked lonely, I offered friendship – we were in kindergarten. I don’t remember that first conversation verbatim, but it basically consisted of let’s play.

We tend to think when we are lonely that we are alone in that, compounding the loneliness. When we are hurting, we think that it’s unique to us and we are the only ones who have such pain or suffer in the silence or complaints of life. When we suffer at the hands of someone else, we often think we are alone and that no one else would understand. What a subtle lie that is.
Yes, a lie! Come on, think about it! It’s like a mirage that is made of tissue paper. From far away it looks pretty convincing, but up close, we can see that something is just a bit off. We all get lonely, we all have hurts, we all feel hurt due to someone else. Does the type of injury or frequency or severity vary? Yes. Does the type of remedy needed or timeline for healing vary? Yes. Are we alone? No!
I think it was a little easier in kindergarten, but the lesson learned then is still a relevant one today. Offer friendship, you may just get something wonderful in return.