I Sweat the Small Stuff – Unwarranted Advice

Callousness is not a virtue, but neither is complete vulnerability. It should come as no shock to you, dear reader, that I am not perfect. I find myself living vulnerably more than I should. I let small comments, missing thank you’s, interruptions, and being ignored get to me. I know in almost every circumstance, no one (that I deal with regularly) intends to harm me, or wants to put me in a bad mood, but for some reason that makes things worse.

Let me clarify, I have thick skin, but for some reason it only applies to strangers or acquaintances. I don’t have many close friends, but the ones I do have, I’m willing to move mountains for. But some small misconnection in my brain causes me to assume that’s the way they are with me too. Or maybe, part of the assumption is that I imagine my closeness with them obligates a certain closeness with me. I’m not really sure. This all ends up resulting in me getting my feelings hurt, simply because my expectations reflect my actions, rather than theirs.

This is one of my many flaws. I’ll admit and own up to it every day of the week, but I won’t change. I’m cognizant of this issue inside of me and I do my best to put it to rest whenever it comes up, but that’s the extent of how I’m willing to act. This might seem strange, especially considering my entire essay on being open-minded, but, guess what? I’ve got a reason.

When it comes down to it, I’d rather be vulnerable than callous. I’ve been there, done the no-feeling sort of thing, and it didn’t end well. There is a beauty in a willingness to share and express your emotions, especially when you suffer from depression. If I put myself in a situation where I can’t show my hand after the cards are all dealt, then I don’t want to play.

You might think my expectations of others and my actions don’t have to be mutually exclusive, but here’s the thing, if you want something, you have to be something, and I want people to be emotionally vulnerable. To re-form the analogy: I want to show my hand, just as much as I want to see yours.

Now, this is where things get twisted. I don’t expect people, to meet my expectations. Let me know if I lost you there, because I admit this is probably the least logical part of me.

Let me attempt to dig myself out of this hole. As a writer, my job is to understand expectations. I should be able to craft a scenario, form expected outcomes, and then make this into a story. But that doesn’t mean I need to actually write what is expected because, in life, there are numerous invisible variables that are disgustingly untrackable. One cannot forecast the minutia that slowly grows into a seemingly unstoppable problem.

But a writer has to do this in their stories, or they become predictable. In that same vein, I have to expect people to simultaneously meet or deny my expectations so that way I don’t A) get hurt, or B) live in a predictable world. I guess that didn’t really make it any less strange, eh?

This is normally the part where I get high and mighty and make a point as to why you should try living this way too. But I can’t. I know it’s wrong, but it’s the rightest thing for me. Which is where my real moral lies. If you have a “flaw” and dealing with it doesn’t seem possible, then instead be mindful. As long as this flaw doesn’t hurt you or anyone else, and as long as it doesn’t detract from the quality of anyone’s life then find a way to live with it and make it an advantage. Note where the problem begins usually and walk on eggshells to avoid harming yourself or others emotionally when it comes up. If someone you love is tricky in the way I am, then maybe make an attempt to understand that this trickiness is due to circumstances neither of you can control. All you can do is make sure you do your best for that person because that’s always been good enough for me.