Odd correlations

So, I took a little tumble Saturday night, while enjoying an evening walk with my little boy... Had the stitches removed earlier today, and I'm looking forward to some dental work on Monday and Tuesday...

Yeah. Stinks. More details to come at a later date, after I've emerged on the other side of the horror.

Anyway. It reminds me of our car. Let me explain.

Our last automobile purchase was a big, old, green station wagon. We found the machine on craigslist, took it for a spin, and bought it on the spot. It's not perfect, but it's reliable, American-made (hence, less expensive repairs), and we can haul reasonable amounts of stuff in it.

But it was an older woman's car, a widow. She'd bought it when her husband was still alive. They shared it, drove it to nearby locations, did the grocery shopping with it, etc. Then he died, and she kept the car and continued to use it to get around... But it's a big car. Long. Ungainly. She had an incident with the side of the garage. And then, she had another incident. Her kids repaired the first one, but after that, the marks didn't seem to be such a big deal.

When the car came to us, it still sported the dents and dings from the last Missus. We planned to fix them, but we'd bought it right before a trip to the beach; we drove it with dings intact, and began to wonder en route if perhaps our less-than-perfect appearance made other drivers steer clear of us. Did we seem to be reckless? Unconcerned? Because this forest green beast showed such evidence of past run-ins, did people give us a slightly wider berth as they passed?

It seemed that they did. And I know that I am a much more bold driver with a "beater" than I am when my car is flawless.

So we left the dings and dents alone. And then, since we already had the old attempted bumper repair with slightly un-matching paint, had the scratches on the doors, it seemed pointless and unnecessary to keep the wagon washed. I mean, what was the point, really? You could barely tell it was clean anyway. Polished? Pshaw. It just didn't happen. It's not going to. I suppose we've grown fond of the freedom that imperfect (dare I say unattractive?) provides.

Oddly, having a singularly messed up, hideous countenance has had a freeing effect on my efforts to make myself look my best. My ragged, until-recently stitched together face? My bruised skin? The jagged tooth issues? They're sort of like the points of impact on the green car: No makeup is required for now. What's the point? No one will notice because they'll be looking at me surreptitiously, wondering if my husband beats me or whether I stumbled drunkenly into a pole or something. They won't even notice if I skip eye shadow or lip color.

In truth, no one was really looking before. Now, if they're looking, it's only because they can't help themselves and they're morbidly curious. Either way, I'm definitely off the hook.

All the same, I'll hold onto my war paint. This, too, shall pass—and I do still have a husband and son to consider.

Prayers are welcome. Lots of healing prayers. Thanks.

How to advise others

In a word: don’t.

No one wants to hear it. No one is seeking your wisdom. No one believes you can really help them. And if they ask for your opinion? Confirm this: make absolutely certain they really, truly want your opinion. Then, refrain from giving it to them.

Most of the time, people don’t want another opinion. They want a voice, other than the one inside their heads, and they want that outside voice to agree completely with everything they’re saying or doing or thinking.

And I can’t blame them. I’m the same way. When people advise me, of anything, my gut instinct (once I’ve confirmed that they don’t agree with me) is to tune them out until they’ve finished imparting knowledge. What could they possibly know? They’re not me. They’ve never felt what I feel. Besides, they’re wrong, about everything. And so, I blunder on in my mistakes, holding tightly to my own weird thought system that keeps me bound in my current messes.

And we’re all that way. I heard a saying once that went something like this: “People do whatever they want to do for their own good reasons.” Meaning, they won’t do anything for my good reasons—only for theirs. I have to remind myself of that daily.

So, when I see people heading down the sure path of regret—bad decisions made but not yet realized, poor choices not yet played out, foolish investments just before the big crash—I simply bite my tongue. No one would listen anyway. What’s the point of creating all those hard feelings? The people I want to save are not eager for my two cents, and in truth, I’d probably be about as receptive as they are if I were in their boat. Even if they ask for my thoughts, I try to keep said thoughts as bland and meaningless as I can.

It’s taken me nearly 40 years to learn this truth, and I’m still learning it. My big mouth has cost me some friends; it may cost me some more before I really get a strong hold on it. But if I know anything, I know that in addition to having far too many opinions and predictions, I’m a pretty poor liar; if I can’t say what I feel, I’d better not say a word. Besides, if someone’s always asking for another opinion, chances are he’s not too certain about his own. More opinions coming that person’s way can only further confuse him.

One nice lesson learned is that every now and then, I’m completely off base. I clearly recall, a few years back, vehemently advising a gal pal to “dump the guy—he’s a loser.” She didn’t listen to me, thankfully; now, they’re happily married with a sweet little son. I don’t mind being wrong in a case like that. : )