Small Talk

             I have a confession to make: I have not set foot in our local supermarket for at least over a year. I've shopped online or in the next town. Why? Because I just cannot bear the thought of having to make small talk with my sister's flying monkeys should I bump into them. And quite likely I would. We live in a very small town. Whereas I have been facing a lot of other situations pretty much head on, this one still beats me. It's turning out to be my Achilles heel.

             Blogger RTB has written a few posts about small talk recently (http://roots2blossom.wordpress.com/tag/small-talk/) that got me thinking as to why we all seem to struggle so much with this issue. After musing on it for a few days, the answer emerged: it's not small talk that is the problem. The problem is to have to keep doing small talk when you are well past the point of being at that stage with that person. It was RTB's realisation that sometimes there is something such as too much information, that made me think that small talk itself was not the problem. Let me explain:
            When you first meet someone (and/or in certain circumstances in public life) small talk is appropriate. But after a certain reasonable time of knowing a person, you should be able to move on to more open discussions. To have to keep doing small talk with people you have known for years isn't natural. It's like playing a board game where you never make it past square one, or like being invited to someone's house for dinner and only being given a starter but never a main meal. From those two scenarios you'd go away bored and hungry, and I think that's what happens at an emotional level when we have those sorts of interactions with people. In a way, it's also like being stuck in "Groundhog Day" (film), with people repeating the same things over and over like a protocol. It also reminds me of the Stepford Wives film. There is a woman I have known for years and both DH and I have noticed how, if we say anything that remotely strays from the "protocol", you can see in her eyes that you've lost her, her brain is starting to "malfunction" and you quickly have to "undo", so she doesn't spontaneously combust ;) Though we always have a laugh about this, I think it's very sad to live your life at that superficial level all the time...
           I was recently on a train trip and I took "The Tenant of Widlfell Hall" by Anne Brontë to read with me. I was blown away reading how the main character -Helen Graham- feels exactly how I feel about small talk:

(In this excerpt Helen is having a conversation with Mr. Markham) 

'Why have they left you alone?' I (Mr. Markham) asked.

'It is I who have left them,' was the smiling rejoinder. 'I was wearied to death with small talk - nothing wears me out like that. I cannot imagine how they can go on as they do.'

I could not help smiling at the serious depth of her wonderment.

'Is it that they think it a duty to be continually talking,' pursued she: 'and so never pause to think, but fill up with aimless trifles and vain repetitions when subjects of real interest fail to present themselves? - or do they really take a pleasure in such discourse?'

'Very likely they do,' said I; 'their shallow minds can hold no great ideas, and their light heads are carried away by trivialities that would not move a better-furnished skull; - and their only alternative to such discourse is to plunge over head and ears into the slough of scandal - which is their chief delight.'

'Not all of them, surely?' cried the lady, astonished at the bitterness of my remark.

'No, certainly; I exonerate my sister from such degraded tastes - and my mother too, if you included her in your animadversions.'

'I meant no animadversions against any one, and certainly intended no disrespectful allusions to your mother. I have known some sensible persons great adepts in that style of conversation when circumstances impelled them to it; but it is a gift I cannot boast the possession of. I kept up my attention on this occasion as long as I could, but when my powers were exhausted I stole away to seek a few minutes' repose in this quiet walk. I hate talking where there is no exchange of ideas or sentiments, and no good given or received.'

I wouldn't have been able to put it better myself...

Those Who Dish It Out...

         On the day I met El Zorro, he said to us:  "When I was in my mid-thirties I started to tell the truth whether people liked or not, and it made me feel a lot better." We commended him for this, and agreed that this was the best policy. It wouldn't take us long to realise that he likes to tell the truth to others, but to have the truth told to him? Nah, no so much... 
          One morning after breakfast he was trying to wind me up about something (I can't remember what it was now. I'm really going to have to start taking daily notes on the things that happen...) Anyway, not only I'm not picking up his bait but I shrug my shoulders as if to say: "Whateva...". He then looks at me, not looking very happy, and says: "This dismissive gesture... I didn't like it at all". I smiled and said: "well, you did say you always wanted the truth, didn't you?" 
          It seems to me that a lot of people who make a big song and dance about truth, when it comes to the truth about themselves, well, that's entirely another story, and not one they're particularly keen to hear...

On another note, the weekend after this happened, my friend calls me and says: "Guess what? Don Diego has a new girlfriend!" Well, that's interesting, for someone who made such a noise about telling the truth, he didn't mention this "interest" of his, not once for the whole weekend. I said to my friend: "what? an instant girlfriend?  just add water...?  ;)"

If You're Not Nice To The Waiter...

www.iliketoquote.com

        I had seen this quote in various places, but until this summer I had never met a person who was -literally- not nice to the waiter (not nice to other people, yes, but not nice to a waiter/waitress, never). The guy that I mentioned in previous posts -El Zorro- was absolutely horrendous to waiters/waitresses (or anybody in a position of service for that matter). It was not overt enough that you could pull him up on it, but appalling enough to make one cringe. I had never seen anything quite like it before, it was something I didn't think it existed anymore: he would treat them with an air of superiority, like they did in Victorian times, when people actually had servants, and with a horrible subtle snobbishness, arrogance, cruelty even... 

       To say that this guy had massive issues is an understatement: a psychiatrist would have a field day with him. Every evening he would have a two hour "mini-depression"; but I don't think it was real depression (people who are truly depressed don't go round advertising the fact to someone they've just met the day before), no, I think he was feeling bad about himself -and rightly so- because our bodies know the truth about ourselves, and if one is going around being so awful to some people -even thought they might be very charming to others- somehow it can't be entirely suppressed, at some point, it leaks out. 
     I felt really sorry for the guy -not in a compassionate way, but more in a "what a sad way to live" sort of way, because to live your life in that dimension, where it's all about looking good, making money, impressing people, and miss out on having true friendships, and kindness and love, is the worse life I can think of.       

Mind The Gap

I guess it's only human that our words and our actions don't always match, and as long as we aren't too deluded, and we're trying, like Kitty put it once, "to match our insides to our outsides", we can cut ourselves and others some slack for that. But if the gap between what someone says and what they do is huge, that's when we seriously need to MIND THE GAP ;)

Learning to Pick One's Battles

Dealing with "El Zorro" I had an opportunity to practise another valuable skill: choosing what "battles" to fight and which ones to let go by the wayside.

One evening we were talking about Van Gogh, (Don Diego paints as a hobby and has had his work exhibited.) I mentioned that I had gone to an exhibition of Van Gogh's letters and how I had been touched by a letter he wrote to his sister. He immediately butts in: "Van Gogh didn't have a sister! He had a brother, Theo, but no sisters. I've read two of his biographies and there was no mention of him having any sisters". Whereas ordinarily this had the potential of turning into one of those "yes, he did" "no, he didn't" obnoxious sort of argument, I thought to myself: let's go about this another way. I say: "Van Gogh DID have a sister, I'm not going to argue about it. Look it up" 
The next day he gets his phone out and starts typing. With a triumphant smile he says: "well, I'm typing it and it's not coming up right away." Then his face changes completely as he says, while sinking deeper into his seat: "Oh, Van Gogh did have a sister..."

Sometime later, he asks me what I do for work. I say: "I don't work." He says:"I don't agree with that" I was very tempted to bluntly say: "do you think I care what someone I met only yesterday thinks of what I do?" but instead I reply: "Why do you say that? What is your basis for thinking that?" He replies: "I think women should bring money home every month" I say: "But I do, I make interest from managing money" "No, that doesn't count" he retorts. "By all means, you're entitled to your opinion" I say with a unflinching smile and a tone that says "I am not at all bothered by your opinion" and I stop there. It is obvious that this is a gripe about his ex-wife and he's not interested in learning about my circumstances or reasons for not working, and that he just wants an excuse to have a rant. Which I did not give him ;) 

One evening after we get to the villa, he says he's going to jump in the pool before we go out for dinner.  I was not,  because by then the sun had gone in and my hair takes forever to dry and I didn't want to go for dinner with wet hair. I say as much and then he says: "oh, I get it, you women don't want us men to see you in a bikini because of complexes and all that" ( he includes my friend in this even though she's already said she's going to jump in the pool too- her hair dries in minutes). Both my friend and I look at him and say: "what kind of women do you hang out with? we're not like that at all." And I didn't feel like I had to go in the pool to re-inforce my point. I remembered that in the book The Gift Of Fear it mentioned how men sometimes use such statements as a form of manipulation. So I didn't fall for it. In the book it calls it "typecasting", it says: "a man labels a woman in some slightly critical way, hoping she'll feel compelled to prove his opinion is not accurate." "Not that it matters what some stranger thinks anyway, but the typecaster doesn't even believe what he says is true. He just believes that it will work."

While we're driving to dinner we start discussing books. He tells us a bit about the book he's currently reading and then he says ( in a way designed to impress us): when I finish this one I'm going to read a self-help book called "Your Erroneous Zones", have you heard about it? 
"Yeah", we say at unison, "we read it 20 years ago."

The next day, we were walking about in the town, and we see a Kiehl's shop. He looks at us all serious and says: "This shop makes bespoke perfume". I know for a fact that Kiehl's don't do perfume -at least in Europe they don't, but feel free to correct me if I'm wrong - but by this point, I wasn't going to spend any energy in correcting him ;) 

Outwitting El Zorro

          While I was away visiting friends over the last couple of weeks, I met a guy -an acquaintance of one of my friends- who gave me plenty of opportunities to practice all these skills we've been discussing for the last few months. I have quite a lot to write about him -since he was such an interesting case- but for now I'll just tell you about this one incident.
          This guy joined us for a weekend away and made an entrance that reminded me of a man with a cape dashing in on horseback. Not that he literally did that but that's the image he conjured in my mind. I have noticed for the last year how new Ns I've met all seem to make this sort of entrance: noisy and creating a centrifugal force around them, almost like a tornado. I now think this is a trick designed to create a distraction so you believe their image of a "hero" when in reality they're a villain in disguise. 
          One day while we're all having breakfast he blurts out:  "There are no women geniuses, men can have that mixture of genius and madness but women can't".
          Remembering T Reddy's DH's tip of asking clarifying questions, I say:

"Why do you say that?"

He replies:"Women can give birth to children, so they couldn't have it all. So no, they can't be geniuses as well."

"Define genius" I say.

He fumbles with his phone and googles it. Then, looking ominous, he says: "you can't define genius" and then reads from wikipedia's article: "There is no scientifically precise definition of genius, and the question of whether the notion itself has any real meaning has long been a subject of debate." "Still, I insist that there are no women geniuses."

I say: "How did you come up with this idea? Is this something that you've come to the conclusion of or have you actually read about it somewhere?"

Don Diego -we might as well call him by the name of el Zorro ;) - replies:

"Simone de Beauvior said it" 

I say: "Do you know why she said it? Did she do a study on it? Did she offer any backing for that assertion? Because really, unless you have any empirical proof, that statement is sort of moot."

He looks at me slightly confused and says:
"The only proof that I will give you is that if you think about it long enough you'll realise that it's true."

"That's not proof. In any case, you know very well that women throughout history have not had the same opportunities as men."

"They do now and there are no women geniuses"

"Nor there are men. Name a contemporary genius."

Silence. He can't come up with one. He's sinking lower in his chair. "But Simone de Beauvior said it."

"Just because someone says something, doesn't mean it's true, unless you have any real proof of this, it'll will just be your opinion but not a fact".

He goes back to insist that if I think about it long enough I'll change my mind but he's looking down and not at me while he says it. I realise that he's saying this more to convince himself than to convince me. I have disabled his argument and he knows it. 

A day later he pipes out: "I have to admit that you're the closest thing to a genius I've ever met in real life..." 

El Zorro -0, Kara and friends -1, and two, three, four... We lost count in the end of how many times we beat him. The guy didn't know what hit him. He's a good looking, well dressed, suave sort of guy who quite clearly impresses most women; he was not used to women who would challenge his assertions and not take his every word as fact.

And for the record, we weren't mean or horrible as we beat him: we simply counteracted his arguments fairly and squarely, which is more that I can say about the way he treated waiters... (and there's enough material there for a whole other post :P)

A Different Take on "The Wizard of Oz"

Can you believe that until yesterday, I had never seen the film "The Wizard of Oz"? I was very curious to see it because of all the references that have been used by other bloggers in connection with Narcissism. However, what I took from the film was entirely different. As I was watching it, it dawned on me that the three elements one needs to fight Narcissism are also there: a brain, a heart and courage.

It's interesting that the characters needing those things appear in that order: because a brain is needed first, to work out what is going on, a heart second, to be able to feel what we have been numbing for so long and courage last, to be to stand up for ourselves.
You can't have courage unless you have a heart first because courage comes from the heart. 

courage (n.) 

c.1300, from Old French corage (12c., Modern French courage) "heart, innermost feelings; temper," from Vulgar Latin *coraticum (source of Italian coraggio, Spanish coraje), from Latin cor "heart" (see heart) which remains a common metaphor for inner strength.