Photo by Euromagic; creative commons license
I’ve really been paying attention to how most people tend to expect the worst and how some of the more positive and happy people I know either 1. Actively look for the best or 2. Just stay “open” and see what happens. The polarity has been striking recently, so I’ll take that as a hint to see how I can make this work for ME.
For example: As a single woman, I have lots of choices in men and socializing right now, but my focus for this summer has been much more on family and home and on enjoying these last months of having both girls at home before they race off into the world. Even the most interesting man can’t top that right now, and there’ll be plenty of time to get back to socializing again next month when the house empties a bit.
And that’s how I’m choosing to look at it. I’m not in any rush; I’m just enjoying the journey. Right now, I’m happily single and at some point soon, I’ll be happily in another relationship. The key word is happily.
Several single coworkers and friends of mine occasionally annoy me with snide comments about not being remarried. They see dating as a race or competition—not with the guys they date but with every other woman out there. They’re welcome to it; I don’t agree that being single has an expiration date or a timetable that’s to be avoided at all costs and I certainly won’t dive into a relationship just to please anyone else. But with some of my single coworkers and friends, when there’s a night without a man at home, it’s the worst problem in the world. They pick up cues from others—and just as often misinterpret cues—that say there’s something wrong with them—and me—for being single. There is no happily in this scenario or in the pressure of filling a square to suit other people.
On my way to the office today, I heard a song I hadn’t heard since the early 80’s. I remember the last time I heard it, too, because that night still haunts me. It was at the singer-songwriter’s concert when I was in college, several years after the song had been at the height of its popularity. The auditorium had been packed that night, and the singer spent most of his time on stage seated at the grand piano he played, a small candelabra on top. The audience swayed and admired the music–all until a college boy climbed onto the stage to, apparently, make a grab for the candelabra. The boy was quickly whisked away, but not before the audience boo-ed the attempted theft.
The singer, who was blind, didn’t know what was happening. He faltered at the piano. Someone from his entourage rushed out to tell him that it was a troublemaker who was being boo-ed, not the song or the singer. When the audience realized their booing had been misinterpreted, a collective gasp went up, and people clapped their appreciation. We all wanted him to know we loved his work, even though he’d had a gut-wrenching moment of thinking everything was all wrong.
The moment of “oh-no” sometimes replays in my head, and I realize how often we don’t understand and try to fit that lack of understanding into the wrong box.
If we worry about the worst, we’ll generally find it, even if we have to create it ourselves. Unable to see what’s right in front of us, we’ll listen for cues and misinterpret them, and rarely does anyone from our entourage rush out to whisper in our ear that we misunderstood and all is well and we are, in fact, beloved. Even if they do, we usually don’t believe them.
I’ve often wondered what would have happened if that singer had pushed back from his piano and walked off the stage after hearing those disconcerting boos. He was such a gentle soul. Would he have been angry at the booing? Devastated? In any case, if he’d continued to believe the worst had happened, we would all have been the worse for it.
