Somewhere between the noise, bouncing from every surface surrounding our already distracted thoughts, and the numerous inquiries into our seemingly simple existence we lose ourselves. Not to anyone or anything in particular - more to the whole of it. The whole of life and the complexities that consume our once childish ideas of what life is supposed to be once you're an adult. We weren't aware, in our simple observations and wide eyed fascination, that we'd get so caught up in what being "grown up" meant, that our eyes would soon become heavy with stress and our analysis of where we ought to be so fuzzied by those around us that we would lose sight of those simple pleasures. The simple things that took hold of us frantically the closer we got to breaking free of the chains of childhood. Little did we know all that childhood had to offer - all the wonderful meaningless lessons that were really the glue that held our universe together. Those lessons taught me about love and how to be a friend - those little monumental lessons - about life and the things that really matter. Yet, sitting here tonight I am perplexed by how quickly it slips through our fingers. How distant those feelings get, lost in the noise, in the chaos that is our lives, how lost those monumental lessons get in the tiny blows to our egos. Jaded.
There is a period of time, in life, when we simply become jaded. You no longer feel like dropping everything for the somebody who does nothing. You no longer believe in love at first sight or happily ever after. The notion that we can be anything we want to be slips and fades when the going gets rough. After the umteenth rejection email based on your lack of experience or your failure to get a more specific degree. Yet - we keep on going. Reignited by a new sense of purpose from somewhere in the back. A time out with the girls, a promising new job lead, a friendly flirt - something that tells us maybe we're not crazy. That maybe hiding in the cracks of crap we totally didn't expect as children was some of the stuff we were promised - or at least the stuff we imagined to be true.
Maybe there are those of us who only just assumed that our parents had gotten adulthood all wrong. Witnessing their mistakes weave in and out of their daily lives was more like avoiding a train wreck . . . on a beach - you'd think it would be easy, but somehow it always showed up. You imagined growing up and stepping off that graduation stage into life would be effortless, seamless even. Into the world you would go - life and love abundant. Stress and pain a distant memory - something inflicted upon you by those not as life savvy. Only to find out you're nothing but a fawn in a sea of elephants trying to work those wobbly legs. With each giant stomp in your direction, losing site of your childish notions and the giddy hope that once filled your heart. Weaving in and out of your own mistakes - avoiding them like . . . wait . . . you've been here before. Thankfully. Because you have something they never did, you have the warning labels and the articles. You have the resources to come back from where ever it is you never wanted to go. You weeble and you wobble but you don't fall down.
One day, you stand. Sure footed and on top. An elephant among fawns. Hopefully, not so jaded. Hopefully, you found hope. Hopefully you found that life as an adult is nothing as quiet and cushy as once dreamed up when you were a wee ten year old. Just as most things were. In fact, the truth about nearly everything in the world was nearly always in stark contrast to the outlandish notions once set fourth by our imaginations. Although we had the upper hand on the simple rights and wrongs - we as children very rarely got the complexities of what it means to be an adult. To pay bills, go to work, make time for friends, keep up a healthy relationship, and the list goes on - so why we become jaded is really the better question. Of course growing up is hard - why wouldn't it be? Lost in the noise of our seemingly simple existence is the glaring fact that while it may be a simple notion - it takes work. Once we've accomplished one feat it is time to tackle yet another. Just as when we were children climbing the next biggest tree, we are now adults pushing ourselves to be who we know we can be - and that takes work.
You're an adult now - not a child. You have gotten what you always dreamed of :)
Author's note: I wrote the first half 7/14/12 and the second half 7/17/14. Perspective with age, I suppose.
Thursday, July 17, 2014
Even I thought I was racist . . .
I work at a hotel. Our doors are locked. We lock our doors not because we are in a dangerous part of town but because we offer breakfast and dinner for our guests, as well as fruit and coffee. We also have an open market that just so happens to be right next to an exit. Consequently the bathroom in the lobby is also key access - I think you get the picture. Well, often times people find a way to sneak in behind a guest or we mistake someone for a guest and allow them into our lobby only to get verbally abused when we tell them to leave. This just so happened to occur about a week ago.
I was helping a few guests out when out of the corner of my eye I noticed a tall man walk in behind some other people. He was wearing a du-rag, sporting a bag, and he was headed toward where the food would normally be set out. However it was past the time for food and the bar was closed - noticing that the security guard went back after him - I just continued my conversations with the guests in front of me. A few moments later the security guard came back, without the man. In a perhaps poorly planned spur of the moment decision I said, rather loudly, "That man is not supposed to be in here!" At which the security guard turned back around, went back and proceeded to tell the man to leave. Thankfully all the other guests had left the lobby at this time - or my adrenaline prevented me from noticing anyone else - but the man began yelling at the security guard as he started toward the desk. After screaming obscenities about the fact that he was a guest [producing a key-card] and asking for quarters to do laundry, he explained that we shouldn't make assumptions like that and that he deserved something due to our ignorance, also stating that he would be reporting us. He then proceeded back up to his room and I found myself in the back office - crying hysterically about my bold assumptions and feeling as though I had racially profiled him. Once I gained my composure I called him and told him we would be doing something the following day and I once again apologized - he said he probably overreacted and explained that we could use this as a learning moment. You see, the man was black, and although he never said it and maybe he never felt it, I felt as though I had racially profiled him and assumed that he was not a guest due to his du-rag, plastic bag, and lack of knowledge of the dinner hours.
However something strange happened - not two hours later a couple walked in. A white man with a white woman, middle class, preppy. They walked straight to the bar, but before they could make it half way there I inquired rather rudely "Are you a guest here?" In this moment I realized that I felt the same exclusion toward them as I had the man. Again, last night I found a man sitting at a business center computer, dirty backpack by his side - scraggly hair hanging to his shoulders. In my mind I scoffed and thought "Ugh, this man is not staying here, I know it - but fine, i'll let it alone." Lo and behold a half hour went by and the man half stumbled out of the front door, never to return again. That man was white. Once again tonight, a couple walked in - this time clearly on something, reeking of cigarettes. I apologized to my coworker for allowing them to charge their phone. I reiterated to the couple several times as they asked for an ATM that we do not accept cash - all the while imagining how much they would stink up a hotel room and wishing I had just told them they needed a key to enter the hotel. Turns out, they never wanted nor had the means to stay there anyway.
You see, my problem isn't a race problem. I don't know if I have a problem at all. But if I have a problem at all it's that I work in a hotel, in the city, with locked doors - where I have to constantly be on watch for those who are looking to steal things that they feel entitled to. I have been sworn at, threatened, mocked, and lied to. I have chosen to trust people only to be shown that my bosses were right all along - that they would in fact damage the room and their prepaid card wouldn't cover the costs. But here I was, assuming that I had profiled this man not because he seemed out of place but because he was black.
We have become so sensitive in this country to race that when I make miscalculations - when I misjudge someone based on the way they look or dress or act when they are white, nothing is said about it. It is perfectly acceptable that I call out a guest when they are white due to their poor hygiene or personal style, but when the person is black it automatically becomes about race - even in my own mind. We return points, give money back, I cry, lessons are learned. When I call out anyone else, a simple sorry will suffice - in extreme cases a market item or a few extra points.
Take my coworker for instance. He is a black man and has worked for the hotel for over a decade and throughout that time he has had to kick many of his "own people" out of the hotel. On more times than I can count he is called out for being against "his own people" and as they leave I can see him wince as we hear "Uncle Tom" ring through the doors. His feelings hurt, his ego bruised - all because he is doing his job. He is kicking people out of the hotel for loitering. For being in a private place meant for those who have chosen to pay to stay there. Yet he is condemned by his "own people" for "acting white." He is punished for rising above.
As if we aren't all our own people. As if the main reasons we disagree isn't due to cultural differences rather than pigmentation. But here I was, thinking I was racist, because society had told me that I must be. Here I was crying hysterically in the back office because I had picked out a guest simply for being black, when really - I hadn't. I had done nothing of the sort.
I picked him because in the sea of guests he was out of place, plain and simple. Were my actions justified? Absolutely not. Should wearing a du-rag make you a target of speculation? No. Should heading back to pick up some bananas from the bar area set off red flags from the desk? Nope. Am I wrong? Yes. Am I racist? Not a chance.
I'm a white woman who has been told that I am racist if ever I call out someone of the opposite color. Should I make the mistake of misjudging someone based on anything to do with anything else they should show to me, it must always come back to that simple question "What color are they?" To which, if I reply black, I am automatically racist. I hate it. I really do.
I was helping a few guests out when out of the corner of my eye I noticed a tall man walk in behind some other people. He was wearing a du-rag, sporting a bag, and he was headed toward where the food would normally be set out. However it was past the time for food and the bar was closed - noticing that the security guard went back after him - I just continued my conversations with the guests in front of me. A few moments later the security guard came back, without the man. In a perhaps poorly planned spur of the moment decision I said, rather loudly, "That man is not supposed to be in here!" At which the security guard turned back around, went back and proceeded to tell the man to leave. Thankfully all the other guests had left the lobby at this time - or my adrenaline prevented me from noticing anyone else - but the man began yelling at the security guard as he started toward the desk. After screaming obscenities about the fact that he was a guest [producing a key-card] and asking for quarters to do laundry, he explained that we shouldn't make assumptions like that and that he deserved something due to our ignorance, also stating that he would be reporting us. He then proceeded back up to his room and I found myself in the back office - crying hysterically about my bold assumptions and feeling as though I had racially profiled him. Once I gained my composure I called him and told him we would be doing something the following day and I once again apologized - he said he probably overreacted and explained that we could use this as a learning moment. You see, the man was black, and although he never said it and maybe he never felt it, I felt as though I had racially profiled him and assumed that he was not a guest due to his du-rag, plastic bag, and lack of knowledge of the dinner hours.
However something strange happened - not two hours later a couple walked in. A white man with a white woman, middle class, preppy. They walked straight to the bar, but before they could make it half way there I inquired rather rudely "Are you a guest here?" In this moment I realized that I felt the same exclusion toward them as I had the man. Again, last night I found a man sitting at a business center computer, dirty backpack by his side - scraggly hair hanging to his shoulders. In my mind I scoffed and thought "Ugh, this man is not staying here, I know it - but fine, i'll let it alone." Lo and behold a half hour went by and the man half stumbled out of the front door, never to return again. That man was white. Once again tonight, a couple walked in - this time clearly on something, reeking of cigarettes. I apologized to my coworker for allowing them to charge their phone. I reiterated to the couple several times as they asked for an ATM that we do not accept cash - all the while imagining how much they would stink up a hotel room and wishing I had just told them they needed a key to enter the hotel. Turns out, they never wanted nor had the means to stay there anyway.
You see, my problem isn't a race problem. I don't know if I have a problem at all. But if I have a problem at all it's that I work in a hotel, in the city, with locked doors - where I have to constantly be on watch for those who are looking to steal things that they feel entitled to. I have been sworn at, threatened, mocked, and lied to. I have chosen to trust people only to be shown that my bosses were right all along - that they would in fact damage the room and their prepaid card wouldn't cover the costs. But here I was, assuming that I had profiled this man not because he seemed out of place but because he was black.
We have become so sensitive in this country to race that when I make miscalculations - when I misjudge someone based on the way they look or dress or act when they are white, nothing is said about it. It is perfectly acceptable that I call out a guest when they are white due to their poor hygiene or personal style, but when the person is black it automatically becomes about race - even in my own mind. We return points, give money back, I cry, lessons are learned. When I call out anyone else, a simple sorry will suffice - in extreme cases a market item or a few extra points.
Take my coworker for instance. He is a black man and has worked for the hotel for over a decade and throughout that time he has had to kick many of his "own people" out of the hotel. On more times than I can count he is called out for being against "his own people" and as they leave I can see him wince as we hear "Uncle Tom" ring through the doors. His feelings hurt, his ego bruised - all because he is doing his job. He is kicking people out of the hotel for loitering. For being in a private place meant for those who have chosen to pay to stay there. Yet he is condemned by his "own people" for "acting white." He is punished for rising above.
As if we aren't all our own people. As if the main reasons we disagree isn't due to cultural differences rather than pigmentation. But here I was, thinking I was racist, because society had told me that I must be. Here I was crying hysterically in the back office because I had picked out a guest simply for being black, when really - I hadn't. I had done nothing of the sort.
I picked him because in the sea of guests he was out of place, plain and simple. Were my actions justified? Absolutely not. Should wearing a du-rag make you a target of speculation? No. Should heading back to pick up some bananas from the bar area set off red flags from the desk? Nope. Am I wrong? Yes. Am I racist? Not a chance.
I'm a white woman who has been told that I am racist if ever I call out someone of the opposite color. Should I make the mistake of misjudging someone based on anything to do with anything else they should show to me, it must always come back to that simple question "What color are they?" To which, if I reply black, I am automatically racist. I hate it. I really do.
Tuesday, July 15, 2014
Since when does happiness equate to incompetence?
I am a generally happy person. In fact, I would say I am happy 98 percent of the time. But somewhere between age, a brain injury, and several hurtful comments/actions I realized that I am not taken seriously as a person. Why is this? I believe it's due to the fact that I laugh to much; here is why.
Several years ago a family member invited a girl over to a family function. At some point during the family function I heard someone say "She's a nice girl, not very bright, but nice," to which I responded "Why isn't she bright?" "She's just giggly" they said. She's giggly, eh? So, someone who giggles a lot must not just be enjoying life or the conversation - they must just be too dim witted to understand what's going on around them so they instead giggle. I mean, there are people who giggle because they don't get it - true. But there are those of us, ahem me, who giggle because of the joyous circumstance of love and life all around them. On to my next point.
After my brain injury I was angry. That is an understatement. Not angry in an oh-why-me kind of way but more like a frontal-lobe-hemorrhage kind of cannot-control-emotions kind of way and a strange thing happened, people liked it. In fact, people from all over told me how much they liked my new found anger. My constant swearing. The random outbursts. The lack of ambition or laughter. People liked my brain damage induced, not at all voluntary, anger. I was listened to more, people enjoyed my company more, and I was even told at one point "now you're more like the rest of us." Oh great, now i'm a bitter whiner who makes excuses rather than happily changes my circumstances - OH JOY! SIKE!
This one was especially hurtful because I had been dating a guy prior to this accident for a year who would tell me that he could not handle me when I got too "giddy" with excitement. That my giggles and laughter were too much. To which I replied "everyone else loves me exactly the way I am, why can't you?" Only to find out that in fact, everyone else found me equally as insufferable at times and needed me to cool it down a notch.
Moving on. The last straw[s] came over the past two years. I have had a job where I have worked along side a wonderful, quite capable, coworker who literally could make mountains move. I, however, can also make mountains move. The difference? Her face shows it. Mine? Shows a giant smile and a hundred decibels of laughter each day at work. When our bosses need something done - they ask her. When I take the initiative and take on a project myself, they shit on it. Not literally but the one big project I took on they literally just didn't use it, or praise it, or do anything to say "We know you can!" In fact, when someone forgets to right a location of a car I am automatically the one blamed. Or when we all arrive late to work somehow the offence is worse because it is me. When there is a promotion at work I can almost see the laughter in their eyes when I suggest that I may want that position. In fact, it is here that it became more apparent than ever that my happy demeanor is seen as incompetence. I am a happy, trusting. naive child - capable of only what I am told, and filling water bottles.
Then came the day, while lamenting to my parents about this fact, that they said "you need to master your hats." Now, I had been told this before - but it was during this time that it truly sank in. I want to laugh, I want to be sooooo happy it makes me cry. I want to greet everyone with the biggest smiles and crack the best jokes. But sometimes you have to wear another hat.
Like my roommate three years ago. At home she was funny and forgetful and sometimes a little too wild, but at work she was a force like no other. She had moved to store manager by the age of 19 and by the age of 21 had been promoted a ton of times. She now makes more than most people who have gone to college - because she understood her hats.
Or that awesome coworker - who also happens to be my current roommate. Yesterday while doing a phone interview she was matter of fact, to the point, and there weren't extra words or laughter - no giggles or stories. I thought, how boring, but guess what - she got the job. She had the right hat on.
And while I have no clue why some of the most crabby, unhappy people out there are also the most successful - I am just going to have to suck it up. I am going to have to master my hats. Because as much as I would love the world to take my bubbly happy self seriously. As much as I want them to look at that happy face and think "Now THAT woman can move mountains!" They won't. It's like I told my mohawk sportin', butt hangin' out brother - the world isn't going to take you seriously just because you think they should, you have to show them you are worth taking seriously.
Maybe I did need to calm down a bit. Maybe I do need to show a little more seriousness when taking on tasks in the work place. Maybe I need to reserve the over giddy excitement for certain places. That's okay - because after I have proven my worthiness - that laughter is coming right out, make no mistake!
Several years ago a family member invited a girl over to a family function. At some point during the family function I heard someone say "She's a nice girl, not very bright, but nice," to which I responded "Why isn't she bright?" "She's just giggly" they said. She's giggly, eh? So, someone who giggles a lot must not just be enjoying life or the conversation - they must just be too dim witted to understand what's going on around them so they instead giggle. I mean, there are people who giggle because they don't get it - true. But there are those of us, ahem me, who giggle because of the joyous circumstance of love and life all around them. On to my next point.
After my brain injury I was angry. That is an understatement. Not angry in an oh-why-me kind of way but more like a frontal-lobe-hemorrhage kind of cannot-control-emotions kind of way and a strange thing happened, people liked it. In fact, people from all over told me how much they liked my new found anger. My constant swearing. The random outbursts. The lack of ambition or laughter. People liked my brain damage induced, not at all voluntary, anger. I was listened to more, people enjoyed my company more, and I was even told at one point "now you're more like the rest of us." Oh great, now i'm a bitter whiner who makes excuses rather than happily changes my circumstances - OH JOY! SIKE!
This one was especially hurtful because I had been dating a guy prior to this accident for a year who would tell me that he could not handle me when I got too "giddy" with excitement. That my giggles and laughter were too much. To which I replied "everyone else loves me exactly the way I am, why can't you?" Only to find out that in fact, everyone else found me equally as insufferable at times and needed me to cool it down a notch.
Moving on. The last straw[s] came over the past two years. I have had a job where I have worked along side a wonderful, quite capable, coworker who literally could make mountains move. I, however, can also make mountains move. The difference? Her face shows it. Mine? Shows a giant smile and a hundred decibels of laughter each day at work. When our bosses need something done - they ask her. When I take the initiative and take on a project myself, they shit on it. Not literally but the one big project I took on they literally just didn't use it, or praise it, or do anything to say "We know you can!" In fact, when someone forgets to right a location of a car I am automatically the one blamed. Or when we all arrive late to work somehow the offence is worse because it is me. When there is a promotion at work I can almost see the laughter in their eyes when I suggest that I may want that position. In fact, it is here that it became more apparent than ever that my happy demeanor is seen as incompetence. I am a happy, trusting. naive child - capable of only what I am told, and filling water bottles.
Then came the day, while lamenting to my parents about this fact, that they said "you need to master your hats." Now, I had been told this before - but it was during this time that it truly sank in. I want to laugh, I want to be sooooo happy it makes me cry. I want to greet everyone with the biggest smiles and crack the best jokes. But sometimes you have to wear another hat.
Like my roommate three years ago. At home she was funny and forgetful and sometimes a little too wild, but at work she was a force like no other. She had moved to store manager by the age of 19 and by the age of 21 had been promoted a ton of times. She now makes more than most people who have gone to college - because she understood her hats.
Or that awesome coworker - who also happens to be my current roommate. Yesterday while doing a phone interview she was matter of fact, to the point, and there weren't extra words or laughter - no giggles or stories. I thought, how boring, but guess what - she got the job. She had the right hat on.
And while I have no clue why some of the most crabby, unhappy people out there are also the most successful - I am just going to have to suck it up. I am going to have to master my hats. Because as much as I would love the world to take my bubbly happy self seriously. As much as I want them to look at that happy face and think "Now THAT woman can move mountains!" They won't. It's like I told my mohawk sportin', butt hangin' out brother - the world isn't going to take you seriously just because you think they should, you have to show them you are worth taking seriously.
Maybe I did need to calm down a bit. Maybe I do need to show a little more seriousness when taking on tasks in the work place. Maybe I need to reserve the over giddy excitement for certain places. That's okay - because after I have proven my worthiness - that laughter is coming right out, make no mistake!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)