In the locker room
March 16, 2010The other day, at the Y, a lady got mad at me.
Her locker was directly next to mine, and she had her stuff kind of laid out all over, because she was doing her post-shower change. I live a few blocks away, so I never change in the locker room; I just take my stuff and get the hell out, because it’s hot and stuffy in there. I had no problem with this lady arranging her clothing and moisturizers wherever she needed to. Anyway, all I said was, “Excuse me.” In my mind, I was saying, “I’m just going to grab my stuff and get out of your way, because after all I’m not changing but you are, haha! So no need to move, pardon me, I’m running away now.” So I was trying to be quick, so I could get out of her way. But while I was grabbing my stuff she was huffing and sighing and whmmmphing. I couldn’t figure how why she was so mad, so I sort of assumed she was an angry person and I shouldn’t even address it. I took my coat and moved to the next aisle to get my stuff in order.
But as soon as I walked away she immediately started bitching about me to another woman, about how I hadn’t giving her a chance to move her stuff, how I was in such a rush and how impatient I was, how people are so thoughtless nowadays, no one thinks, no one cares, grumble grumble grumble. I was going to let it go and just leave, but I didn’t, I walked back and asked her what I’d done, because I didn’t see it. She immediately softened—as people often do when they’re forced to look into the faces of the people they’ve labeled as the enemy—and she explained her perspective, and we actually had a nice chat, and all was forgiven, and it was fine.
Except I felt bad. And I still feel bad about it. Not because of her, she turned out to be a genuinely sweet person who was having a crummy day, but it startled me, as it always does, how quick people are to assume the worst of each other.
It sort of astounded me that someone would read me as being insensitive—ME! The most Sensitive Person Alive!—but then I realized that people don’t know me, they project whatever the hell they want, just as I do to them, and I probably encountered the other most Sensitive Person Alive that day, but I was just as willing to pretend she was an old meanie who wanted to spread her unhappiness across the land. And it upset me to think that I could ruin someone’s day by just saying “Excuse me,” and how often had I blown past someone or accidentally bumped into them, and did that make them feel bad? I realize I’m taking on quite a bit of responsibility for everyone's feelings, but it’s true, those things can have an effect on you, those little jabs and bumps that are part of living in the city.
I’ve been feeling ever since like I should wear a shirt that reads, “CONTENTS ARE FRAGILE,” and actually that we should all wear that shirt, so that we can all remember to be kind to each other, because life can be so hard, and we’re only here for a little while.
If you’re a parenting blogger or avid blog-reader, you probably read the New York Times piece on “Bloggy Boot Camp,” and read the responses to it. I won’t add to them yet, but I did write a letter to the Times, and if it doesn’t get published, I’ll put it up here. If anyone questions whether there’s really that much hostility to moms and moms who blog, they should read the comments in the Motherlode blog at the Times. Or don’t read them. There is so much anger and derision directed at mothers, it’s truly staggering. We’re all narcissistic and neglectful and our children are awful. But how do they conclude all these things without actually reading a single blog, because after all they wouldn’t read us because we’re so disgusting?
Yesterday I received a bunch of emails from people who had seen my latest Redbook column on the MSN homepage. I didn’t know it was there, so I visited the site, where I made the mistake of reading the comments. And I learned that apparently I am the reason civilization is going down the toilet, and my child will grow up to be a serial killer. Ah.
You know, in both of these cases the comments themselves don’t bother me—I happen to know nothing they’re saying is in the least bit accurate—but it’s so sad to me that people fail to realize that they’re attacking actual human beings. Human beings whose lives they couldn’t begin to know. Or maybe they do realize that, and they don’t care, they feel so bad about themselves they want to make other people feel just as terrible. I’m not sure which is worse. I don’t think it’s my job to figure it out.
I was rooting around for comfort this morning, and I came upon a poem by Mary Oliver, one of my favorites of all time, so I thought I’d share. This is especially for Kate, beautiful Kate, one of the kindest people out there, who just lost her grandmother.
Dogfish
Some kind of relaxed and beautiful thing
kept flickering in with the tide
and looking around.
Black as a fisherman's boot,
with a white belly.
If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile
under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin,
which was rough
as a thousand sharpened nails.
And you know
what a smile means,
don't you?
*
I wanted the past to go away, I wanted
to leave it, like another country; I wanted
my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,
whoever I was, I was
alive
for a little while.
*
It was evening, and no longer summer.
Three small fish, I don't know what they were,
huddled in the highest ripples
as it came swimming in again, effortless, the whole body
one gesture, one black sleeve
that could fit easily around
the bodies of three small fish.
*
Also I wanted
to be able to love. And we all know
how that one goes,
don't we?
Slowly
*
the dogfish tore open the soft basins of water.
*
You don't want to hear the story
of my life, and anyway
I don't want to tell it, I want to listen
to the enormous waterfalls of the sun.
And anyway it's the same old story - - -
a few people just trying,
one way or another,
to survive.
Mostly, I want to be kind.
And nobody, of course, is kind,
or mean,
for a simple reason.
And nobody gets out of it, having to
swim through the fires to stay in
this world.
*
And look! look! look! I think those little fish
better wake up and dash themselves away
from the hopeless future that is
bulging toward them.
*
And probably,
if they don't waste time
looking for an easier world,
they can do it.
Reader Comments (103)
"if they don't waste time looking for an easier world, they can do it."
to me, the people who comment blindly are looking for an easier world. they forget that, as you so boldly stated, we are ALL mere bundles of nerves. we each need care. we each need love. some days a simple "excuse me" is enough to set me off. and when it is, i am more ashamed of myself than ever. if i have truly reached the point where i can't give my fellow man or woman grace, then i am in a bad bad place.
thank you for the reminder that loving my fellow man is not an "easy world".
AND, I am now ridiculously curious about the Times article. When I'm not sneaking around at work reading my favorite blogs, I'll have to look it up! Power to the Mommas!!! (and the almost-mommas, which is the category I'm in)
I hope commenters will remember your locker room lesson: You can change a mind if you change your heart.
It was interesting to read the poem, knowing the background story of your run-in at the Y. It brought a meaning to the poem I wouldn't have gotten otherwise.
Thanks.
I'm sure you're kids are going to turn out just fine lol.
-adriennehttp://wearegoodkin.com/
Love you up and down, and right and left. You are incredibly beautiful.
What a fantastic post.
I had to read it twice, it was so delicious.
You, are mighty with the pen.
So glad I found you, so long ago. You make me stop and think.
Awesome Alice.
I love the poem you posted, and I love this one by DH Lawrence too:
It is only immoralto be dead-alive,sun-extinctand busy putting out the sunin other people.
And yes, I think you've nailed it. People don't know shit.
Thankfully, I've found people can also hum a different tune once they learn a few notes. Only a small percentage among us is actually tone-deaf. Which is, ultimately, why I blog. Just trying to teach a few notes.
I freaked out about it for about a week, actually. Comments, man. You nailed it -- who do they THINK wrote these articles?
Alice, I think you're wrong for thinking that you "ruined [this woman's] day". Far from it! I think she was just spoilin' for a fight, or at least a bitching session, and was looking for a trigger, and you provided it. I bet she was HAPPY to complain and grumble (this being the Y, "kvetch" would seem more appropriate). You know, there are some people who are just genuinely happy to complain about anything, it's a way of life for them. And they tend to be older, and they are often female, and dare I say it? Elderly New York Jewish ladies are masters of the game! And the fact that they kvetch and complain and grumble doesn't mean that they are unhappy, or that they hate the world, or the people in it. They often are genuinely sweet, and they are enjoying themselves! They just like to complain! Some of the time I wonder if the complaining is just a bait... talk to me! Make me feel like I matter!
Of course I wasn't there but I can think of so, so many times when what seemed like an utterly hostile comment by just such a person eventually turned into a pleasant, even funny conversation just because I was willing to engage.
I miss New York just thinking about it.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/joanne-bamberger/an-open-letter-to-the-emn_b_499087.html
You should definitely post your letter, as well.
And just wanted to echo what everyone is saying - at least the comments on EVERYTHING are nasty? It's not just you? I dunno, I got nothing.