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)
That Times article was ridic, and I didn't read the comments but I can only imagine. People are crazy and they hate women, is my only thought. Women are the ones who are making money on blogging, and people hate it. They hate our success. EsPECIally if we're just supposed to be mommies.
People are all too willing to throw hatred and judgment toward any and all, not even knowing one thing about them. I suppose part of it is human nature, but really, do we not have brains??
Whenever someone treats me badly, I try my best to remember that they are probably good people, but are just having a bad day, and just trying the best that they can to get through it.
Going to read the NYT article now.
Any writers who "put themselves out there" - whether electronically or bound - are absolutely saying that they have something to say and think it should be heard. Some people will respond; that's part of the package. Personally, I'd rather have obnoxious and ignorant responses over the dozens of "Hey, what you've said is really great! I say something similar on my website: www.mywordsareontheinternets.com."
In the case of high school students, the truth (whether it's their truth or THE truth) is raw and uncensored because they are hormone-laden aliens. In the case of internet commenters it's because they can hide in the shadows of anonymity without fear of a Lego (or a Duplo! or a really, really heavy "recycled material" helicopter!) bashing them on the head in retaliation.
I was really pretty surprised.
As a reporter, whenever I would get a nasty email, I always typed back a brief, polite reply. Many times, I immediately got back a MUCH nicer email. People said they were surprised that I actually read their note, and personally I think they were surprised to realize that the newspaper article came from an actual human being, not just from "the media."
The "mommy blogger" vitriol is just the latest in a long legacy of strategies to keep women properly in their places. Moms who blog? Bad mothers. Moms who wield cameras professionally? Fakes. SAHM v. WAHM? Breast-feed v. Bottle-feed? God we love to hate our mothers in this country, don't we? And the worst is that it's often women who are each other's worst critics, as though your choices as a mother somehow threaten or demean my own choices as mother (now, how would that actually work?).
But, we continue to claw and hiss at and about one another, which, fortunately works out great for the status quo, alive and kicking and male-dominated as it is.
Sarah (from Neerguard's :) )
And that includes you - you need to remember that you are also fighting a hard battle and to be kind to yourself.
"Uh, no, nothin'. Sorry."
Victory. It was either that or I got shot in the head, though, so it's not a technique to try often.
I try very, very hard to consider others--I didn't even know that Plato quote, but it makes a lot of sense to me. When the a**hole is riding my butt on the highway, I do TRY to think, "Perhaps that person's late. Or lost and frustrated. Or in labor." Mind you, I also add, "...or an a**hole"--I'm not perfect.
So thanks for reminding me to consider all the facts and possibilities before snapping at a person and making both of our days less pleasant.
P.S. Leslie, your psych class comment makes a lot of sense, the idea of circumstances and being good. Thanks for posting it.
As a writer, it is your job to, uh, write stuff down. It gets put out there. People read it, and some may react and respond to it. In the process, everyone learns a little. And we all inch forward, in our understanding of ourselves and others.
Your job as writer is important. Keep up the good work.
I just wish the people on the internet would get out of their cars once in a while and encounter one another as human beings.
Made me so thinky and blissy that I'm just sitting here staring at it and smiling. And also totally pulling the trigger that you think I'm kind. Mooaaa-ha-ha-haaa! My evil plan is working. xo
Two: I just want you to know that, a few days ago, I was reading your article on overcoming clumsiness in Redbook and could not put it down long enough to walk into the kitchen, so I decided to take it with me and keep reading, at which time I promptly walked into a wall.