I Don’t Want to Be a Curmudgeon Before My Time
Sometimes I feel like an old man, sitting in my
rocking chair, threatening to shoot kids with rock salt if they come close to
my yard. Not the racist part. I’m not going to claim my mind is lilywhite, of
course—it’s pretty filthy—but I pride myself on working every day to not judge
people for their appearance or the actions of their forefathers. I think I do a
decent job of keeping an open mind.
I can, however, be filled with anger, and
especially in the last few months, as many of my ongoing readers can attest to.
Today, I discussed with a stranger online my
irrational obsession with a singular conversation I had with one horrible
little man. He wanted my attention and wouldn’t take no for an answer. Though
it had a finality to it—me blocking him and never hearing from him again—I
continued to run the argument through my head nearly every day. Why did he
anger me so much? Why couldn’t I let go?
This stranger suggested looking for techniques for
conflict resolution. Most people focused on what I could have done differently,
often blaming my behavior on his refusal to leave me alone (par the course).
But this stranger hit on something for me, and reading her response, I burst
into tears of relief. I was shocked.
If you had asked me if I was a pushover or had
issues with conflict, I would have told you absolutely not. I still see myself
as my teenage side who tended to be oblivious to the needs of others and badger
her way into getting what she wanted. I was aggressive, opinionated, and
confident.
These days, not so much. I am kinder and more
empathetic. I know better how to make people happy, comfortable, and trust me. I’m
a fantastic team player, but less of a shark. While learning how to improve my
skills in writing, I lost some of the originality, the personability, and the
voice. I make better crafted work, but it’s not as interesting, it’s not as me.
I no longer assert myself. I often argued that
it’s not that I don’t stand up for what I want, it’s that I’m flexible what I
want. Which is partially the truth. However, I started typing in “techniques
for unconfrontational people” and found that anxiety caused by a fear of
confrontation is a common issue.
I was a pushover in my last relationship. I
neglected my feelings, happiness, and satisfaction to keep from conflict, and I
am willing to bet I didn’t make it clear that that was happening either.
In a strange way, I think I was mimicking my first
boyfriend. In college, I felt I had made a mistake. My professors didn’t think
much of my abilities, and because of that, I wasn’t offered the opportunity to
create anything. I had to fight them, which made me even more of an outcaste.
My boyfriend was the darling of the apartment, a go-getter, dependable, and, of
course, a doormat. I suppose in some ways, I wanted to be like him, though I
didn’t exactly realize it.
As I was reading about being a pushover, the people
in a study were described as grossly misreading their aggression levels, often
thinking an appropriate level of aggression was too much. The subjects were
often far, far less aggressive than they thought they were being.
I read a blog post written by someone just turning
fifty and being sick of being afraid of confrontation. She described how she
misread most interactions as having conflict when it was really just a
discussion or a reasonable request.
Today I have been writing a scene in which I
recognized two characters should be far more hostile and untrusting with each
other than they were. They should have been afraid. They should have made less
room for the other to speak and act freely. It didn’t read as true. I wondered
if this cautious banter was really the best choice for me to make. I knew very
well that I had a problem with conflict in general. Most of my characters don’t
express true hostility towards others. They don’t get mad—but they get even.
I don’t like shouting or arguing. I am afraid of
the ramifications of rubbing someone the wrong way. I care what others think
more than I want to. I don’t know when or how that happened. But knowing that
does make me feel more relieved.
Older men can be pretty aggressive. When it comes
to writing, I’m in my zone. I know how I feel, I have opinions, and I have a
knack for reading the intention behind a criticism. I’m still pleasant and
diplomatic in the early stages, but when it comes to having someone bulldoze me
over, they’ll find a very different person before them. I rarely get into aggressive
arguments in collaborative situations, but when I do, you can bet it’s with an
old curmudgeon. Why? Because we are the same, him and I.
There’s a lot of retired lawyers in the writing
world, many of whom want the same respect they had in their last career, use tactics
to “win” the argument no matter what the truth is, and attempt to bully their
opinions into accepted fact. Sometimes, it works.
I’m afraid of being like that.
I’m afraid of being a shark, the sort of person
who is successful due to confidence but severely lacking in solidarity. I’m
afraid of spewing rhetoric where I am blissfully aware of how foolish it
sounds. I’m afraid of speaking in anger and coming off as a loudmouth
hate-monger. I’m afraid of speaking my opinion and getting torn to shreds for
it. I’m afraid of speaking my opinion and it being proven irrevocably wrong.
I’m afraid of doing or saying things that will come back and bite me in the
ass. I’m afraid of getting famous and having my staff take away my Twitter
account because I’m coming off as heinous bitch. I’m afraid of being surrounded
by Yes Men who don’t care about me enough to tell me that my face is orange and
I need to find a new tan spray.
I want the people around me to be happy,
confident, and free to express their ideas. I want to be free, happy, and
confident to express my ideas. When you’re angry, when you are feeling sick and
tired, when you’re struggling to gain credibility, and when you know that being
successful could be so easily achieved by letting those feelings loose,
bullying your way into respectability, it’s hard to swallow your anger and
pride and do right by those who don’t do right by you.
And it’s hard to tell when “snapping” at a disingenuous
personal attack is not you being sensitive, but standing up for yourself. When
are you a curmudgeon, and when are you just exhibiting self-respect?
Conflict and confrontation is not always that big
of a deal. In many ways, it opens up a dialogue, it discusses ideas, and it
makes for an interesting story. If, however, you are like me, the
unpredictability of stress coming from confrontation can cause an insane amount
of problems, whether you want it or not.
However, being aware of how keeping silent has
affected me, I feel a great deal of relief off my shoulders. I censored myself
because of a reputation I wanted to maintain. I didn’t want to be seen as weak
or bitter or whiny, I didn’t want to be bossy or condescending. So, I kept my
mouth shut. I ignored my own rule: Say what you want to say in a way that makes
people want to listen.
I don’t know how to make people listen, of course.
But I do know that it’s not by keeping silent. I’m going to work on that.
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