So many people have weighed in (no pun intended) on the Rex Reed-Melissa McCarthy situation. Old news, I know, but, candidly, I was debating whether to add my voice to the fray, but, in the end, we all know I just have to have my say, so here it is.
For those who might have missed it, or have forgotten, essentially Rex Reed used a good portion of his review of the recent (I can't in good faith call it "new" anymore given the lateness of this piece) Melissa McCarthy-Jason Bateman movie, Identify Theft, to make negative comments on Melissa's weight, calling her a "female hippo" and "tractor-sized."
I know: Way to stay classy, Rex.
And I know: Old news.
In a follow-up interview, Rex went on to accidentally call Melissa McCarthy "Melissa Manchester," which shows you what decade he's stuck in. Don't cry out loud ... He's so irrelevant, I say with no meanspiritedness, that I thought he was already dead. Good for you, being alive, Rex. But anyway, Rex claims in said interview, "I have too many friends that have died of obesity-related illnesses,
heart problems and diabetes. … I have helped people try to lose weight,
and I don't find this to be the subject of a lot of humor," Reed said.
Yeah, neither does Melissa McCarthy, or any overweight person for that matter. So what exactly what was his intention?
I'm supposing that Rex is showing his overweight friends some love and helping them lose weight by calling them tractor-sized also? Nothing says I love you and care for you than calling someone a hippo. And nothing is more motivating than verbal abuse. Too bad Valentine's Day has come and gone; I'm sure Rex could have a whole line of Valentine's Day ideas - perhaps a chocolate heart that says, "Eat Me, Fat Pig?" "Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number so call me tractor-sized..."
Now, Melissa McCarthy is overweight. And yes, she knows it. It's her business not anyone else's. And, if, as Rex says, she's made a career of playing overweight characters, good for her, that's her choice, and frankly, none of my business. Given that weight discrimination is rampant in this country, she's probably one of a handful of people making money off her weight. But in this country, we vote with money, and if there's anyone out there who thinks she is too "unhealthy" and they don't want to encourage her, they don't have to see her movies.
And let me be straight: I am not advocating that people be overweight. On the contrary, as someone who has been overweight 35 of my 40 years, I don't recommend it. But why do we judge overweight people so harshly? What is it about them that irks us so much? Why can't we just let them be? I guarantee they are aware they are overweight and are struggling -- maybe they've come to accept and love their bodies as they are, and that's their business, not ours. Sure, there are people who are genuinely concerned about their loved one's health and well-being when they're fat -- I get that, but that's not what's fueling most of the fat discrimination out there and the negative comments. In fact, research has shown that criticism has the opposite effect on those struggling with their weight.
Every day I'm on Facebook, a community of roughly 400 of my friends, loved ones, and random people I've met in various circumstances. Most of them I'd be able to pick out of a line-up. And every day at least one of them calls someone fat as a disparaging remark, or makes a joke at a fat person's expense.
And every time, I cringe. Because, again, as an overweight person, what I immediately think is, "What do they think of me?"
If this seems a bit deja vu, I've blogged a bit about this before.
You can't hide being fat. It's out there for the world to see. As much as I'd like to think that people don't see it, they do. I've lost 65 lbs in the past few years but I am still far from thin, and I am still far from accepting my body as it is. And I fear that I may never accept my body. I am a perfectionist and highly critical of myself and I can almost guarantee that my weight will always be something I'm unhappy with, as much as I wish that weren't so.
I have never been one of those people who is happy with my body overweight. It just didn't -- it just doesn't -- feel right to me. I feel that my heavy body weighs me down and betrays my energetic spirit. And I feel judged. I have a lot of energy and stamina -- I'm often the first person up and the last one standing. But I'm sure people would look at me and think the opposite. That bothers me. I don't want to be judged on what I weigh. Love me, hate me -- but make it for a good reason, not because of my dress size. There are plenty of things to love and hate about me -- you don't need to make that decision based upon my weight.
So when I see or hear a friend make a fat joke, it breaks my heart a little. First, I wonder if they're that shallow that they are judging ME on my weight. And if you aren't, and I'm more to you than that, shouldn't others be granted the same courtesy? If you can see beyond my weight, can't you do the same for others to see their heart and soul and personality and intelligence and humor and worth? Their humanity?
Then I get offended because I think any friend of mine should have a little more in their arsenal than fat jokes/comments-- can't you be a little more clever than stating the obvious, i.e. making a comment about something the world can see? Don't you have anything more to add than that? Any humor? Insight? Commentary? And if a person is truly terrible, seriously is the worst thing about them their weight? As I've said about Chris Christie, if you have an opinion of him, have it be an informed opinion about his politics and views, not the size of his fleece.
But mostly, these comments just hurt. I can't hear someone being talked about in a negative way in regards to their weight without feeling it -- because I'm fat too. The comment applies also to me. It's like, physics, or something. A universal truth. Fat is fat.
And even comments less severe than Rex's -- comments about Lena Dunham's body or Kate Upton's. They still sting. How can an average person accept his or her body as it is with this kind of dialogue happening constantly? PS, I wish that Lena Dunham would put clothes on, but not because she doesn't have a perfect body. I just don't think it personally adds anything anymore -- point taken.
Being overweight in a thin-obsessed world, you learn to swallow the hurt when people make comments and jokes. Sometimes you make them yourself -- they're practically guaranteed to get a laugh -- and feel ashamed. Doing so betrays yourself and those who share your struggle.
I wonder how Rex Reed's overweight friends (that he claims to have, kinda sounds like, "Some of my best friends are black, I mean, fat.") felt when they read that review. I'm sure they weren't proud. I'm sure they didn't feel good. I'm sure they hurt a bit deep down in that place of their heart that has scabbed over from one too many comments. And I hope at least one of them had some choice words for him to help him understand why his words were so biting.
Just because someone may be taking up more space in the world doesn't give us the right to comment on it. Melissa McCarthy's body is her body and none of our business.
I'm not here to preach, although I know it sure sounds like it, mainly because writing in this tone is helping me conceal the hurt I feel from a lifetime of dealing with this. Comments, stares, well-meaning and well-intentioned "advice." My favorite piece of advice comes from my grandmother, who, when I was 16, recommended that I not buy any additional clothing until I was "thin." Thankfully I didn't listen because nudity is not acceptable in the workplace, at Barry Manilow concerts, or at Starbucks. And it's questionable on the subway.
I guess all I'm trying to say is, I just invite everyone to just think twice -- before making a comment about anyone's body or weight -- fat, thin, in between -- think of them as a person first, and let that be your guide. And if that doesn't work, ask yourself "What would Rex Reed do?"
And then do the opposite.
(Anyone care to help me down from this soapbox? It's a long way down and I'm not wearing my helmet...)
Thursday, February 21, 2013
Monday, January 14, 2013
Show Me the Funny
So Tina Fey and Amy Poehler hosted the Golden Globes last night, and they were funny. Totally underutilized but very funny. And not just funny to those with ladyparts, but, I daresay, to everyone. Well, except Tommy Lee Jones. Tommy Lee Jones, we learned at the Globes, seems to have no sense of humor whatsoever, leaving me to wonder if, when he and Al Gore were roommates back at Harvard, he made Al Gore look like the funny one. Now that's an accomplishment. But I digress.
I confess that, way, way back in college, I once expressed the opinion, out loud even, "I don't think women are as funny as men." Shocking, right? Thankfully the male friend to whom I expressed this ill-informed and downright incorrect opinion didn't agree, but replied, "That's because you haven't met you."
Aww, thanks. And deep, right? You can really read a lot into that. But being 18, I didn't. I think I probably just poured another beer.
But what I realized in that moment, and in countless moments after, is that, of course I thought I was funny. I mean, show me the rare person who thinks he/she has no sense of humor - even when they don't. And I knew plenty of funny women in my real life - family, friends, coworkers. Where I wasn't really seeing them was on tv or in the movies, and we all know that being funny is like a tree falling in the woods -- if someone is funny but not on television or in the movies, does it really count?
Sure they were there but generally in support of a male lead like Jerry Seinfeld, who, of course, as the star of the show, was allowed to be funnier. Better, smarter people than me have done analysis of the portrayal of women and girls in pop culture so I'm not even going to go there - it's too deep a subject. But what fascinates me is the external validation that 18 year old me needed that women were funny. Working for a youth development organization, I can't overestimate the importance of role models - kids need to see people who look like them doing well, succeeding, it makes you think that if they can do it, so can you.
But still, it blows my mind that I couldn't just think about the women I knew who made me laugh on a regular basis and KNOW with every fiber of my being that women were and are funny, or even, really just using common sense, even thinking what the heck gender had to do with funny? I needed pop culture to tell me, to show me, put a blinking neon arrow over Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, Chelsea Handler, Kathy Griffin, Ellen, etc. reading "Funny." I guess that's also cutting to the heart of comedy - it's not funny unless someone outside of the person telling the joke laughs.
You know, like that tree that fell in the woods earlier. At least I think it fell. I wasn't there, someone told me.
Which is why I was really pulling for Tina and Amy. I know they're funny from countless hours of watching both of them perform but I was holding my breath to see how they'd do. Don't blow it, ladies. The fate of your gender is riding on you. Because everyone knows that every time Jerry Seinfeld makes a bad joke, male comedians are sent off to the bread line. And it took years for male actors to carry a movie after Eddie Murphy'sone, two, ten unfunny movies. Right?
What did Tina and Amy have to prove? Pretty much everything. What did they actually succeed in proving? Not that women are funny, but that Tina and Amy are funny. Because women aren't funny, and neither are men. But Melissa and Chelsea and Kathy certainly are. Ray and Eddie and Will? Also funny. And so is Lynn, as a matter of fact.
But not you, Anne Hathaway, sit down already; we've heard enough out of you.
(Just to be clear, when I say Lynn, I mean me, and not Lynn Swann, who may or may not be funny. I asked Tommy Lee Jones, but he's not a credible source on the matter, and Al Gore says he needs to do do some more quantitative research and see some more pie charts of data before he can decide.)
I confess that, way, way back in college, I once expressed the opinion, out loud even, "I don't think women are as funny as men." Shocking, right? Thankfully the male friend to whom I expressed this ill-informed and downright incorrect opinion didn't agree, but replied, "That's because you haven't met you."
Aww, thanks. And deep, right? You can really read a lot into that. But being 18, I didn't. I think I probably just poured another beer.
But what I realized in that moment, and in countless moments after, is that, of course I thought I was funny. I mean, show me the rare person who thinks he/she has no sense of humor - even when they don't. And I knew plenty of funny women in my real life - family, friends, coworkers. Where I wasn't really seeing them was on tv or in the movies, and we all know that being funny is like a tree falling in the woods -- if someone is funny but not on television or in the movies, does it really count?
Sure they were there but generally in support of a male lead like Jerry Seinfeld, who, of course, as the star of the show, was allowed to be funnier. Better, smarter people than me have done analysis of the portrayal of women and girls in pop culture so I'm not even going to go there - it's too deep a subject. But what fascinates me is the external validation that 18 year old me needed that women were funny. Working for a youth development organization, I can't overestimate the importance of role models - kids need to see people who look like them doing well, succeeding, it makes you think that if they can do it, so can you.
But still, it blows my mind that I couldn't just think about the women I knew who made me laugh on a regular basis and KNOW with every fiber of my being that women were and are funny, or even, really just using common sense, even thinking what the heck gender had to do with funny? I needed pop culture to tell me, to show me, put a blinking neon arrow over Kristen Wiig, Melissa McCarthy, Chelsea Handler, Kathy Griffin, Ellen, etc. reading "Funny." I guess that's also cutting to the heart of comedy - it's not funny unless someone outside of the person telling the joke laughs.
You know, like that tree that fell in the woods earlier. At least I think it fell. I wasn't there, someone told me.
Which is why I was really pulling for Tina and Amy. I know they're funny from countless hours of watching both of them perform but I was holding my breath to see how they'd do. Don't blow it, ladies. The fate of your gender is riding on you. Because everyone knows that every time Jerry Seinfeld makes a bad joke, male comedians are sent off to the bread line. And it took years for male actors to carry a movie after Eddie Murphy's
What did Tina and Amy have to prove? Pretty much everything. What did they actually succeed in proving? Not that women are funny, but that Tina and Amy are funny. Because women aren't funny, and neither are men. But Melissa and Chelsea and Kathy certainly are. Ray and Eddie and Will? Also funny. And so is Lynn, as a matter of fact.
But not you, Anne Hathaway, sit down already; we've heard enough out of you.
(Just to be clear, when I say Lynn, I mean me, and not Lynn Swann, who may or may not be funny. I asked Tommy Lee Jones, but he's not a credible source on the matter, and Al Gore says he needs to do do some more quantitative research and see some more pie charts of data before he can decide.)
Sunday, January 6, 2013
This is 39 3/4...
I've yet to see Judd Apatow's "new" film THIS IS 40, but, in keeping with my personality, that doesn't stop me from forming an opinion of it. And that opinion, again, having not seen the movie, is that I bet I'll like it (I tend to like his stuff, going back to "Freaks and Geeks") but I'll walk away thinking, "No, THEY are 40. I am nothing like THEM." These people are married and live in the suburbs and have children and cars and look a lot like Paul Rudd and Leslie Mann.
Well, except that I'll actually BE 40 in a little over two months. Okay, from the time of this writing, 81 days. But who's counting?
Oddly, I don't really feel a lot of anxiety about turning 40, probably because I feel anxiety every day of my life about every single thing. What's one more thing to worry about? In the words of Laura Bennett from season 3 of Project Runway, "Just throw another one on the pile." Now Laura was talking about her kids, but since I don't have kids yet, my worries are like my children: each one is special to me in its own way, but, unlike most mothers, I'll admit I have my favorite. Like they say with kids, having one is like none, but having two is like ten. Although I bet the parents of any number between one and ten children would debate that statement mightily, theoretically I agree, once you have two, what's the difference? Pile 'em on.
I think I don't feel anxiety because it's no secret that the things that I wish weren't true about my life are true every day and not just on my birthday. And maybe it's maturity but I no longer feel competitive or jealous about what my friends and neighbors are doing. I wish them well, and sometimes I even feel happy for them. Go figure. I realized, more recently than I'd care to admit, that there's not a direct correlation between someone having gotten or done something and my lack of something. Your promotion doesn't mean I can't find my dream job. Your wedding has nothing to do with me being single. And your baby isn't the reason I'm pushing a cat in a stroller and not a baby. There's plenty to go around. Just as important, I realized that whether or not I achieve the things I'd like in life, above all, contentment, has nothing to do with anyone else and everything to do with me. Boring, I know. It's so much more entertaining to blame other people.
I remember being younger and thinking about what 40 would look like for me. The year 2013. It seemed so alien and far away. I mean, out of the 20th century and everything. Would we wear actual clothes? Would Champion sweatshirts and rubber bracelets still be in style? Could I wear my cuffed jeans and Stan Smiths? Would every home have a hot tub in the future? Will I be married to Rick Springfield?
So many questions then, and yet, now, so few answers. Never predicted that one.
In many ways, I feel younger now than I ever did. I think I was born 40. I've always worried a lot under the guise of thinking. It was only a matter of time until I reached an age where my worrying and thinking could be put to productive use in the workforce, calling it "management."
 | ||
| A young me, assuming a worrying position. There are many. |
 |
| "Management" in action, sporting a Snuggie. |
Except now that I am actually
Apparently, somewhere along the way, I didn't get the memo that I'm not 25 but
As much as I feel 25, and as much as I like to think I'm not getting older, I know that the young people look at me and think differently. How do I know that? Well, for starters they call me "Ma'am." And on the rare occasion I get carded, it's done with a "Sorry, ma'am, it's our company policy" versus any real thinking that I might be 20 years old. But when I look at my peers -- those who I grew up with and went to college with -- they look the same as ever to me. I'd like to say when I look at them they look 18, but I think what they really look like is love. Through my hazy lens of warm feelings, they just look like love to me. Now, if you're wondering what this looks like, it's similar to how Barbra Streisand and Barbara Walters appear on camera.
I'm actually excited to be 40, and you know, catch up to the age I've always felt. I'm grateful to be feeling better and better and I feel like I have a little perspective on things. As much as I worry, I know that, for better or for worse, this too shall pass, and I also know that tomorrow isn't guaranteed. Seriously, getting older is SO much better than the alternative.
Now, my words don't mean that tears won't be shed. I will feel entitled to my midlife crisis/breakdown just like everyone else come March. I will certainly have doubts and wonder WTF happened to my life, but overall, things don't look so bad at 39 3/4. Dare I say they even look a little promising? Is this odd, vaguely nauseous feeling happiness? I have no idea.
It's okay if the young people think I'm ancient and that they smile a little when they see me singing along to the Maroon 5 and the Ke$ha. I know better. They still need old folks like me because they don't know how to interact with other humans in person or talk on the telephone. Someday when someone says to them, "I'm sorry, but who is this Taylor Swift you refer to?" they'll be just as horrified as I was when a girl at work didn't know who Kenny Rogers was.
And they'll think that, when they're 40, they'll have it all together. That they'll have all the answers. And they'll be, like, so wrong. They will never, ever, ever have all the answers, and I mean, ever. Like, never.
 |
| This is 40 on the left; this is 400 on the right. |
 |
| He's no Rick Springfield, but he'll do. |
 |
| This is also 40. Notice marked drop in maturity level from child photo. |
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Shining Moments
Just being alive
It can really hurt
And these moments given
Are a gift from time
Just let us try
To give these moments back
To those we love
To those who will survive.
- "Moments of Pleasure," Kate Bush
I don't have any wisdom or insight into the tragedy that took place in Newtown, CT two days ago. There's nothing that I can say or do that will, in any way, shape, or form, ease the unbearable pain that the family, friends, and neighbors of those who lost their lives are experiencing right now. I can't make the survivors feel any less guilt or despair, or help the children who attend Sandy Hook feel less afraid to go back to school.
Everywhere I look, there's coverage - television, radio, social media. Everyone is grasping at straws trying to make sense of something that is utterly senseless. Trying to explain what can never be explained or understood.
Some blame a lack of gun control and urge the President to act. Some say we if we weren't such a Godless society, if prayer were allowed in school, this wouldn't have happened. Others cite the increased need for access to better mental health care in this country.
People want to find a way to bring meaning to these lives lost -- let them not die in vain. Channel our collective grief and disbelief into something that is productive. All of that is noble and reflects what is great about our society -- we rally around a "cause" and make our voices heard. We are like the little boy who told his teacher Friday, "Don't worry, I know karate, I'll lead the way." We have an overwhelming desire to help, to do something, anything.
I stopped watching the coverage Friday night. It was too much, and I felt like I was adding to the pain of the families by encouraging the media with my viewership. I don't want to know anything about the killer or why he did it. It has zero meaning to me. Nothing the authorities can uncover changes anything.
I believe everything happens for a reason - times like these make me question that belief.
I am not yet a parent, but I hope to be someday, if it's meant to be. In the words of Hillary Clinton, I do believe that, "it takes a village," to raise a child, and I feel a huge sense of responsibility to children - to protect them, to shepherd them, to help them navigate an increasingly complicated world.
I looked at the names of the fallen on the front page of The New York Times. I read with a broken heart their names and ages. Mostly six and seven year olds. The majority were, I'm willing to wager, excited for Santa, looking forward to celebrating the last nights of Hanukkah, or, at very least, excited for winter break. All woke up that morning and headed off to the important business of being a kid -- school, play, lessons, sports, family time, fighting with their brothers or sisters, walking the dog, homework. Maybe some sprung out of bed excited that morning. Others, like me, not being morning people, had to be dragged out of bed by their moms and dads and hurried along to school.
And now, well.
For me, and many others, this was so incomprehensible that, like I did on 9/11, I went to bed hoping that it would all just be a horrible nightmare and when I woke, this would be all an awful dream.
The President reads their names one by one on national television. How, under different circumstances, this would be a dream come true for any parent or child. The leader of the free world knows their names. Oh how they would wish to be anonymous again, just another citizen, for this to be like any other day.
The town of Newtown has become an unwilling inspiration to the world -- in their strength, in their sacrifice, in their heroism, in their grief.
I believe that, in some ways, this tragedy has made part of all of us kids again. The part that is innocent and can't comprehend evil like this. How could this happen? The part that loves with an open heart without worry of judgment or rejection. The part that wants to help and make things better. The part that wants to comfort and be comforted.
As kids, our world are pretty small -- our parents, our siblings, our pets, our neighbors, our teachers, our friends at school. If you're lucky like me, a wonderful extended family. As we get older, our world and worldview get broader, and more complicated. We acquire knowledge, and degrees, and things.
Sometimes things get out of balance and we forget what's important. Then something like this happens and reminds us that tomorrow is not guaranteed and reminds us that, what's really important cannot be seen or touched, but felt. They are, as Mr. Rogers would say, the "invisible imperishable good stuff."
As survivors, we owe it to those who have lost their lives to continue to embrace life and create those moments of "good stuff." We hug our children for those parents who no longer have that luxury. We put down the Blackberry and truly listen. We shut off the television and call a friend we're long overdue in calling.
We owe these moments to those who have passed, but most importantly, we owe them to ourselves.
It can really hurt
And these moments given
Are a gift from time
Just let us try
To give these moments back
To those we love
To those who will survive.
- "Moments of Pleasure," Kate Bush
I don't have any wisdom or insight into the tragedy that took place in Newtown, CT two days ago. There's nothing that I can say or do that will, in any way, shape, or form, ease the unbearable pain that the family, friends, and neighbors of those who lost their lives are experiencing right now. I can't make the survivors feel any less guilt or despair, or help the children who attend Sandy Hook feel less afraid to go back to school.
Everywhere I look, there's coverage - television, radio, social media. Everyone is grasping at straws trying to make sense of something that is utterly senseless. Trying to explain what can never be explained or understood.
Some blame a lack of gun control and urge the President to act. Some say we if we weren't such a Godless society, if prayer were allowed in school, this wouldn't have happened. Others cite the increased need for access to better mental health care in this country.
People want to find a way to bring meaning to these lives lost -- let them not die in vain. Channel our collective grief and disbelief into something that is productive. All of that is noble and reflects what is great about our society -- we rally around a "cause" and make our voices heard. We are like the little boy who told his teacher Friday, "Don't worry, I know karate, I'll lead the way." We have an overwhelming desire to help, to do something, anything.
I stopped watching the coverage Friday night. It was too much, and I felt like I was adding to the pain of the families by encouraging the media with my viewership. I don't want to know anything about the killer or why he did it. It has zero meaning to me. Nothing the authorities can uncover changes anything.
I believe everything happens for a reason - times like these make me question that belief.
I am not yet a parent, but I hope to be someday, if it's meant to be. In the words of Hillary Clinton, I do believe that, "it takes a village," to raise a child, and I feel a huge sense of responsibility to children - to protect them, to shepherd them, to help them navigate an increasingly complicated world.
I looked at the names of the fallen on the front page of The New York Times. I read with a broken heart their names and ages. Mostly six and seven year olds. The majority were, I'm willing to wager, excited for Santa, looking forward to celebrating the last nights of Hanukkah, or, at very least, excited for winter break. All woke up that morning and headed off to the important business of being a kid -- school, play, lessons, sports, family time, fighting with their brothers or sisters, walking the dog, homework. Maybe some sprung out of bed excited that morning. Others, like me, not being morning people, had to be dragged out of bed by their moms and dads and hurried along to school.
And now, well.
For me, and many others, this was so incomprehensible that, like I did on 9/11, I went to bed hoping that it would all just be a horrible nightmare and when I woke, this would be all an awful dream.
The President reads their names one by one on national television. How, under different circumstances, this would be a dream come true for any parent or child. The leader of the free world knows their names. Oh how they would wish to be anonymous again, just another citizen, for this to be like any other day.
The town of Newtown has become an unwilling inspiration to the world -- in their strength, in their sacrifice, in their heroism, in their grief.
I believe that, in some ways, this tragedy has made part of all of us kids again. The part that is innocent and can't comprehend evil like this. How could this happen? The part that loves with an open heart without worry of judgment or rejection. The part that wants to help and make things better. The part that wants to comfort and be comforted.
As kids, our world are pretty small -- our parents, our siblings, our pets, our neighbors, our teachers, our friends at school. If you're lucky like me, a wonderful extended family. As we get older, our world and worldview get broader, and more complicated. We acquire knowledge, and degrees, and things.
Sometimes things get out of balance and we forget what's important. Then something like this happens and reminds us that tomorrow is not guaranteed and reminds us that, what's really important cannot be seen or touched, but felt. They are, as Mr. Rogers would say, the "invisible imperishable good stuff."
“In the external scheme of things, shining moments are as brief as the twinkling of an eye, yet such twinklings are what eternity is made of -- moments when we human beings can say 'I love you,' 'I'm proud of you,' 'I forgive you,' 'I'm grateful for you.' That's what eternity is made of: invisible imperishable good stuff.”
Most of the memories and moments I hold most dear happened by accident, when I was least expecting it, out of an everyday moment. On most occasions, I did not know as it was happening that I was making a moment that would be important to me, and even the occasions I knew were important, it's the most random moments that I remember as special. When strung together, these moments become days, months, years, lives.
As survivors, we owe it to those who have lost their lives to continue to embrace life and create those moments of "good stuff." We hug our children for those parents who no longer have that luxury. We put down the Blackberry and truly listen. We shut off the television and call a friend we're long overdue in calling.
We owe these moments to those who have passed, but most importantly, we owe them to ourselves.
Monday, December 10, 2012
A Very Hugh Jackman Christmas...
"Basically, I'll make an ass of myself anywhere." - Hugh Jackman
I love the holiday season. I love Christmas music and, perhaps just as much, the lights. I love the Christmas lights in the city, but perhaps even more, I love the lights in my hometown. In fact, I'm the only one who didn't nearly cry, vomit, and/or pee my pants when my brother in law drove us "kids" around seemingly for 37 "festive" hours one Christmas Eve, the evening that was finally brought to an end when a tiny voice begged from the backseat, "Pleeeeeease no more lights, Uncle Mike."
So I was totally bummed out when I wasn't able to enjoy the season at all last year. No Rock Center tree, no holiday parties, definitely no nog of any kind. I was completely nogless and hopeless.
In a world where there is no music, and tomorrow isn't guaranteed, only one man with a mean pair of jazz hands and a ruffled satin shirt can save us.
And that man is Hugh Jackman.
I had blinding headaches and the inability to keep my eyes open, but I also had tickets to Hugh Jackman's one man show on Broadway. This, I would not miss.
Now, if there's anything I like more than the holidays, it'sgay men, I mean, Broadway musicals. This is well-documented. Anything that is a little ridiculous and out there is my thing, and Broadway musicals, where people sing and dance through every circumstance, fit the bill.
In fact, I am fresh off seeing Annie last Friday. Which I thoroughly enjoyed. And yes, I did show up wearing a red dress, "just in case." I do have curly red hair - and I pay a lot for it so it should get some stage time.
But I digress.
I find Hugh Jackman to be highly enjoyable. Don't ask me about really about any of his movies though, because unless it's one of the romantic comedies he did that everyone but me hated, I haven't seen them.
I don't have impure thoughts about Hugh. I just want him to come over to my apartment with a stuffed koala and read me a bedtime story and brew me some of that tea he makes (although he will have to use the microwave because we do not use the stove in my house and he will have to bring the tea and a mug but I think I have water) and then do a little song and dance number and smile and laugh.
Hugh Jackman smiles a lot. In fact, he reminds me of my first song and dance man, Barry Manilow. When I was four, I told everyone I wanted "the smiley guy" for Christmas -- which translated to the Barry Manilow Live album. Released in '77, I still have it and still love it. Perhaps I would have done better in college if my brain space wasn't full of every single word -- it WAS a double album. And on the cover, Barry is wearing blue polyester and doing some kind of broad theatrical gesture with his arms like "Suck on this haters!" And above all, he is sing-smiling, if I had to guess, "Daybreak."
I love Barry so much.
But I just might love Hugh more.
So off to the theater I staggered last December 9th to see Hugh. And he brr-rroooouggghhht it.
When he shook his (literal) maracas, he made me forget that my head was about to explode and I couldn't see so bad that I was wearing clip on sunglasses over my regular glasses inside a dark theater at night. It was an attractive look.
I didn't even mind when, as a result of my enjoyment, I spent the next 24 hours at home essentially riding out what I can best describe to you people (I know who reads this blog) as what felt like being both drunk AND hungover at the same time with the worst nausea/dizziness/bed spins you ever had AND a monster headache, lacking the benefit of any alcohol.
Only for you, Hugh.
And now he's back with Les Miserables. And I am about to pass out in anticipation. Christmas is such a meaningful holiday, and this year, it also means that Les Miserables will be in a theater near me. As kids hit their pillows with visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads, I will see Hugh Jackman in a puffy shirt singing, "On my own, pretending Len's beside me..." It cannot come soon enough.
I have to admit, at first I was skeptical. I love Les Miz. I've seen stage productions four times. I wasn't convinced it could be made into a watchable musical.
But then one day recently I was walking down Broadway and saw Hugh on a giant billboard. His eyes bore straight into my soul. He said, "Girl, I mean, Sheila, as if you won't see this movie. Who are you trying to kid? Now be a good girl and show me your jazz hands."
I felt ashamed. I had forsaken him. But I am a believer.
When a friend mentioned he had an advance copy of the movie, all of a sudden it was like one of those cartoons where, to the starving man in the desert, everyone looks like a chicken leg. Every time I looked at him, I saw Hugh Jackman and heard him singing as Jean Valjean, "Who am I? 24601!!!!"
Will it be good? The critics say it is, but I don't even care. With taste as bad as mine, I generally don't agree with the critics. I like what I like.
And I like Hugh Jackman and Barry Manilow and singing and dancing and Impractical Jokers and the Muppets and the Yankees and cupcakes and bedazzled helmets and world peace and my new iPad mini and hoarding hotel toiletries, and, oh yeah, Christmas.
But not necessarily in that order.
I need to keep Hugh on his toes.
I love the holiday season. I love Christmas music and, perhaps just as much, the lights. I love the Christmas lights in the city, but perhaps even more, I love the lights in my hometown. In fact, I'm the only one who didn't nearly cry, vomit, and/or pee my pants when my brother in law drove us "kids" around seemingly for 37 "festive" hours one Christmas Eve, the evening that was finally brought to an end when a tiny voice begged from the backseat, "Pleeeeeease no more lights, Uncle Mike."
So I was totally bummed out when I wasn't able to enjoy the season at all last year. No Rock Center tree, no holiday parties, definitely no nog of any kind. I was completely nogless and hopeless.
In a world where there is no music, and tomorrow isn't guaranteed, only one man with a mean pair of jazz hands and a ruffled satin shirt can save us.
And that man is Hugh Jackman.
I had blinding headaches and the inability to keep my eyes open, but I also had tickets to Hugh Jackman's one man show on Broadway. This, I would not miss.
Now, if there's anything I like more than the holidays, it's
In fact, I am fresh off seeing Annie last Friday. Which I thoroughly enjoyed. And yes, I did show up wearing a red dress, "just in case." I do have curly red hair - and I pay a lot for it so it should get some stage time.
But I digress.
I find Hugh Jackman to be highly enjoyable. Don't ask me about really about any of his movies though, because unless it's one of the romantic comedies he did that everyone but me hated, I haven't seen them.
I don't have impure thoughts about Hugh. I just want him to come over to my apartment with a stuffed koala and read me a bedtime story and brew me some of that tea he makes (although he will have to use the microwave because we do not use the stove in my house and he will have to bring the tea and a mug but I think I have water) and then do a little song and dance number and smile and laugh.
Hugh Jackman smiles a lot. In fact, he reminds me of my first song and dance man, Barry Manilow. When I was four, I told everyone I wanted "the smiley guy" for Christmas -- which translated to the Barry Manilow Live album. Released in '77, I still have it and still love it. Perhaps I would have done better in college if my brain space wasn't full of every single word -- it WAS a double album. And on the cover, Barry is wearing blue polyester and doing some kind of broad theatrical gesture with his arms like "Suck on this haters!" And above all, he is sing-smiling, if I had to guess, "Daybreak."
I love Barry so much.
But I just might love Hugh more.
So off to the theater I staggered last December 9th to see Hugh. And he brr-rroooouggghhht it.
When he shook his (literal) maracas, he made me forget that my head was about to explode and I couldn't see so bad that I was wearing clip on sunglasses over my regular glasses inside a dark theater at night. It was an attractive look.
I didn't even mind when, as a result of my enjoyment, I spent the next 24 hours at home essentially riding out what I can best describe to you people (I know who reads this blog) as what felt like being both drunk AND hungover at the same time with the worst nausea/dizziness/bed spins you ever had AND a monster headache, lacking the benefit of any alcohol.
Only for you, Hugh.
And now he's back with Les Miserables. And I am about to pass out in anticipation. Christmas is such a meaningful holiday, and this year, it also means that Les Miserables will be in a theater near me. As kids hit their pillows with visions of sugarplums dancing in their heads, I will see Hugh Jackman in a puffy shirt singing, "On my own, pretending Len's beside me..." It cannot come soon enough.
I have to admit, at first I was skeptical. I love Les Miz. I've seen stage productions four times. I wasn't convinced it could be made into a watchable musical.
But then one day recently I was walking down Broadway and saw Hugh on a giant billboard. His eyes bore straight into my soul. He said, "Girl, I mean, Sheila, as if you won't see this movie. Who are you trying to kid? Now be a good girl and show me your jazz hands."
I felt ashamed. I had forsaken him. But I am a believer.
When a friend mentioned he had an advance copy of the movie, all of a sudden it was like one of those cartoons where, to the starving man in the desert, everyone looks like a chicken leg. Every time I looked at him, I saw Hugh Jackman and heard him singing as Jean Valjean, "Who am I? 24601!!!!"
Will it be good? The critics say it is, but I don't even care. With taste as bad as mine, I generally don't agree with the critics. I like what I like.
And I like Hugh Jackman and Barry Manilow and singing and dancing and Impractical Jokers and the Muppets and the Yankees and cupcakes and bedazzled helmets and world peace and my new iPad mini and hoarding hotel toiletries, and, oh yeah, Christmas.
But not necessarily in that order.
I need to keep Hugh on his toes.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Goldilocks in La La Land
I just came back from Los Angeles where we hosted our 17th annual luncheon! This was my seventh, and they just keep getting better and better - something that I can't really take a lick of credit for. We have an amazing team and an incredible cause that changes the lives of young women across the country. I'm just along for the ride.
Although I was nervous about going as this was my first flight post-concussion and I worried about how I'd do, I was looking forward to leaving New York and, candidly, getting a break from the mayhem and destruction that Sandy brought us.
I was incredibly fortunate and came through the storm relatively unscathed. The biggest disruption in my life has been that our office remains closed. In the Financial District, right on the river, we were hit with twenty feet of water. Our building's staff members were trapped for days as water rushed through the streets. One panicked during the storm, feeling trapped by the water rushing up the steps of our building, he decided to swim home, but was stopped by the others - he never would have made it. I was told how one lost everything, as he lived in Far Rockaway, and yet he still delivered 100 sandwiches to the hungry neighbors on his block when he finally returned home days after the storm. The store in our lobby -- elevated at least ten feet -- flooded so that the refrigerators floated, merchandise everywhere. We don't have power yet and still run on generators. Internet may come this week, but phones will take weeks more. When I went downtown to assess, a week after the storm, it looked like a war zone.
And still, we were very lucky.
As someone who likes to think I can control everything, Sandy really knocked me for a loop. From the days leading up to it, when I prepared like a champ by buying batteries, back-up chargers, radios, flashlights, food and supplies (at one point, I had 31 rolls of toilet paper, people!), through the actual storm itself where I sat biting my nails watching storm coverage, worrying about my family on Long Island, not breathing, charging every device I had in case I lost power with my heart stopping every time the lights flickered, to the days after, when it became clear how much devastation had occurred, seeking ways I could help and trying to Facebook and tweet as much information as I could to those I knew didn't have access to information, and trying to adjust to the new normal that descended (closed businesses, lack of transportation, no office to go to).
I was hoping that the smoggy, thick air in L.A. would allow me to take my first deep breath in weeks. Sure enough, L.A., with its sunny goodness and blue skies, delivered a hefty dose of un-reality.
But now I'm back. And Sandy still happened. Foiled again!
I spent a lazy Saturday today decompressing and catching up on all of the sleep I've missed the past, well, several months it seems. And then I picked up my People magazine about the storm and cried the whole way through reading about the lives lost, the homes destroyed, the heroes created in an instant.
Sometimes I feel like the only witness to this storm, with a responsibility to make sure that I retell the story again and again so no one forgets. I know that's not true, and perhaps shows an exaggerated sense of self-importance, but that's how I feel. I'm like, "Is anyone else seeing this? Did I make this up? Did this just happen here?"
I cringe remembering that, in L.A. I had them switch my hotel room three times -- sure, for somewhat valid reasons. My colleagues claim I'm on the hotel equivalent of the "Do Not Fly List," a "Do Not Stay List" of sorts, so I generally experience all kinds of minor accommodations drama. It seemed like such an injustice at the time, but back in New York, it makes me feel petty and shallow.
It disturbs me that people, including me, ESPECIALLY me, have a short attention span and an even shorter memory. How do we go on without forgetting?
I mean, was there a warm bed in that hotel room? Check. Heat? Check. Ample food and drink? Running water? LIGHT? Check, check, and check. There was even a working phone and cable!
Shouldn't all of that have been enough? Check, please.
But I was trying to escape New York and all of the devastation -- I wanted everything to be perfect. I was Goldilocks looking for my blissful, ignorant slumber. And I was able to forget for awhile. I buried my nose in work, got some sun on my face, and warmed my heart by seeing an old friend in the two hours this week (literally) that I didn't work or sleep. And it felt great.
On the cab ride back into Manhattan from JFK, rush hour bumper to bumper traffic so similar to that in L.A., I almost didn't know where I was, but then my cell phone rang - a colleague telling me that someone had to go into our building this weekend to wait for repairs. And then another message, oh yeah, that iPhone I ordered, it's under 10 feet of water at a store that may never open again.
Oh, right.
But as the cab made its way into Manhattan, I noticed that, somehow between last Sunday when I left, and now, it became Christmas. I love Christmas. I love the music, and the spirit, and the open heart that people approach the season with. All of a sudden there were lights everywhere and their twinkling magic caught me off guard and made me smile a little.
I've never been good at being in the moment - I'm always one step ahead worrying, or a few steps behind, dwelling and beating myself up.
Seeing the lights reminded me that yes, something awful has happened here, and it will take a very long time to recover, and maybe some things won't ever be the same. But right now, in the back of this cab inching along 6th Avenue, there are lights.
And I'm smiling.
My heart is open. It's Christmas.
And there's no place I'd rather be.
Although I was nervous about going as this was my first flight post-concussion and I worried about how I'd do, I was looking forward to leaving New York and, candidly, getting a break from the mayhem and destruction that Sandy brought us.
I was incredibly fortunate and came through the storm relatively unscathed. The biggest disruption in my life has been that our office remains closed. In the Financial District, right on the river, we were hit with twenty feet of water. Our building's staff members were trapped for days as water rushed through the streets. One panicked during the storm, feeling trapped by the water rushing up the steps of our building, he decided to swim home, but was stopped by the others - he never would have made it. I was told how one lost everything, as he lived in Far Rockaway, and yet he still delivered 100 sandwiches to the hungry neighbors on his block when he finally returned home days after the storm. The store in our lobby -- elevated at least ten feet -- flooded so that the refrigerators floated, merchandise everywhere. We don't have power yet and still run on generators. Internet may come this week, but phones will take weeks more. When I went downtown to assess, a week after the storm, it looked like a war zone.
And still, we were very lucky.
As someone who likes to think I can control everything, Sandy really knocked me for a loop. From the days leading up to it, when I prepared like a champ by buying batteries, back-up chargers, radios, flashlights, food and supplies (at one point, I had 31 rolls of toilet paper, people!), through the actual storm itself where I sat biting my nails watching storm coverage, worrying about my family on Long Island, not breathing, charging every device I had in case I lost power with my heart stopping every time the lights flickered, to the days after, when it became clear how much devastation had occurred, seeking ways I could help and trying to Facebook and tweet as much information as I could to those I knew didn't have access to information, and trying to adjust to the new normal that descended (closed businesses, lack of transportation, no office to go to).
I was hoping that the smoggy, thick air in L.A. would allow me to take my first deep breath in weeks. Sure enough, L.A., with its sunny goodness and blue skies, delivered a hefty dose of un-reality.
But now I'm back. And Sandy still happened. Foiled again!
I spent a lazy Saturday today decompressing and catching up on all of the sleep I've missed the past, well, several months it seems. And then I picked up my People magazine about the storm and cried the whole way through reading about the lives lost, the homes destroyed, the heroes created in an instant.
Sometimes I feel like the only witness to this storm, with a responsibility to make sure that I retell the story again and again so no one forgets. I know that's not true, and perhaps shows an exaggerated sense of self-importance, but that's how I feel. I'm like, "Is anyone else seeing this? Did I make this up? Did this just happen here?"
I cringe remembering that, in L.A. I had them switch my hotel room three times -- sure, for somewhat valid reasons. My colleagues claim I'm on the hotel equivalent of the "Do Not Fly List," a "Do Not Stay List" of sorts, so I generally experience all kinds of minor accommodations drama. It seemed like such an injustice at the time, but back in New York, it makes me feel petty and shallow.
It disturbs me that people, including me, ESPECIALLY me, have a short attention span and an even shorter memory. How do we go on without forgetting?
I mean, was there a warm bed in that hotel room? Check. Heat? Check. Ample food and drink? Running water? LIGHT? Check, check, and check. There was even a working phone and cable!
Shouldn't all of that have been enough? Check, please.
But I was trying to escape New York and all of the devastation -- I wanted everything to be perfect. I was Goldilocks looking for my blissful, ignorant slumber. And I was able to forget for awhile. I buried my nose in work, got some sun on my face, and warmed my heart by seeing an old friend in the two hours this week (literally) that I didn't work or sleep. And it felt great.
On the cab ride back into Manhattan from JFK, rush hour bumper to bumper traffic so similar to that in L.A., I almost didn't know where I was, but then my cell phone rang - a colleague telling me that someone had to go into our building this weekend to wait for repairs. And then another message, oh yeah, that iPhone I ordered, it's under 10 feet of water at a store that may never open again.
Oh, right.
But as the cab made its way into Manhattan, I noticed that, somehow between last Sunday when I left, and now, it became Christmas. I love Christmas. I love the music, and the spirit, and the open heart that people approach the season with. All of a sudden there were lights everywhere and their twinkling magic caught me off guard and made me smile a little.
I've never been good at being in the moment - I'm always one step ahead worrying, or a few steps behind, dwelling and beating myself up.
Seeing the lights reminded me that yes, something awful has happened here, and it will take a very long time to recover, and maybe some things won't ever be the same. But right now, in the back of this cab inching along 6th Avenue, there are lights.
And I'm smiling.
My heart is open. It's Christmas.
And there's no place I'd rather be.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
On Bullies and Bullying...
October is National Bullying Prevention Month.
I think we can all agree: Just as Everyone Loves Raymond, everyone hates a bully.
We all shake our heads when we hear/read stories like bullied bus monitor Karen Klein's, and try to right a wrong, like people did here, raising $700K for her retirement, ensuring that she didn't have to deal with any kids she didn't want to for the rest of her life:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/09/12/bullied-ny-bus-monitor-ge_0_n_1876039.html
We cheer when people stand up and do the right thing, like Philadelphia Eagles players did here for bullied Nadin Khoury in one of the most memorable bits of television I've ever seen:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S1JoFBZ7clo&noredirect=1
Or we cheer when victims stand up for themselves, like newscaster Jennifer Livingston does here:
http://shine.yahoo.com/healthy-living/overweight-news-anchor-takes-fat-shaming-bully-task-193700343.html
And why are we still bullying people for being gay? Didn't Honey Boo Boo put that matter to rest when she declared, "Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' a little gay. Everybody's a little gay?"
All of this talk about bullying made me think.
Sure, we see cases like the above, obvious acts that should be condemned that compel any thinking, feeling person to react with disgust, but what about the tiny ways that we mistreat each other every day that build up over time and wear us down?
Not acknowledging or listening to one another, delivering tiny digs, holding back affection. I could go on and on.
Aren't those forms of bullying?
What about the images that we see in the media? Real Housewives of anywhere, God love 'em, but you'd be hard pressed to find bigger bullies anywhere.
And not to get too deep here, but isn't our whole political process a giant display of bullying and intimidation?
I remember being bullied as a kid -- which, fortunately, was not very often, but it did happen. I was quiet, soft spoken, and chubby. These girls were older, thin, and popular in their Jordache jeans. I didn't have a voice. And mostly, I was afraid that by speaking up for myself, I'd call even more attention to myself -- reminding them that I was all of the things that they said I was - nerdy, fat, and poor.
My biggest childhood bully friended me on Facebook a couple of years ago and I had a moment's hesitation but I ultimately accepted the request. She clearly didn't know that she had a negative impact on me; she thought we were friends or, more likely, wasn't thinking at all, just mindlessly adding to her list of "friends." I bet she never thought of herself as a bully. But I did.
It makes me wonder, how often does that happen, especially as adults? If bullying is everywhere, do we even know how to recognize it? And even more importantly, do we even recognize that behavior in ourselves and our actions?
More than the traditional bullying moments, I remember cruel remarks or taunts, most often delivered by those thinking they were well meaning or helpful. I'm sure we all have those examples.
And somehow, coming from those we respect, love or care for, they seem even more damaging.
I remember when I first became a manager to a lot of people, I realized that everything that I said was under a microscope. By nature of my position and authority, my words carried more weight. An offhand comment like, "What are you working on?" could be considered a loaded statement: You're not working, you're lazy, you don't have enough to do, so watch your back, you're going to be fired. Although I consider myself a nice person, I'm also pretty direct, and it's hard for me to sugarcoat, especially when time is tight, and stress is high.
Calm down, we say, I was only joking. God, can't you take a joke? You have no sense of humor.
Or maybe it isn't funny.
My challenge for this month is to be more aware of not only what I put out into the world and how I treat people, but what I take in, because I ultimately think that input affects output. I'll try to find more moments to say the positive things that never get said, and bite my tongue on the negative. And I'll try to remember - huge for me -- that it's more important to be kind than right.
My guess is I'll need more than October to make headway on this, but it's a worthwhile goal.
****
Most comedy is based on getting a laugh at somebody else's expense. And I find that that's just a form of bullying in a major way. So I want to be an example that you can be funny and be kind, and make people laugh without hurting somebody else's feelings. - Ellen DeGeneres
I've been actually really very pleased to see how much awareness was raised around bullying, and how deeply it affects everyone. You know, you don't have to be the loser kid in high school to be bullied. Bullying and being picked on comes in so many different forms. - Lady Gaga
I think we can all agree: Just as Everyone Loves Raymond, everyone hates a bully.
We all shake our heads when we hear/read stories like bullied bus monitor Karen Klein's, and try to right a wrong, like people did here, raising $700K for her retirement, ensuring that she didn't have to deal with any kids she didn't want to for the rest of her life:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2012/09/12/bullied-ny-bus-monitor-ge_0_n_1876039.html
We cheer when people stand up and do the right thing, like Philadelphia Eagles players did here for bullied Nadin Khoury in one of the most memorable bits of television I've ever seen:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S1JoFBZ7clo&noredirect=1
Or we cheer when victims stand up for themselves, like newscaster Jennifer Livingston does here:
http://shine.yahoo.com/healthy-living/overweight-news-anchor-takes-fat-shaming-bully-task-193700343.html
And why are we still bullying people for being gay? Didn't Honey Boo Boo put that matter to rest when she declared, "Ain't nothin' wrong with bein' a little gay. Everybody's a little gay?"
All of this talk about bullying made me think.
Sure, we see cases like the above, obvious acts that should be condemned that compel any thinking, feeling person to react with disgust, but what about the tiny ways that we mistreat each other every day that build up over time and wear us down?
Not acknowledging or listening to one another, delivering tiny digs, holding back affection. I could go on and on.
Aren't those forms of bullying?
What about the images that we see in the media? Real Housewives of anywhere, God love 'em, but you'd be hard pressed to find bigger bullies anywhere.
And not to get too deep here, but isn't our whole political process a giant display of bullying and intimidation?
I remember being bullied as a kid -- which, fortunately, was not very often, but it did happen. I was quiet, soft spoken, and chubby. These girls were older, thin, and popular in their Jordache jeans. I didn't have a voice. And mostly, I was afraid that by speaking up for myself, I'd call even more attention to myself -- reminding them that I was all of the things that they said I was - nerdy, fat, and poor.
My biggest childhood bully friended me on Facebook a couple of years ago and I had a moment's hesitation but I ultimately accepted the request. She clearly didn't know that she had a negative impact on me; she thought we were friends or, more likely, wasn't thinking at all, just mindlessly adding to her list of "friends." I bet she never thought of herself as a bully. But I did.
It makes me wonder, how often does that happen, especially as adults? If bullying is everywhere, do we even know how to recognize it? And even more importantly, do we even recognize that behavior in ourselves and our actions?
More than the traditional bullying moments, I remember cruel remarks or taunts, most often delivered by those thinking they were well meaning or helpful. I'm sure we all have those examples.
And somehow, coming from those we respect, love or care for, they seem even more damaging.
I remember when I first became a manager to a lot of people, I realized that everything that I said was under a microscope. By nature of my position and authority, my words carried more weight. An offhand comment like, "What are you working on?" could be considered a loaded statement: You're not working, you're lazy, you don't have enough to do, so watch your back, you're going to be fired. Although I consider myself a nice person, I'm also pretty direct, and it's hard for me to sugarcoat, especially when time is tight, and stress is high.
Calm down, we say, I was only joking. God, can't you take a joke? You have no sense of humor.
Or maybe it isn't funny.
My challenge for this month is to be more aware of not only what I put out into the world and how I treat people, but what I take in, because I ultimately think that input affects output. I'll try to find more moments to say the positive things that never get said, and bite my tongue on the negative. And I'll try to remember - huge for me -- that it's more important to be kind than right.
My guess is I'll need more than October to make headway on this, but it's a worthwhile goal.
****
Most comedy is based on getting a laugh at somebody else's expense. And I find that that's just a form of bullying in a major way. So I want to be an example that you can be funny and be kind, and make people laugh without hurting somebody else's feelings. - Ellen DeGeneres
I've been actually really very pleased to see how much awareness was raised around bullying, and how deeply it affects everyone. You know, you don't have to be the loser kid in high school to be bullied. Bullying and being picked on comes in so many different forms. - Lady Gaga
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