Tiara Tuesday

Every blog has its day.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

Excuse me, but do you know me????

You do? Oh really. OK then ... what's my middle name?

You see, I love my friends and family dearly, and I thank the universe for the gift of them daily ... but when addressed to most of the rest of the world, even those acquaintances I see often, usually, the correct answer is NO. With very VERY few exceptions. No matter who is asking the question -- and no matter who is answering.

The EveryDay Diva is on a bit of a bitchy rant about this. Let's discuss.

"I know you." It's something we've all said a thousand times. I do hope that when you've said it -- it's been true. And welcomed. And intended to provide comfort or understanding or compassion. It's one of the most connective things we can say to another person.

But I would bet that we are all guilty of the innocent-but-deadly misuse of that phrase as well. And I've just noticed how really unnerving it is to have someone say it to you when you KNOW it isn't true. The presumption and arrogance that statement carries, and the intimacy it presumes a right to, even unintended, are really very scary. You do not know me. Even if you think you do. What's my favorite flower? What's my stance on abortion rights? Why did I major in Russian? What do I like to put on vanilla ice cream? I hope one day we actually WILL know each other (keep reading!) if we choose to, and you will know the answers, and I will know why you love oranges and hate mice ... but for right now, right here... you do NOT know me. Yet.

KNOWING someone takes time. To make that claim is a HUGE privilege and an even greater responsibility. Lately, I'm sensing that the definition of "knowing" has somehow turned on its ear from real, intimate understanding of another person hard won over time through trials & tribulations, joys & triumphs -- to mean simply "I've hung out with you a few times" or "I've had dinner with you twice" or maybe even "I've slept with you" (which if you have, OK so you know I hog the bed, sorry). That ain't it, and while all of that has been fun, thankyouverymuch, you still do not KNOW me. Or what's in my heart.

You see, twice recently I've turned down men who wanted more from me than friendship. It's a rare enough occasion, so NO, I'm not bragging. The basic facts: #1 and I had a relationship for two years, on and off, that ended some time ago though we remained "friends" and business colleagues on relatively peaceable terms. #2 and I, on the opposite end of the spectrum, dated for a few weeks and, after I broke it off, didn't really speak much (my choice) and our worlds haven't collided often.

So what's the problem? Coincidentally (or not according to my astrology-following pals), both guys recently have written long missives, or called repeatedly, explaining to me how they KNOW me -- and why this knowing makes them omniscient about the reasons I left them. And why my reasons, which they have divined from aforementioned knowing, are, in fact, wholly wrong. Not to mention that therefore I should return immediately.

DOH!

Um, let's review. So you KNOW me so well that you have decided not to listen to what I TOLD YOU at the time very clearly were my reasons... you've decided that you should come up with your own theories based upon... um... your KNOWLEDGE of me. And those theories have led you to believe that the reasons I left you -- not the ones I gave you, mind you -- the reasons YOU have determined I left you are, in fact, wrong. Right. I see.

OK, admittedly, guy one (relationship) arguably DOES know me, or at least did. He likely knows the answers to the questions I posed above (I think). However, we have NOT been close for about 8 months...and lemme tell ya, a lot can happen in 8 months. Especially in my life. Ask anyone. Specifically, I lost my Mom last Fall to an unexpected illness. You think that's a tad life-changing? Yepper. Guess what, #1 -- you do NOT know me anymore. Not like you used to. And when I tell you I left because I don't think you're the right choice for me -- you can believe I know of what I speak: ME.

And guy two (date) ... well that was the real kicker. He claims to "know me better than anyone." WTF??? We dated maybe 12 weeks total -- of which I was outta town at least half the time. Yes, he knew me through the Mom stuff and that was a whopper. But ironically, seeing me ONLY in a time of huge grief and stress doesn't give you any better a "big picture" than if it was all sunshine and light for a few weeks. A CSI:Miami character said on last night's show, about her job detecting motives by examining physical evidence from one crime scene, "I've learned that just because you know one thing about a person doesn't mean you know that person." So, when I tell you I left because I don't think you're the right choice for me -- well, read above.

So what actually gets my goat the most? Put the proverbial bee in my bonnet? Is the fly in my ointment? (Goats and bees and flies...oh my!)

It's the arrogance. Both guys implied that because they KNOW me, they were able to clearly determine that there was something wrong with ME for making the choice I made. Because obviously there's nothing about either of THEM that would have warranted that choice. Because obviously I don't know MYSELF, as well as they do, or at least well enough to responsibly, rationally, wholeheartedly and lucidly determine my own preferences. Cha. Denial ain't just a river in Egypt, boys.

Why am I really upset and ranting? Because KNOWING someone -- or saying you do -- carries far more weight than is being demonstrated here. The term's being bandied about like Australians in Cyclone Larry. I actually love GETTING to know people and its starting to seem like no one really defines that with value and weight and importance so much anymore.

It's not fast food, people. Relish the loooooong process of experiencing life with friends old and new, delving into each other's thoughts & feelings on drain-a-bottle-of-chardonnay evenings -- and kicking back and watching stupid TV. I love and RESPECT the process of being allowed into another person's private space a little bit at a time. Honor that by bringing your own joy to the party -- a little bit at a time. What's the saying? Life is a marathon... pace yourself!

Hey, I'm Captain Intensity. Noone, friend or otherwise, ever said to me "Gee, you better speed it up a tad." But I still believe in quality AND quantity. And people -- dare I say the ever-present "society" -- are losing appreciation for the great gift that sharing time, sharing the ups and downs of a life, getting to KNOW someone, really is. We're losing appreciation that KNOWING is the reward for putting in the time, and the effort, and the caring ... it's the reward for participating fully in life and for opening yourself and your heart to possibility over the long term -- not just surfing the 'Net and answering the eHarmony 50-point compatibility survey.

So for all those of you out there that I consider friends ... and vice versa ... and for those new to the circle ... I am so looking forward to GETTING TO KNOW YOU. Better. For years to come.

I submit that these three little words are at the very least a wonderful privilege to speak, and maybe at best a prequisite for those other three little words. I'm choosing to use them all carefully from now on.

2 Comments:

At 1:37 PM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

-C. here.
On ruffles, I was wracking my brain on who else may have the dubious distinction
of being able to pull them off. Frank Langella in Dracula 1979?, or possibly He Who Was
Then Wasn't and Now Is Prince, circa Purple Rain.
...and the "I know you" calls to mind east coast vs west coast relating.East coasters seems intitially
aloof, even suspicious, but once you're in (and it does take time) it's like you're a made guy.Bonded
by blood. Whereas out here on the left coast people are willing to be your warm,fuzzy,huggy new bestest
friend in the whole world within 5 minutes of meeting you, but don't be looking to call them when
you need that bail money at 3a.m.
Preppy shirts still produce a pavlovian response in me, instilled in highschool, of ridiculing mercilessly
the upturned collar sporting tight asses and then meeting under the bleachers after 3rd period
for a celebratory joint. Pink Izods are to me the equivalent of a red cape to a bull.

 
At 11:19 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

You've got "bee in the bonnet" and "fly in the ointment" but you forgot "monkey in the wrench".

Not to be a "pain in the ass".

 

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