How to Find Yourself, Part 2-B
First, thanks to all of you who responded in such a supportive way to my “I’m sick and I can’t think straight” post. You lifted me up and confirmed what I already knew: I need more sleep. The past two days? I’ve gone to bed at 8 p.m., like a 5 year old. I’ve also been taking a hefty cocktail of over-the-counter remedies, most of which were probably overkill. I’m now feeling much better, though.
And my dog? He seems to be cured, too. I guess he had a stomachache, no doubt caused by eating something gross out of some garbage can. That or rabbit poop. I’ll never know for sure. Whatever it was, it has now run through his system and he’s interested in eating his food again.
Sometimes time really does solve all problems. Or, most of them anyway. My house still needs a good vacuuming and we still have no food. My husband ended up using tortillas to make pizza last night, when he discovered at 6 p.m. that the Boboli he’d planned to use had expired about a month ago. But it wasn’t the end of the world. Tortilla pizza actually tasted pretty good.
Anyway, now, I bring you the post I promised to write two days ago: how your friends can serve as a mirror for self-discovery.
It’s my firm belief that we all have three kinds of people in our lives.
- People who try to mold us into the person they want us to be and have only a limited ability to see us clearly as who we really are.
- People who see us clearly, accept us for who we are (even the ugly parts) and who have the ability to serve as mirror for accurate self-reflection—but who are too timid to tell it like it is.
- People who have all of the abilities of the second category, but who are brave enough to actually tell us what they see. These are the friends who—when asked–point out the spinach between our teeth, the unruly hair that could really use a new style, and the personality ticks that might be the real cause of all of our problems.
The vast majority of people fall into categories 1 and 2. It’s only the rare person who falls into category 3. When you meet such a person? Cultivate and honor that friendship, because you’ve stumbled across something that is rare and precious.
The problem is that most of us, myself included, have an internal protective mechanism that causes us to doubt the honesty of such people. We ask them, “Do I look fat in these pants?” They say, “Well as a matter of fact, those pants really are not all that flattering on you.” Then we think, “What does SHE know?!” We might even say something like, “What kind of a friend ARE you?” Then that person quickly moves into category number 2.
Yet, had we made the most of the situation, we might have said, “They’re not? What types of pants ARE flattering on me?” And we might have learned something important.
I’ve so been there. I have just a few friends who fall into category number 3, and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve tried to ignore the random gifts of insight that they’ve given to me over the years. I’ve fought against the advice. At times, I even went as far as to get mad at these people.
Lately, however, I’ve come to the conclusion that a few of my friends are ALWAYS right. They see me more clearly than I see myself, and they seem to know what’s good for me in a way that I just don’t. They are like that mythical wise man up on the big hill. I ask them who I am, and they show me. I just don’t always like what I see. But that’s my shortcoming, not theirs.
So I’ve been encouraging myself to trust any and all advice and input from such friends.
Just last week, for instance, I was telling a friend that I’m a social dork. She said, “You’re not socially inept. You just have trouble with your openings and closings.”
It stopped me cold because it was so true. I’m terrible at Hellos and handshakes and fist bumps and hugs and those European cheek kisses. I never know which one of those is appropriate for which situation. At parties, I’m the person who stands around like a big dork, because I don’t know how to walk up to someone and just start talking. So I stand there and look around, thinking, “I look like a big dork.” Then someone usually walks over to me and initiates the conversation—as normal people know how to do. Once I start talking? I’m fine.
Until I’m not. Let’s say I have to go to the bathroom so badly that my bladder is going to explode, spraying urine all over the room. Do I end the conversation? No, I don’t, because I’m not sure what you are supposed to tell someone in such a situation. Is it polite to say, “I’d love to talk with you more, but I’m about to pee my pants. Where’s the bathroom?” Or do I just say, “Nice talking with you” and walk away?
And at what point in the conversation, do I say it? I have trouble finding the natural breaks and pauses in speech, so, quite often, someone will be pouring out her soul to me, and all I’ll be thinking is, “I don’t think this is the right moment to tell her I really need to take a piss. I’ll wait a little longer.”
It’s like that. But this issue with the openings and closings has caused me to think of myself as shy, when, in fact, I just need to practice saying hello and good-bye. It’s a problem that I can solve with a little practice, now that I understand what the true problem really is.
And I’m indebted to the friend who had the courage to point that out.
Do you have trouble listening to the feedback from certain friends? How can you tell a friend who is trying to mold you into someone you aren’t from a friend who can see you clearly? How do you deal with the advice you get from your friends?
Next: How to become the person you want to be
Confused? Start with How to Find Yourself, Part 1.
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