arguments

“Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will.”

I am by nature, one of the most optimist people you will ever have the good fortune, or misfortune to meet, depending on your mood.

After being around for this long, I’ve developed the faith that things are always working out for me. (And when I say me I mean my husband, my family, those I love, my dog and my country—just to be clear.)

But, and I can say this from years of personal experience, a deep reservoir of doubt runs just under the surface of us optimists. We have a profound and abiding respect for it and unless you cohabitate with us or secretly videotape our most private moments (sicko), you will most likely never see it overtake us. Because we are extremely skilled at keeping it under wraps.

For many, it can be a struggle. Yet, at the end of the day, their cork always bobs to the top, their glass remains half-full and the sun comes up the next morning. Pessimistic curmudgeons never fight with themselves this way.

One half of them says things suck—and the other half agrees.

Sometimes I envy them.  

Many describe their doubt as an adversary they meet on the battlefield. They fight it tooth and nail. I was taught by a wise so-and-so along the way, I can’t remember who, that if you come face to face with your doubt—play devil’s advocate.

So I learned to stage a doubt and faith debate.

Instead of silencing my doubt or smothering it with chocolate sauce and salted peanuts and scarfing it down at midnight by the light of the refrigerator — I let it have its say.

When Doubt takes the podium he is disgusting—puffed up with hot air, bloated with confidence. He brings flow-charts. He quotes statistics. You have to hand it to him, he comes loaded with evidence and everything he points to has a basis in fact. He produces pictures and movies to remind you of past failures. When he thinks he has you on the ropes, he brings out a panel of experts who can back him up.

Don’t you fucking hate panels of experts?

If you’re like me I can only listen to his bullshit for so long before I start to argue—and that’s when the debate begins.

He can recite from memory an article he read or a study that was done which PROVES my dreams will never succeed. “I don’t believe that!” I interrupt. Then I site the exceptions, because if there are exceptions, well, then his theory sucks. I name big names, important names. Names we’d all recognize.

He sweats like a pig and drinks water while he feigns ignorance.

“Look around you”, he demands, his face turning the color of eggplant, “There is SO MUCH EVIDENCE. Nobody’s happy in their job, nobody likes what they do, what you hope to accomplish is impossible! Besides that, people are miserable. And they’re fat.” He stuffs half a Reuben with extra sauerkraut into his mouth between jabs.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I step away from my podium for full effect. I have bare feet because, number one, it grounds me, and number two, it’s against the rules and this throws Doubt for a loop. Doubt is most definitely a rule follower.

While he wavers, I state my case. “While I cannot argue that there are those who may feel this way; when I look beyond all the flotsam, I see hope. And possibility. There have always been people like me—like most of the people I know—who despite all of the cautionary tales still run into the arena.”

Doubt shakes his head in exasperation. There is mustard on his chin.

“It’s easier to be scared and quit. Believe me. I know. But as more and more of us poke holes in your lousy logic, it deflates… like a flaccid balloon. And everybody knows you can’t win an argument with a flaccid balloon.”

“Wrong!” he bends low and hisses air into his mic. “Wrooooong.” His eyes are squinted closed as he all but disappears behind his podium.  He knows I’m right.

Doubt had his say and the more I argued for my crazy, optimistic, why-the-hell-not way of life, the more I stood flat-footed in my conviction—the more I started believing it.

Someone once said, “Faith is the act of believing what you cannot yet see.”
I think it was Bill Murray or some other saint who said that which makes sense because you’d have to be able to perform a miracle, like a brain swap, to maintain faith and optimism in this day and age. But then I think about living in the middle ages with no indoor plumbing and only porridge to eat and I feel a sudden wave of gratitude for exactly where I’m standing.

See how that works?

Carry on,
xox

“Doubt kills more dreams than failure ever will.”

I am, by nature, one of the most optimist people you will ever have the good fortune, or mis-fortune to meet, depending on your mood.

After being around this long, I’ve developed the faith that things are always working out for me. (And when I say me I mean my country, my husband, my family, those I love and my dog—just to be clear.)

But, and I can say this from years of personal experience, a deep reservoir of doubt runs just under the surface of us optimists. We have a profound and abiding respect for it and unless you cohabitate with us or secretly videotape our most private moments (sicko), you will most likely never see it overtake us. We are extremely skilled at keeping it under wraps.

For many it can be a struggle. Yet, at the end of the day their cork always bobs to the top, their glass remains half-full. Pessimistic curmudgeons never fight with themselves this way. One half of them says things suck—and the other half agrees.

Sometimes…I envy them.  

Many describe their doubt as an adversary they meet on the battlefield. I was taught by a wise so-and-so along the way, I can’t remember who, that you have to face your doubt—and play the devil’s advocate.

It helps me when I stage a doubt and faith debate.

Instead of silencing my doubt or smothering it with chocolate sauce and salted peanuts and scarfing it down at midnight by the light of the refrigerator — I let it have its say.

When Doubt takes the podium he is disgusting—puffed up with hot air, bloated with confidence. He has flow-charts. He quotes statistics. You have to hand it to him, everything he points to has a basis in fact. He produces pictures and movies to remind you of past failures. When he thinks he has you on the ropes, he brings out a panel of experts who can back him up.

Don’t you fucking hate panels of experts?

If you’re like me I can only listen to his bullshit for so long before I start to argue—and that’s when the debate begins.

He can recite from memory an article he read or a study that was done which PROVES my dreams will never succeed. “I don’t believe that!” I interrupt. Then I site the exceptions, because if there are exceptions, well, then his theory sucks. I name big names, important names. names we’d all recognize.

He drinks water. He feigns ignorance.

“Look around you”, he demands, his face turning purple, “There is SO MUCH EVIDENCE. Nobody’s happy in their job, nobody likes what they do, what you hope to accomplish is impossible! Besides that, people are miserable. And they’re fat.” He stuffs half a Reuben with extra sauerkraut into his mouth between jabs.

“What the hell are you talking about?” I step away from my podium for full effect. I have bare feet because, number one, it’s against the rules. And it throws Doubt for a loop. Doubt is most definitely a rule follower.  And number two, it grounds me.

“While I cannot argue that there are those who may feel this way, when I look beyond all the flotsam, I see hope. And possibility. There have always been people like me—like most of the people I know—who despite all of the cautionary tales still run into the arena.”

Doubt shakes his head in exasperation. There is mustard on his chin.

“It’s easier to be scared and quit. Believe me. I know. But as more and more of us poke holes in your lousy logic, it deflates… like a flaccid balloon. And everybody knows you can’t win an argument with a flaccid balloon.”

“Wrong.” he bends low and hisses air into his mic. “Wrooooong.” His eyes are squinted closed as he all but disappears behind his podium.  He knows I’m right.

Doubt had his say and the more I argued for my crazy, optimistic, why-the-hell-not way of life the more I stood flat-footed in my conviction. I started believing it.

Corks bob, glasses fill—and there’s the win.

Someone once said “Faith is to believe what you do not yet see.”
I think it was Bill Murray or some other saint who said it. It would have to be a saint because to maintain faith and optimism in this day and age, well, that would really be a miracle. But then I think about living in the middle ages with no indoor plumbing and only porridge to eat and I feel a sudden wave of gratitude.

See how that works?

Carry on,
xox

You know how when we present our dilemma to a friend and they launch one solution, one brilliant idea after another our way and we barely even listen? And even if we do, we can find something wrong with every solution offered and argue for our dilemma.

Why do we do that?

You know what I’m talkin’ about. We argue FOR that thing that is driving us bat-shit nuts with the skill and tenacity of a fucking Supreme Court Judge.

“Well, yeah, but that takes money and I can’t afford it.”

“Well, yeah, but I can’t just leave.”

“Well, yeah, but when I walk on it, it hurts.”

Overruled! You are all overruled! I want to stay stuck and miserable; mired in my miasma of muck. (Holy alliteration!)

I think I’ll call it MY YEAH BUT HABIT.

Listen, we even use this tactic when things are going well—WTF?!

You got a promotion! “Yeah, but I didn’t get more vacation days.”

You got a raise! “Yeah, but, not as much as I wanted.”

A baby boy! Congratulations! “Yeah, but, I really thought we were having girl, and everybody says boys are tough, and he doesn’t let us sleep for a minute.”

What’s with that you guys?

Do we like to complain? (I know someone who thinks that complaining is the force that keeps us all alive. Seriously.)

Do we like to hear ourselves speak? (yes, yes I do)

Is unhappiness and dissatisfaction a habit? (yeah, but, I REALLY don’t know why).

Do our dilemmas get us attention? (Similar to publicly—there is no bad attention)

Here’s a thought.
What if we used that skill all the time? Like an equal opportunity Yeah but. Like this:

Oh, that’s a nasty dent is your fender; “Yeah, but, I’m lucky that’s all that happened.”

There are a lot of people applying for that position. “Yeah, but, my resume is stellar, I have tons of experience, and they’d be lucky to have me.”

Wow, he left you? “Yeah, but, if I’m honest with myself things have been lousy between us for a while, and now that the ball is rolling we can figure things out and move on with our lives.”

I know. That ones a streeeeeeeech. (but we could do it)

Then how about this one? Let’s all try to be more aware when we’re arguing FOR the muck we’re mired in.
It is BEYOND limiting!

Once and for all, lets all get off our Yeah butts.

Carry on,
xox

* A Flashback Friday! I wrote this a long time ago but was reminded of it the other day when I played with a friend to determine who was paying for coffee. I won. With Paper.

Rock, Paper, Scissors. 

A game invented by the caveman for their amusement, in order to distract you long enough to forget what you were arguing about.
This handy, dandy trio is has been used since then to resolve conflict for the decision impaired among us.

But for me, this has become an insightful, personality revealing exercise.

I’ve discovered, through years of extensive research and observation, that we all know someone who always picks rock.
And doesn’t their behavior resemble that of a rock?
The good qualities: solid, immovable, and grounded.
The not so good qualities: solid, immovable and stubborn, with their hand in a fist.
They are rock.
They pick it every time.
Your scissors can’t cut it.
In theory, paper wins over rock.
Paper can wrap around it, but rock will argue that it can go through paper or sit on top of it, causing paper to rethink its strategy.
That is just so rock.

The people who pick paper are the writers, litigators and diplomats among us.

You can rest assured their paper is covered with notes and talking points for their long-winded arguments.

They are also the embracers among us.

They think any conflict can be solved with a hug.
They are also crazy strong and amazingly fragile.
Just know that once they are cut or torn, no amount of scotch tape can fix them.
I fall into this category for every reason listed, but mostly because I’ve hugged my way out of some really contentious battles.

Ask my sister.

When she and I lived together with a roommate, (back in the day when we all had Flock of Seagulls hair, and wore our underwear on the outside of our clothes) said roommate had a total meltdown, complete with the ugly cry face and actual screaming. She lost her shit so completely, I could only think of one way to make it stop…I hugged her. I became a human straightjacket. The look on my sister’s face still makes me laugh, I’m LoL-ing right now!
Paper people are vulnerable to the scissor…and fire.
I have a friend who added standing, waving fingers as “fire” into the game many years ago. He’s a character for another day… and a cheater!

The folks that pick /scissor/ can be sharp.
By that I mean smart and funny, and they always have a fabulous haircut…hmmmm.
They are unique, super creative and crafty;  the Edward Scissorhands among us.

They can also cut you with one word or a look.
They don’t even need their /scissors/.
One stern, guilt inducing glance can crumple paper into tears, and even intimidate rock.
/Scissor/ people can be back stabbers, so beware.
I’m not kidding. My study is very precise and has been done through the years with tens of people.

I think every first date, job interview, and assembly at the UN, should start with a game of rock, paper, scissor, just so you get an idea of who you’re dealing with.

Next time you play, pay attention. What’s your “go to” symbol?
*And if someone pulls out waving fingers and yells fire melts rock, paper and scissors! that’s my friend,  he’s a rascal and a sore loser…good luck with that…and tell him I said Hey!

Xox