TM & 1995 Dr. Seuss Enterprises, L.P.
Secret Art Collection, Museum of Science and Industry
“A Dr. Seuss {a.k.a. Ted Geisel} drawing suggesting that
no matter how big, inflated or different the image we try to portray, being ourselves
is most important.” (The Secret Art of Dr. Seuss). Check out
everything Seuss at Seussville.
This happened.
So, we’re all dressed up standing in front of a restaurant. That would
be Terry and me. We’re meeting friends for a special occasion dinner.
A visiting scholar from another university with an impressive history
of accomplishment is being celebrated after a week-long workshop. Since we
aren’t part of the workshop, the organizer of the dinner, with an intention to
inform and welcome us, includes the scholar’s 32-page paper and 30-minute video
in the email dinner invitation.
Our friend drives up and and drops the scholar off before looking for
a parking space. We smile and wave.
The guest walks up and I say, “Hi, nice to meet you” and something
like “we read your paper.” Terry without hesitation says, "No we
didn't." Then I have to say “I lied,” that “I browsed it and it’s nice to
meet you.”
Oops.
Oops.
A victory is that I took responsibility for my behavior. I didn't jump
on the victim triangle and rescue myself by persecuting Terry. Terry was taking
care of himself. He later said to me that he didn't want to be in a situation
of having to answer questions about that paper he had not read. I was even a
little grateful (not a lot) that I'm catching (hah! another fib, he caught
it) my little (hah! again) exaggeration foible. I'm a fibber. Trying not
to be, though.
What happened?
In a feeling of insecurity and nervousness, I sometimes fall back on
an old behavior. I exaggerate to please. Pleasing. I people-please because I
want to be liked. Ugh.
I know I’m people-pleasing, well…especially when Terry claims his
truth! Seriously, I know I’m pleasing when I act out of an unmet personal need
rather than from my heart, and with no attachment to results. You see, I’m
trying to get you to like me. To think more of me.
I do this because an inner part of me feels inadequate and imagines
that if you really knew me, you wouldn’t be interested. You wouldn’t like me.
Now the good part.
My antidote is turning that outward gaze inward. I stop seeking
approval and validation from others and strive to develop my own inner supply
of peace, approval, well-being, and self-esteem.
The old me would have obsessed during dinner about how I met my
feeling of inadequacy by exaggerating. Fibbing.
The old me would resent Terry (at least in my thoughts) for brash
insensitivity rather than see that he took care of himself.
The old me would have rescued Terry by making up excuses for his
blatant honesty.
The old me would have felt like a victim—poor me, wallow wallow, for
being made to look like a fibber.
I think about Joan Didion’s books. Her
non-fiction. Specifically, in her book Slouching Towards Bethlehem. The
title references a line in a W.
B. Yeat's poem. She writes, “Character—the willingness to accept
responsibility for one’s own life is the source from which self-respect springs.”
I linger there.
