Twisted

My 8-yr-old son was excited for me to get an iMac computer when my previous computer became part of the silver set--you know, a touch of arthritis, a little vertigo, questions about Alzheimers, and problems with lumbago and rutabaga.

Why would he care? First, because the store had iMacs set up just for kids, with games they could play, placed on low tables with kid-sized chairs.

But then, when he saw the teenagers goofing around with the built-in camera, a new world opened up. He could make his own head swirl!

He keeps asking if I'd made some pictures with the camera, so I finally decided to do it. They captured my different moods pretty well.

Enjoy the exhibit.

Stay Real

Steve

Dreary

Outside today it's been gray with low, heavy clouds. It sprinkled some, then it rained, then it poured for a while, and now it's sprinkling again.

I love it!

I love overcast days. I doubt I would like it if we had them often, but they are a welcome friend when they come along. Drizzly cold days in autumn are my favorite. These mild rainy days in spring are second best. Wide-open skies have "stuff to do" written all over them. Overcast skies are like blankets saying Just slow down and enjoy today for a while.

I'm pretty sure this has something to do with my personality. I like sunsets but can't really warm up to sunrise. They look completely different to me. When the sun sets, it slowly changes color, gets big and heavy, and empties itself of light. Yellow, orange, then red, plus some purple thrown in. It's poetry!

But in the early morning it's just dark--which seems wrong to me. Then some light appears in the sky. Suddenly, a big blaring yellow ball peeks up over the horizon and blinds me. Within minutes the air is warm and the breeze is gone. Why am I supposed to like that?

If I'm gonna watch for light showing up in the sky, I'd rather see the moon rise or the stars come out. Better than that, I like to see a valley become dotted with lights from houses as night falls. Even better, I like the neon colors that fire up at dusk on restaurants and theaters. I like strings of lights along a sidewalk cafe or a restaurant's back terrace.

There's a different energy at night. I think it's about connecting with people you want to see after spending the day working around people you have to see. It's about getting to do something relaxing or fun after getting your day's work done.

I'm a night owl by nature, but having kids and their schedules has changed my ability to be up late. Still, I feel the energy and possibility of night. Up until a big blaring yellow ball peeks up over the horizon and blinds me.

I get a little nutty when there's a fool moon sometimes, but that's a collection of tales for another day.

Be Real

Steve

I Am Not Nice

Over the years I’ve been accused of being nice. I used to feel very worried when I heard that, thinking that somehow I had misrepresented myself and given people the wrong impression. "Don’t blame me," I would think. "I didn’t do anything to give you that idea." I figured that comments like that came from people who had only seen a little bit of me trying to put my best foot forward, or were simply too hasty in their judgment.

You see, I’m critical and cynical. I get frustrated and annoyed pretty easily. I’m unsure about a lot of things, but when I know something for sure, I believe it strongly. My sense of humor runs a little dark and quirky, and it means I laugh at things that other people think are solemn. I inherited my grandmother’s sense of honesty—if it’s true it can be said. I used to think I was blunt until business motivation experts taught me the phrase “boldly honest” instead.

So I used to worry when people would call me nice. I was sure that the truth would come out “sooner rather than later” and I would be exposed as a fraud. I would become the group pariah. Don’t get me wrong here. Being a pariah wasn’t my greatest fear, as you can imagine for someone who has a twisted sense of humor and tends to speak his mind too freely. I was worried about being considered a fraud, someone who represented himself as much better, much more pleasant—much “nicer’—than he really was.

I’ve gotten into arguments (the spoken, conversational style with modulated voices, not the yelling and slamming doors type) with people who said I was nice. I tried to debate them and prove how wrong they were. I would use “boldly honest” comments as evidence, which they would label “truthful.” I would point out my twisted humor and they would say I was “funny.” Each such conversation validated my own belief that the quality of a person is deeper than appearances and that the most interesting and most worthwhile aspects of a person are substantive and unique, not pleasant and agreeable. I realized I wasn’t the only person who preferred people with depth and strength and an interesting viewpoint over the “nice” people favored by an overwhelming majority (easily more than four out of five dentists surveyed).

Don’t get me wrong here. The idea of “nice” is, well—nice. But I have been disillusioned, discouraged, and disappointed by “nice” people too many times. I’ve seen people in groups congregate around the “nice” couple and heard the praise heaped on them. But when tough times come along for a group member the “nice” people pull back. They aren’t the ones offering help and encouragement. Instead they’re gossiping about personal failure and thanking God out loud that it’s not their family who are struggling, all the while explaining how it’s their own superior actions (and not really God at all) that explains why they will NEVER be in such a tough spot.

They know the rules of propriety and decorum. Heck, they helped update them at the committee meeting last year. They have the smiles that don’t spread any deeper than the skin on their faces, the kind that look like they’re practiced in a mirror. They make great eye contact when they talk to you. They squint their eyes in feigned interest when they ask about your family. The women pat your shoulder and the men purse their lips and give good firm handshakes. They’re the Stepford neighbors.
I’ve seen it in group after group, in lots of different settings. They’re the successful people that everyone else admires, the kind that make it easy to feel inferior. And there’s this unspoken understanding that they feel really good about how well they follow the rules of society, and they think a little shame on your part might be a good motivator.

Plenty of times I’ve seen that adversity sheds light on what’s really going on. If something bad is happening to their family, they make comments that mean, “This wasn’t supposed to happen to us. We’ve done everything right.” They’re far more worried about other people discovering their flaws than actually fixing them. A child or spouse’s struggle causes personal embarrassment for them, and is therefore unforgivable.

Their rule is simple: If you pretend with them that they and their family are models of good citizenship they will like you, especially if you are as pleasant and non-unique as they are. If you challenge their presentation to the world—if you say the Emperor has no clothes—you are exiled and become fodder for gossip.

I no longer look up to “nice” people and I am no longer drawn to them. I look instead for people with genuinely likeable qualities that take a little longer to be revealed. I consider people with these qualities to be kind, and I prefer kind over nice every day. I strive to express these qualities in my own life. I fall short most of the time, for I am a very flawed person.

I work on forgiving those people who accused me of being “nice.” Hopefully they meant they saw little hints of kindness. I’m positive that if they meant that falsely pleasant go-along-to-get-along nonsense, they found out pretty quickly—that’s not me!