In my very first residency for my MBA, one of the instructors, talking about constructing an argument, told the story of where she looked at her friend and said “You know, I’m 45. If an argument doesn’t make sense to me, it probably just doesn’t make sense.”
There was this terrific sense in letting go when I heard that. The idea that maybe I was smart enough to know bullshit when I heard it, that my gut had something worthwhile to say.
This week, I have had 4 different people say things that were breathtakingly rude and or cruel. One person gets a by because they are 10. It may have been cruel but at 10, it wasn’t deliberate.
The other three.
The other three.
On Monday someone who knows me well commented that Mother’s day must have just been another day for me, given that my mother and my son were dead. Uhh, no. Not quite.
Last night, at a corporate dinner, I wound up alone at a table. A colleague turned up. She asked me if I could move seats, didn’t say thank you. She and another colleague sat down, completely ignored me and carried on a conversation. It was like I wasn’t even there. I suppose you could say that our mother’s obviously taught us different things about how we act in public.
I’m not going to talk about the third thing. It involved me getting dumped and frankly, it still stings. Rather a lot. I’m short on perspective.
Usually, when I am treated rudely or cruelly, I wonder if it’s me. I wonder what I’ve done, thinking that normally people aren’t rude or cruel for no reason. The interesting thing is where I landed last night. The moment where I realized that these people had been rude or cruel and that it had nothing to do with me. It said more about them than it ever did about me. In fact, in some sense, it wasn’t even about me.