Another Awesome Dead Poet's Weekend

I'm back from another Dead Poet's Retreat, my 15th time going away with some of the loveliest, awesomest, most creative people I know.  Here are a couple of things I wrote while there.

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This was mostly a stream-of-consciousness bit about a memory from elementary school:

When I was in elementary school, I had a table collapse on me.  We were in the school cafeteria having one of those assemblies where they try to get you all psyched up about the prizes you can win by selling magazine subscriptions, and some of the kids had decided to stand on top of the tables.  I remained sitting at one of the benches connected to the table top.  Suddenly, the whole thing folded in on itself, and with a loud bang I was half under the table.  This, of course, hurt like hell.  And there were kids, oblivious, still standing on the table that was now crushing me.  So I screamed at them, "Get off!  Get off the table!  Get off of me!"  I shouted as loud as I could, trying to get their attention.  But nobody paid the slightest attention.  I'm yelling as loud as I can, and everyone's just milling about, on top of me, some of them jumping up and down on the table top.  After a minute or two, some teachers made their way over and quickly assessed the situation and I was rescued.

But I couldn't understand how everyone had been so awful, so oblivious to my pain.  I mean, some kids are always going to be jerks, but everyone?

Happily, once I was out, I was fine.  Nothing broken.  And I told a friend about how nobody would move, no matter how I yelled.  But he looked at me and said something curious.  He said, "Matt, you weren't yelling.  I was right next to you and you were super calm and polite and you said, 'Excuse me.  Excuse me, but would you mind getting off of the table?'  And you didn't shout it.  It was like you were saying it under  your breath."

So what happened there?  I could swear I'd been yelling and screaming, "Get off!  Get off!"  But I had a witness who had heard me calmly and politely express my concern.

It seems we have a tenuous grip on reality.  Other people do not see us as we see ourselves.  Events did not unfold the way we remember.  We get all bent out of shape over things, but the people we're mad at don't always deserve our judgement and wrath.

***

And here's a little poem I wrote.  The camp is the Lazy W Ranch, but I sometimes refer to it as 'The Lazy Dub''  And I thought it would be fun to write a poem where all of the lines end with words that are cut off.  But I was running short on time, so only some do:

At the Lazy Dub',
I'd made some troub',
Fixin' for a fight.

The law I'd broke.
Thrown in the poke
Until I saw the light.

When I heard the Preach',
And he did beseech.
Turned me from my fall.

So here I stand.
A diff'rent man.
And that's my story, y'all.

***

And look!  Pictures!

Why I Look At You Like That

I've noticed that often people react strongly to my reactions.  I'll give them a look or exclaim in such a way that is unnerving or upsetting.

The thing is, though, I find people fascinating and I am always trying to figure them out.  In Myers-Briggs, I'm an INTJ, which is the scientist, but what I study is people.  In the Enneagram, I'm a 5, which is the observer, but what I observe is ... you guessed it ... people.

And while in many ways, I can be emotionally reserved, I do react when people behave in a way that confuses or surprises me. 

"Why would you do that?" 

"You do know that makes no sense, right?" 

"What the hell!?!"

The thing is, it's not that I want you to feel stupid.  If I actually think you're stupid, I will try not to let on.  So if you're getting a big reaction out of me, I think it's my robot brain saying, "Does.  Not.  Compute."

So, for example, if you've just made an emotional argument and won't listen to logic, then I may react strongly.  If you've done something to cause our team to lose the game, and I think you really do know how to play, you may get an outburst.  Especially if we're playing Outburst.

But, just so you know, it's a good thing.  It means I'm trying to figure you out.  Yes, I'm feeling incredulous or confounded and you may feel put on the spot or judged, but that's not really it.  (OK, some of it is judging - shut up, I'm making a point.)  It means I'm invested in understanding you.  I care about understanding you.  And I'm choosing to interact with you in an emotional way, which not everyone gets from me.

So the next time I look at you like you're an alien or exclaim that what you did made no sense, don't flip out.  Maybe ask me what I'm thinking and feeling and dialogue with me.  I'll love that, and I'll listen and explain, so you'll feel (one would hope) better loved and understood, too.

And I'll try to explain myself better in the moment.  But I'm just so perplexed by you!

Thankful for Being an Ass

Today, I'm thankful for being an ass!

OK, but seriously.  I've had a couple of conversations recently, where the person I was talking to was very swayed by the opinions of others.  Which is very strange to me.

In one instance, the person had been told something that wasn't true - that they were a bad person.  When they were not a bad person and, from what I understand, had not done anything deserving of said accusation.  And my response was that, if that were me, I would have laughed at the person saying it.  Because I would see it for the absurdity that it is.  Sadly, the person it was said to took it to heart.

In another case, a person that I know was talking about how certain people that they have to work with look at her body, either with judgement or lust or some other unjustified opinion.  And I asked, "So what?  Why do you care?"

Now, don't get me wrong - we all have our issues and I'm not saying I'm better than those people because I wouldn't take the stupid accusation personally or because I wouldn't care if they looked at me a certain way.  I'm just saying that I don't get it.  My question is a real question.  Why do you care?

I'm pretty low on the empathy scale.  If you tell me about your sick mom, I'll listen because I'm fond of you and you could use someone to listen to you, but I'm probably not feeling anything for your mom.  And how that plays out in the world of caring what people think of me is that I generally don't.  Care, that is.  I mean, I'm affected by what my mother says, because she's my mom.  I'll listen to what friends say and try to process it and maybe, possibly, sometimes take it to heart.  But if you say something that's clearly untrue or look at me with undeserved judgement, I know that's more about you than me.  And it simply doesn't stick to me.

Sure, I could use more empathy.  I actually value it in others and wish I had more of it.  But I'm of two minds about it.  On one hand, I value empathy, but on the other I look at my lack and laugh.

But I do think it's good that God made some people who are less swayed by the emotions or stupidity of others.  And this morning in bed, as I thought about it, I thanked God for making me the way I am.  I'm a bit of an ass who can see through the shit.