Me, Me, Me...

There is a human trait that I very much dislike in others when I see it, and that is the necessity of some people to turn the focus of conversations with others back to themselves.  Everyone does it, of course.  It only becomes maddening when the other party in the discussion does it without fail.  Interacting with such folks is much like talking to a lamp shade, impossible to tell if they've actually heard you or are just thinking of what their response will be before you have even completed your thought.  (I had a dear friend, now deceased, who was frustratingly guilty of this, and I talked to him by phone every morning of the week, except Sunday.  It got old.  I learned to stop trying to get past it, merely shaking my head to myself at the end of each call.)

But, guess what?  The older I get, the more I see this in myself!  What to do...what to do?

This is something that has developed over a lifetime:

As a new teacher (in 1969), I was only four years older than the Seniors I had that year.  I wanted the students to understand that my experiences were not that far removed from theirs, so I often used personal anecdotes to relay that to them.

As an administrator's wife (from 1977 to 1991), I learned to keep privileged information private, but still soaked it all up to learn from it.  And learn, I did.

As a new mother (in 1979), I traded stories with other mothers--as all mothers do--about my labor/delivery, and ask advice about what to do to help my baby with milestones.  I shared as much as I got.

As the Youth Director at my church (short stint...1985 or so?), I was trying to guide the kids in their spiritual journey in a planning session.  I was using some personal experience to illustrate a point to them, when one of them challenged me:  "Ms. McNary, it was so much easier for your generation.  We have so many stresses to deal with."  In an instant, my mind flashed back to my teenage years when I had said the exact same thing to my mother.  "It was easier for your generation!"  (Please forgive me, Mom!  I was young.  I was stupid.  I paid no homage to your growing up during the Great Depression when even farm families worried about how to meet expenses.  I didn't think about the years that Dad was off to war and you were raising two kids alone, or the fact that the family homestead burned to the ground when you and my sisters and grandparents were living in it.  I never factored in the tragic loss of a beloved child in an awful home accident since that happened before I was even born.  But yeah...it wasn't easier for your generation at all.  And bless you for agreeing with my ungrateful butt in order to diffuse the argument!  Hard to argue with someone who agrees with you, right?)

A dividing line happened that day.  I realized that I was suddenly a dinosaur, no longer in touch with the way things are for kids, yet I went on to teach kids for another twenty years or so.  I continued to use personal experiences to help my students try to understand what I was teaching them.  And why not?  I'd had so many experiences that formed who I was.  I'd lived in post-war Hawaii and Japan.  I'd endured the assassinations of a President, a President's brother, and a well-noted civil rights leader.  I'd seen (and almost participated in--passively) the riots at the Democratic National Convention in Chicago in 1968.  I'd followed all of the violence that occurred because of the Civil Rights Movement.  I'd been a passive part of The Women's Movement of the 1970s.  I'd worked on a Hollywood movie set; met famous stars; was a Girl Scout leader; a Youth Director; a Sunday School teacher; and a teacher.  Every day of my life of working with kids/parents/administration, I learned something new about life.  Why not share it?  Doesn't it help others get a feel for what is being presented?

The answer?  No, it doesn't.  It became more and more difficult to bridge the gap between my understanding of the world and other's.  When I retired in 2009, a couple of years too early, I understood that it was time.  That was a horrible year for me in many ways, and the things I learned that particular year made me even wiser and more introspective.  Why not share my experiences with the world?  Because the world no longer looks to the past to learn from experience.  The statement that those who don't learn from history are doomed to repeat it is sadly true.  But today's thinking is that the past doesn't count.  Today's generations are too far away from it to understand.  Unless you've lived it, you can't comprehend it.

So now you might ask what, in Heaven's name, brought on this post?  One word answer: my granddaughter.  I got word that she is participating in the Women's March in Seattle today.  My first response to that news was that I hoped she'd be safe.  And then I came back to myself.  I admire her courage.  It's courage I never had.  I think that I've been a scared little duck all my life, too frightened to follow any passion that would create a risk.  I never lived farther than 200 miles from my parents.  Couldn't have survived.  Was totally shocked when my own child moved 2,000 miles away, twice.  Couldn't fathom--still don't--how my ex-husband could pull up stakes and drive off into the sunset without wanting/needing to see our daughter and his only biological grandchildren (who are the lights of my life) more than he does.

I still (and will continue to) catch myself using my own life experiences to try to illustrate things that I think are important to others; however, I now understand that they can take or leave my contributions to a discussion as useful to them...or not.

Looking back on my life, I wish I'd had the strength before that I have now.  I could have saved myself much heartache and focused my emotional energy on things that might have made a difference in the world.  And what my granddaughter does today is part of the plan of her life.  Someday, she can talk about her passion in marching with other women in the interest of equality.  (Which is what "we" did back in the 70s.  History repeats itself.  Maybe it will mean something this time?)