Ultimately, every villain in a given chapter of my life has never been evil. Our living stories are seldom epic battles of good versus evil. Rather, wars are waged and grievances accumulated over selfishness. That is it. Nothing more. 

But these selfish people will rob from you your comfort hoping to increase theirs. They will steal from you the truth hoping to change the confines of their reality. They will deliver harm to you hoping to add to themselves, protection. They will replace your justice hoping to bring an excess of mercy for them. And no matter what evil they leave on your doorstep, they will always lack, always be victims of want and need. Always, there will be some sense that they wish things could have been different. How different things will need to have been for them to have chosen better will always be undefined and unattainable. Ultimately, the villains who has hurt me the most simply chose their own interests over me.

I am trying to craft a storybook villain with this in mind. I want to exaggerate his lack of other flaws rather than his multitude of them. Ironically, I am finding that he must be carefully written and rewritten so that any other flaw that may come from his selfishness, however naturally, grows late in the story. 

The student physician escorts me from the waiting room. She is smiling enough for four people. She asks me how I am and I compromise between her feelings and mine by claiming that I am 'making it'. Her smile trips and she looks overly concerned.

To her credit, all she says is, "making it is good." Had her response been any less kind or neutral or whatever it was, I might have broke just then,. Inside, I am asking how she can see patients all day and expect them to be having good days. My blood pressure is escalating.

I remind myself that not every patient feels as terribly as I do today, not every sick person feels like they should stay home from the doctor's.
I remind myself that I used to make appointments when I was feeling pretty ok.
I remind myself that there was a time before the pain fog.
I remind myself that just as I only barely remember "before" everyone else only barely imagines the fog.
I remind myself of all of those things two or three times, because I am forgetful today.

I borrow some of her extra smile and I try to forget everything I just tried to remember including the pain.

Getting married taught me gratitude in a deep way. Everyone told me the rules and expectations of writing Thank Yous at the end. But the way they told me about it made me think that I would not enjoy it. I have been surprised to find how much having a wedding taught me about expressing gratitude. I found that I enjoyed writing the cards. I found that I wished it was always socially acceptable to express thanks. I felt so overwhelmed by the help we received in trying to accomplish a wedding that I could not possibly say, "Thank you" enough. I wanted to write cards to people just for attending. I didn't though. I could not afford that many cards.
Since September, I have found myself often returning to that feeling of gratitude. See the people that I am most appreciative of do not even seem to be aware of *how much* they lightened my load. There were a half dozen or so people who played small roles who strutted about with significance and over-graciously accepted my thanks. I do not still feel indebted with love to them. There are at least a dozen or more people who gave, who met needs, and who love me so well; but I do not think they were as aware of the giving as I was of the receiving.
At bottom, I learned how to attend at wedding by having a wedding. I learned that I had been neutral at best and very near a burden at worst with a few admirable suggestions. At top, I watched people love me so well. And I learned how to say thank you in dozens of different ways.

I. When A Good Friend Decides to Lie to You
followed by
II. Why I Am Nobody's Best Friend


I.
When a good friend decides to lie to you, listen. Listen closely.

You will learn a lot more about them from the kind of lies they tell than from any truth they may share on that deceitful day.

For example, she does not trust you, is drowning in her pride, and likes it.

For example, he does not know he is lying, really thinks you will always be friends, and cannot see that you have not been friends in years.

For example, she thinks your silence is belief rather than grief, thinks you love the lies, thinks you prefer them. She laughs when you say you value honesty like oxygen, thinks she knows better than you.

Listen!
Listen closely. Why? Because they are telling you how it will end. They are telling you what version of themselves they think you want. They are telling you exactly what is most important to them.

Take it all in.

You already knew you were not important. Do not let this be about you. Do not let them surprise you or incite you. You are not here to lie. You are not here to compete. You are here to listen.

Listen. When the liars walk in, pull up a chair, and feed you to nausea--listen!

Listen to every word.

They are drawing you an inverted map. If you listen long enough, they will color in everything except for the place where they keep their heart.

Listen even closer when the lies grow denser, more palatable, sweeter. They will always be what you want to hear. Do not touch them. Only listen. See if you can't find  the echo of truth in the shadow of each new lie.

When the map is complete, bury it. No. Wait. Copy it. Bury the first copy like the treasure that it is. Then give the copy to the friend. You just might lead him back to himself. Or else, she will only see her portrait.

II.
When I decide to tell you that I know you have been lying to me, I say "I'm sorry" to you for weeks afterwards in empty hallways and as I drive myself to work. I know my apologies never get to you, but I cannot exactly deliver them after our last conversation went so badly.

I know that I was selfish. I have apologized for that every time I have seen your photo on social media. But I wanted you to know that I was not fooled. I wanted you to feel how nauseous I felt trying to swallow so much untruth. I wanted you to know that your lies offended my intelligence. I wanted you to know that you are a terrible liar.

When I asked for the truth, I wanted you to choose me. See the second you sat down with me and brought lies, I realized that I was not the right kind of important anymore. I wanted to fix it. I wanted us to be good friends. So I dressed my intentions up in their best shades of concern.

I apologized in the bathroom at work for not being patient enough to let you find your way back on your own. I tried to give you a map even though it wasn't complete. You couldn't think of a use for it. Instead of bringing us closer, oceans flooded in with new, uncharted territories on their tides.

I have said "I'm sorry" twenty-six times on the freeway since we last talked. Each time, I was thinking of how I could have listened just a little longer.

As it turns out, I loved truth more than you. And that is something I am still unable to apologize for even though I keep practicing.

Well, against the odds, I got hired. Finally. In aviation. 20 months of wandering in the wilderness and now...who knows. I was supposed to start this week. But car problems. But I got something similar to mono and thought I was dying. My brain still is not fully recovered. Hence the inordinate use of fragments without the justification of poetry. This is how I talk to myself, to my husband, and on the phone right now. Fragmentary.

I got a crock pot this week. I'm scared of it. Because I value food and I hate learning curves and the possibility of ruining a perfectly good meal if I wasn't so damn lazy (or busy) so as to need a crock pot. I'm scared of it because of the cult-like following it has engendered in so many. Go ahead, mention a slow cooker in a a group of 6ish people. There is an 80% that someone will profess their total dependence, undying love, or eternal gratitude to the machine.

Of course, I haven't made anything in said slow cooker yet. I've been busy trying to put more fluids in my body than my body can expel. A competition for which I am ill prepared.

Where were we? Slow cooker. No. Wait. Job. Job! It's not real until my toolbox moves out of the bedroom. I've had too many jobs fall through at this exact point. I don't expect this one to fall through, but I have never expected any of the others either. I have no idea what I expect. I finally let myself look at all of Tyler's student loans, at our prospective budget, and our wishlist of things (a trip to Austria? a newer car?). Turns out, we are probably going to make it. Of course we won't get everything we want. But we at least have the tools to make a life.

"Is it really that hard to explain to potential jobs that you were fired due to sexism? Because that makes me mad."

A friend of mine asked me this. Now, I don't think I was fired because of sexism. I was fired for 1,000 reasons and most of them don't have names. But this is what I want to say to her and about sexism today.

Sexism doesn't exist in aviation. It's like the most embarrassing version of the tooth fairy. Sure, some people believe in sexism. We call them the "F" word (because you don't use the word "feminist" in aviation anymore than sexism) and then we put them in the fanatical camp. In that camp, people also believe in the Illumnati, that WWII never happened, and that the lunar landing was a hoax. They probably hunt Big Foot on the weekend. In fact, if you are tempted in an interview for aviation to use the "S" word or the "F" word, you should probably just tell them that you hunt Big Foot on the weekend. At least then, you stand the chance of laughing after the awkward pause.

All metaphor aside. If you talk about sexism, people become afraid of you like you have a disease. Like feminists cause sexism. And in aviation, women are the most protected minority. Everyone else has to suck it up and try to be a white male. Except that they can't. Because skin and biology. So everyone else has to laugh when people make fun of them. (There are precious few women who are not white.)  They will make Mexican jokes, Armenian jokes, Russian jokes, nothing is off limits. If it hurts, then you are not a man. And that has crossed cultures somehow so everyone pretends to agree.  There are no public women jokes. And you are supposed to say "thank you" for that "luxury". They will find every other way of saying "woman" though. You will find words like "emotional", "logical", "innocent", "sensitive", "independent", "angry", "strong", "ambitious", "focused" and a host of others drip out of their mouths like graffiti tags. They are trying to talk of feminine and masculine characteristics. You can tell which are which because the masculine ones all are synonyms for "capable of doing this job" while the feminine ones all somehow rhyme with "almost" or "not a bad second choice".

Most men in aviation do not see their privilege and they don't even think about it. When someone comes in and drops the "S Bomb", they feel self-conscious because they feel an awful lot like they have a ton in common with that other guy who is apparently sexist. Then they get defensive. Sexism cannot exist because they do not feel active hate for women. They do not realize that defining a successful employee by descriptions only men have is sexist (and detrimental to men who don't fit those descriptions while still being valuable employees). They do not count themselves as antagonistic toward women, in fact, they themselves take more flack than any woman does! Therefore, sexism does not exist.

I simply cannot go into an interview and say, "I was fired because of sexism." All at once I would have committed every faux pax. I will have admitted a weakness, I will have drawn attention to how un-male I am, I will have shown that I believe in the tooth fairy, and I will have accused my prospective employer of siding with my enemy causing them to defend him without even knowing the man or the situation. And definitely without knowing me and if I am trustworthy...or if I am just an overemotional...person...who is over-reacting rather than analyzing the situation.

Thoughts on searching for a job in honor of my one year anniversary.

It gets easier to be rejected (most days).

You take a deep breath, you make the call.

You smile because they say you can hear a smile on the other end of the phone.  Now this is a game. How many seconds can pass before they finally say no?

Before you call, it is placed firmly in their mind. Before they answer the phone, they think it. They take a deep breath before they answer. They don’t want to make this difficult. They don’t want to think of it in terms of “rejection”. But you make them.

You smile so big, your arms do not have room to hold their rejection. You offer your armful of happiness to them. Suddenly, they realize that their two letters are heavier than they first thought. So they try to add a few more to disperse the weight, for your sake, of course. “We really liked you but…” And you hear about how qualified someone else is, about how little work they have, about the experience that you don’t quite have, about every good intention that they just found.

This is the point at which, if you are truly playing the game, you smile bigger, deeper, broader.

You say you understand. Smile again.

You smother any sort of insincerity right out of them with your magnanimity. You thank them generously and exit quickly to leave them believing, if possible, that they really did want to hire you.

Then you let out the breath that you took before you made the call, just as surely as they are also letting their breath loose. You let all of the hope and smile fall through your fingers and throw their rejection on the heap with the others in the corner of your mind. How long before they say “no”? And each time, you hope, you learn to hold your breath a little longer. Until one day, you learn to hold it longer than them.