Tag Archives: sympathy

De-escalate

De-escalate: (v) to decrease in intensity, magnitude, etc.

It is something I’ve always done.

I never gave it much thought.

To me it just made sense.

For you see, taking the first reaction of a human being who has been startled or hurt is not only unfair—it is not representative of who they are.

I do believe there is a childish portion in each one of us that wants to be offended so we can receive sympathy from those around us about being slighted.

But if you have just run into someone’s car and you’re informing them of that fact, and you expect them to give you a calm, measured response, you just might be evil.

Human beings should be given a chance to de-escalate from their initial response.

I don’t care what it is.

I don’t care if you think they should be more mature.

None of us are.

If we have a moment and realize how poorly we have handled our initial reaction, we often will mellow, apologize and gather our notions in a more thoughtful way.

But we need that time.

We need that mercy.

We need to understand that the first words that come out of somebody’s mouth when he or she feels offended are not conciliatory nor particularly kind.

They are bitter.

They are scolding words looking to heap damage.

It won’t hurt us to give our fellow human beings a chance to get over that initial pain—de-escalate and find a better reaction.

It does require that we have the maturity to know:

First reactions don’t count.

Each one of us deserves an opportunity to reflect and do better.

 

Curate

Curate: (v) to take charge, organize or select content for presentation or publication

You don’t have to wait for spring cleaning.

Any good sunny afternoon will do.

Drive down a residential street and you will find things that people have pushed, shoved and even carried from their houses, sitting next to the road—as trash, ready to be toted away.

Some of it has earned its relegation to the Kingdom of Trash. But other items are just portions of the household that aren’t used anymore—discarded as junk.

You can pick up some treasures. I have found myself doing that.

I curate.

It doesn’t make me a curator, but in this throw-away generation, I find myself cruising the neighborhoods of Facebook, Snapchat, Instagram and the like, finding huge piles of values and ideas that used to be regarded as beautiful, or at least workable, sitting in the Out Box, declared spam.

Civility used to be applauded. But now it seems anemic in the presence of the onslaught of aggressive accusation.

You can go anywhere on Facebook and find a trashed version of the Golden Rule: Do unto others as you would have them do unto you—and find that it still polishes up quite nicely.

One by one, we have taken institutions and ideas that have lasted for millennia and made sure they were gone from memory—by next Tuesday.

Things like sympathy, empathy, poetry, sentiment, reflection, journaling.

Even record albums and CDs are disappearing.

Books look like dinosaurs marching to the mark-down bins.

Part of this is being done in ignorance, but most of it is the influence of negativity, wishing to wipe out sensitivity by deeming it weak and stupid.

I suppose you can join the crowd and stack your shit for flushing.

Or you might want to take a second to wonder if simply enjoying something for its feeling–which has existed since Eden and now is considered passé on Instagram—would be worth tucking it away like an old sweater that is ready to give warmth on the next very chilly morning.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Cue Ball

Cue ball: (n) the ball a player strikes with the cue, as distinguished from the other balls on the table.

I insisted it was not fair.

Every time I played pool with my friends—Eight Ball—I did a great job clearing the balls on the table.

That is, until I got down to the cue ball and the eight ball.

Then it was time to put the eight ball away, naming the pocket where I planned to place it, thus closing the game with a slam-dunk.

Here was my problem.

Every time I got to that stage, I either hit the eight ball and it would go into a pocket I did not name, or more often, the cue ball followed the eight ball into the pocket, thus making me a loser.

I argued.

After all, I completed 90% of the task of winning the game. How could I lose the 90% over a 10% mistake?

It was unrighteous.

It was a plot.

It was un-American.

My friends didn’t care. “The rules say…”

That’s how they began every discussion, declaring me a loser.

I got to the point that I hated the cue ball. I feared it. Once I began fearing it, I was afraid to strike it with my stick.

Of course, if you can’t strike the cue ball with your stick, you won’t have a very good break at the beginning of the game. So I stopped wanting to have the first break—which certainly robbed me of an advantage. So I sat around, hoping someone would miss a shot since I had passed on breaking the balls.

All at once, a game I had been very efficient at playing I now despised.

All because of the cue ball.

That damned cue ball that followed the eight ball into the pocket.

Or the eight ball which refused to go to where I declared its home to be.

At no time did it occur to me that I could practice and become better. Why would you want to practice something that was unfair?

So I pouted.

After a while, when I went with my friends to play pool, I just sat and watched.

Soon I wouldn’t go along if they were going to play pool.

They, on the other hand, could never guarantee that pool wouldn’t crop up in the evening’s activities. So I started staying home.

I soon became a recluse. Nobody wanted to be around me.

Since I wasn’t going to be around people, I stopped bathing, didn’t shave and only occasionally brushed my teeth. My breath was repugnant, even to my own mouth.

Pretty soon people were praying for me instead of visiting me.

I went into a mental hospital and was diagnosed with a personality disorder.

I had to stay in my room, though, because the recreational area had a pool table and it sent me into a fit of rage.

I tried to overdose on aspirin but failed miserably.

You see? This is what can happen when you are viciously attacked by a cue ball.

Epilogue

By the way, everything I shared after the word “un-American” was completely made up—seeking your sympathy.

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

 

Crutch

Crutch: (n) a staff to assist a lame person in walking

Granted sexual energy, stamina and maybe the best physical appearance one ever sports…

The age of sixteen might seem to be the highlight of one’s life.

That is, if it were not accompanied by such stupidity.

I liked Kevin. I think Kevin liked me. We had been friends since elementary school.

But when he was sixteen years old, he broke his leg.

He was out with a bunch of friends, sledding on a snowy day, and failed to notice that his sleigh was going particularly fast and he was unable to stop from crashing into a wall.

It was a clean break.

Matter of fact, he went right to the doctor and had a cast put on (back in the day when such contraptions were humongous, resembling modern art).

Kevin was not part of the very popular crowd–but on any Friday night when a party was being planned, he was also not on the “don’t invite at any cost” list.

Then something strange happened.

His accident occurred on a Saturday, so he showed up at school on Monday, his leg in a cast, on crutches.

At first there was an outpouring of sympathy.

But then, a strange anthropology sprouted in our herd. All the other sixteen-year-old kids began acting aloof to Kevin. Maybe it was because he was always trailing us, hopping along on his crutches. (Or because we grew up in a small, provincial community and the kids thought the broken leg might be contagious.)

Whatever the cause, by the time Kevin completed his seven-week rehabilitation and returned to us wearing two shoes, he had become an outcast.

He tried desperately to return to his normal acceptable position, but invitations to parties went away.

I tried to befriend him–but suffering in the throes of adolescent insanity myself, I also retreated.

It didn’t get better when he was seventeen and it didn’t get better when he was eighteen.

That seven-week period when our comrade had a broken leg, giving us a visual of himself on crutches, sealed his image for the balance of high school.

It was so bizarre.

Kevin tried everything possible to re-establish himself. He tried out for the football team, chorus and the school play. It didn’t make any difference.

Yet I thought it was a phenomenon of being a shortsighted teenager until I grew up and realized that expressing weakness or needing a crutch of any type in the presence of your fellow-humans traps you in a box that is very difficult to escape.

So what is the best advice?

Stay away from a crutch.

Which probably means you should stop breaking your legs.

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

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Crocodile Tears

Crocodile tears: (n) insincere tears

It’s difficult to determine what ends up making something popular.

I guess most folks would think that some action gains notoriety because it’s so successful.

Yet there are many things we do in our society that are not successful at all.

But we insist on continuing them out of tradition, politics or religion.

No, there’s more to it than that.

For something to be truly popular, everyone who participates needs to feel they’re getting something off of it.

Recently it has become prevalent to share your life story in front of a camera on television and to cry.

Everyone is supposed to feel great empathy.

Therefore, you can win over the favor of an entire audience while simultaneously making them feel generous with their concern.

The hitch in this plan is that ultimately, we all favor winners. Otherwise there would be no need for trophies, awards and accolades. So how is it that we are convinced that a close-up on our face with crocodile tears, sharing the tragedy that has happened to us, is supposed to be powerful enough to place us in a preferred position?

We now have singers who don’t sing for the joy of it or write songs because they feel energized or compelled. Rather, they hope that in singing or writing they can gain enough money to move their poor little family out of the trailer, and the youngest daughter, who was born with a third arm, can finally get that operation which is only performed by one doctor, whose clinic is in the Alps.

The ingredients are all there:

  • A sympathetic character
  • Crocodile tears
  • A nearly unbelievable story
  • And a wish that somehow or another, those who are listening will assist by voting this particular singer to the winner’s circle.

It works around this horrible assertion that bad things happen to us:

We are victims.

There were no opportunities to improve our situation to this point.

And there are forces at work to destroy us which we don’t seem able to curtail.

Now, if this is the case—in other words, if there’s truth to the fact that any one of us can be impaled by a mysterious destiny that’s targeting us—then I have to admit, the human life journey seems fruitless.

If I have no say, I’d rather not speak.

 

funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

 

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Constant

Constant: (adj) occurring continuously over a period of time.

I call them “weenie words.” These are exaggerated terms we use to either gain sympathy or establish our prowess.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Constant is one of those words.

“I am constantly in pain.”

I’m sorry–highly unlikely.

“I am praying constantly for you.”

I hope not. Please set aside some time for your life.

“I am constantly exercising to stay in shape.”

So what’s the advantage of being in shape if you don’t have time to flaunt it?

“I am constantly wrestling with insomnia.”

O-h-h-h, I don’t know. I’ll come back in about fifteen minutes and see you dozing.

There are certain constants that would be good, but you rarely hear them:

“I am constantly learning to be a better person through my mistakes.”

“I am constantly being reminded that I’m not as good as I think I am.”

“I am constant in my need for people to inform me when I’m being an asshole.”

Constant is a weenie word–a choice of language we make when we’re trying to impress, complain or insist that we’ve done everything humanly possible.

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Mr. Kringle's Tales...26 Stories 'Til Christmas

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Close

Close: (adj) not separated by distance, or a family member

When I am close but fall short, I immediately decide to find the person who is close to me.

Here’s the truth: close is not good enough.

Doing your best rarely fills the need. Attempts to rationalize only bring about comical excuses which generate private laughter from your
critics and too much sympathy from your friends.

If we’re going to live lives where we “come close,” then we need someone to be close to. This person needs to tell us the truth. They need to praise when we achieve our purposes, and point out when our cowardice, laziness or procrastination send us to the end of the line, to try again.

We are part of the human race. “All have fallen short.” So says the patriarch.

Since we are guilty of failing to make the edge, we need someone edgy in our lives, to help us discover how to do it better the next time. Otherwise, we do it again, but with less vigor because of nervous energy, or we develop a reason not to attempt a second effort.

We will be close so we need someone close.

That’s as simple as life is.

And if for some reason, we’re unable to hear the tender suggestions of that friend, then we will spend all of our time wallowing in a self-satisfied nothingness.

Let’s not do that.

Come close? Then draw close.

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Circumstance

Circumstance: (n) a condition connected with or relevant to an event or action

“Considering the circumstance…”

Damn it, don’t lie to me. You’re not really going to let me consider my circumstance. You might like to pretend you will, so that I will
consider yours.

The true breath of fresh air which enlivens the human brain is that second place cannot be excused away due to circumstance.

We might get sympathy. Some people might even agree that we got an unfair shake.

But once they walk away from us and talk to others, they will call second place what it is–a loss.

The time to consider circumstance is before an endeavor is begun, not after it’s been anemically performed.

It’s not so much that we love winners as it is that we hate losers.

If someone is able to lose with the understanding that there was a personal deficit, we’re willing to allow them into the competition again to acquire a second chance.

Even Apollo Creed gave Rocky an additional crack at the title, because Rocky did so well the first time and did not pretend he won. (Please forgive the obscure reference to a forty-year-old movie.)

What can I do to convince myself that pleading “circumstance” only makes me look like I’m needy instead of letting people know that I am fully aware that I fell short and am prepared to change things up?

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Chuckle

Chuckle: (n) a quiet or suppressed laugh

He drove me crazy (even though that would not require many miles of journey.)

He was a theater critic who came out to watch my show, and even though I settled my inner being by insisting that I would not glance his
way, my left eyeball seemed to deny the commitment and wander over to view his reaction.

I was hilarious–at least as hilarious as I ever get.

I was on–which is merely the opposite of off.

The audience was with me–though you’re never quite sure how much of it is sympathy.

He just sat there. He didn’t smirk. It was like someone had bet him that he could remain emotionless during the entire affair.

I had never met him before, but I hated him. Not with a ferocious anger, sprouting a rage of violence–just a normal, temporary, human hatred, which could be assuaged merely by the introduction of a simple compliment.

After the show he came backstage to see me. I was surprised. I thought the next thing I would receive from this fellow would be his review, in which he used as many synonyms for “mediocre” as possible.

But turns out he thought I was hilarious.

I had to ask him, “Did you ever laugh?”

He frowned at me as if concerned about how much I might have hurt myself falling off the turnip truck.

“You don’t have to laugh out loud to chuckle inside,” he explained. “I am an internal chuckler, who simultaneously admires the material that amuses me.”

I stared at him, but decided not to pursue the conversation, since at this point, the outcome was in my favor.

But as I considered his insight, I realized that I often watched things on television or at the movies, and would tell people how funny they were–yet I wasn’t really sure my face exuded anything other than a death growl.

All I can say is, you can feel free to chuckle, even if it’s done inside your closet of appreciation.

But thank God–oh, thank God–for those who spill and spew their laughter.

 

 

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Bend

Bend: (v) to shape or force something straight into a curve

Dictionary B

I cannot tell you how many nibbles I have in my ass from all the things I’ve taken for granted, which have now come back to bite me.

I think it’s probably the greatest lesson I’ve learned–since everything in life is basically temporary, don’t allow yourself to become permanently smug.

When I was much younger, I was very athletic–not in the conventional sense of playing for organized teams, but I was pretty proficient at most games.

This was especially significant since all of my life, I have struggled with obesity. So I always heard the phrase, “You really move good for a big man.”

This caused me to puff up my chest, believing that my present prowess, provided by my youth, would continue on into my later years.

I never stopped to thank God for the parts of me that bend, because I assumed they would continue their vigil.

They didn’t.

First my ankles bothered me, then my knees, and I will stop there because I don’t want to encourage further sympathy from body parts which have not yet given up.

I am in awe of bending knees. What a magnificent joint.

So since I have not retained the ability to bend all of my human physical parts with as much efficiency as I once did, I have decided to compensate by bending my will and mercy in directions that establish … my greater flexibility.

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