When you're little and your mom tells you that you won't understand your parents' unreasonable and abusive rules until you have little darlings of your own, you roll your eyes and swear you'll never be like that.
I know. I was a kid once.
And I heard that bs more than a couple hundred times.
And, of course, like most things we hate to hear, it turns out to be true.
How do I know this? Being kidless and all?
Well, technically, I couldn't really personally know. I certainly couldn't know in the biblical sense. But I do have a few friends. And a few relatives. And some of them have kids. And I've watched all of them do and say the things that are clearly unreasonable and abusive.
At least in their kids' eyes.
And I know they thought they'd never do that. Never say that. Never go places that could be perceived as unreasonable. But now they've got little darlings of their own and they understand the importance of being unreasonable sometimes.
And I just really hate that concept.
You hear something.
And you hear it more than once.
And you dismiss it as old-school, antiquated, uneducated, unmodern.
You dismiss it as irrelevant to the complexity of your life. Irrelevant to the intellectual and logical world you've intelligently and purposefully created.
And then, of course, it turns out to be true.
Damn.
"You gotta eat breakfast!" "You can't start the day with an empty stomach!"
Yeah, I heard that one a bunch.
And, of course I never ate breakfast. And, of course, I believed that not eating breakfast was best.
"But I'm not hungry in the morning."
"I don't have time."
"Eating in the morning makes me hungrier in the afternoon."
"I'd rather sleep longer."
And, of course, I learned that life is much better, runs are much easier and your brain functions better if you eat breakfast. I don't like that little fact, but I understand it.
Damn.
And I always heard that gossip was bad.
Everyone knew that gossip was bad. You weren't supposed to gossip. Or spread gossip. Or engage in the activity of gossip by listening to it or otherwise encouraging it.
And you definitely weren't supposed to enjoy gossip. Even though it was really fun and exciting to be "in" on the news and the secrets and the dirt.
And I thought I knew better. I definitely engaged in the activity of gossip. Both actively and passively.
It was just too difficult - impossible even - to avoid gossiping. If you didn't gossip, you were out of the loop. And being out of the loop was the most direct route to not belonging.
"You didn't know that?" was the worst accusation of all. Once folks knew that you didn't know, they lost trust in your importance as a person.
How could you be that good of a friend if you didn't know every detail of your so-called friend's life? How could you be that good of a daughter or niece or sister or cousin if you didn't know every detail of your relatives' lives?
No. It was critical that you be in on everything. It was the unspoken rule that knowing what's going on is the critical factor in being important and being viewed as important.
And I believed that stupidity.
I believed that stupid ridiculous rule until I finally started questioning it a few years ago.
A few years ago - actually many years now - I got sick. Not the sexy kind of sick where people bring you videos and ice cream and camp out on your sickbed where you look all cute in your cotton and lace nothings.
No. I got the icky kind of sick that makes people uncomfortable.
Luckily, I got better too. But getting better took an uncomfortably long time.
Getting better was uncomfortable for me because I was not my real self. Actually, I wasn't much of any self.
I wasn't strong or capable or highly functioning. I wasn't smart or sharp or witty or quick. I wasn't a person that others could call on for help or advice or support or a ride. For a long time, I was just a truly disabled person who needed time to heal.
And people weren't comfortable with that.
Don't get me wrong. During that time, I had a lot of support from those close to me. I had the most basic support - like the provisions of food and magazines to pass the time.
And I also had the hardest types of support.
I had family and friends who were willing to just spend time with me. Just be company. Just be there without rushing me. And without getting frustrated. And without urging me to be better immediately since there was no way I could hurry the process.
And the support that meant the most was from those who accepted that they couldn't do anything to hurry or help the recovery process. Those who accepted that they could only just be there, but they couldn't actually fix the situation.
When you get that kind of support, it's amazing.
But then there were other people. People who asked how I was doing but couldn't really accept the slowness of the recovery or the uncertainty of when I'd be okay.
Some people just couldn't stop themselves from asking when I'd be back to normal. Or from urging me to say how well I was doing...even if I didn't feel like I was doing so well.
When you're sick - or undergoing any of life's traumas, for that matter - it's hard.
It's hard to be going through a challenging time. And it's hard in lots of ways.
No matter what you do right or wrong in your efforts to get through difficulty, you feel the toll it takes on every aspect of your life. The toll is taken physically, emotionally, mentally and often financially.
And, unless you live in isolation, the toll is also taken on those around you.
Kind of like real life, you don't need to make things more difficult. They're already difficult enough.
About halfway through my recovery, though, I had a disturbing lunch. A family friend wanted to see how I was doing and show her support. The friend was really and truly well-meaning.
But the lunch was like an interview. Question after question regarding what I would do and what my plans were. And when there weren't questions, there was advice.
I felt terrible that day. I knew the friend was just trying to show concern and be helpful. And I really did appreciate the effort and energy.
But what I really needed was for people to just let me be and allow me to go through the slow process I was experiencing without additional pressure or stress.
After lunch that day, I talked to a confidante and shared my frustration. Actually, I think I just cried a lot and complained. That's more honest.
The confidante told me something that changed my life.
She - oops...I mean he or she - said that my life was other people's entertainment.
She didn't mean that in a hostile way or even a negative way. She just meant that other people - even people who mean well - want to know what's going on. Even when they don't need to know. And even when we don't need for them to know. She meant that it's human nature for people to be curious and to want to be in the loop.
Of course, being a people myself, I understood.
That day was liberating for me. That was the day that I realized my life was my own. And that the details of my life were precious. And intimate. And private. That was the day I realized that I could choose how much of my life - or how little of it - to share with the world.
"I don't know" would become my mantra.
But it was also that day that I was able to focus on recovery and stop worrying about other peoples' reactions to my situation.
For the first time, I was comfortable admitting how little I actually knew. Without worrying that "I don't know" was an unsatisfying answer for others.
But the truth was that I didn't know when I'd be better. And I didn't know what I'd do with my life when I was better. I really just didn't know. And I didn't need to know. I just needed to be.
It was a really important change.
But I still didn't completely understand why gossip was bad.
I just knew that I hadn't enjoyed being the subject of other people's curiousity and gossip. But that only made gossip an uncomfortable thing. It didn't make gossip wrong.
I didn't realize the wrongful nature of gossip until my life drama involved somebody else.
When somebody else is involved in your escapades, sexcapades or life screenplay, you have an obligation to protect them. And, it seems to me, you're also obligated to protect the relationship you share with them. Assuming you view your relationships as sacred and important, I suppose.
Gossip about my life was just annoying and distracting. Until it involved another person. Then it became potentially hurtful. To the other person and to the relationship.
And that's when I really shut off the tap.
I stopped divulging.
I became the queen of "I don't know."
And, ironically, a really terrific thing happened.
"I don't know" turned out to be sincerely liberating.
Without the pressure of providing other people with the answers they demanded, I realized how nice it was to just not know everything.
Not knowing everything about my life and my future meant that more things were possible. I began to equate not knowing with not needing to know. And being comfortable with the uncertainty that life entails. Most important, though, I began to view the "I don't know" approach as a genuine openness to whatever might come along.
Even though I actually first started saying "I don't know" in order to avoid sharing all of me with the world, I really came to appreciate that I just don't know the answers to my life's questions.
And, at this point, I don't need or want to know.
I don't know how I'll feel at some future date. And I don't know how someone will feel about me. And I don't know whether I'll like something or not.
I don't know exactly where I'll be at all times...not professionally, not emotionally, not intellectually, not politically. And not even physically.
All I know for sure is that I will continue to feel things, like things, dislike things. And, that now and in the future, I'll be places where life has taken me.
In a deposition, you should always say as little as possible. "Don't volunteer information" is the first tip most deponents hear when their attorneys prep them for the upcoming torture.
But most deponents - i.e., ordinary people being asked annoying questions ad nauseum - get nervous when asked a question.
Most people assume that if there was a question posed to them, they must know the answer. It's almost like people think that they wouldn't have been asked the question unless they knew the answer.
And many people, assuming there must be an answer, will come up with an answer.
It's just human nature. To want to tell when asked.
And so, in any good deposition prep, the attorney will provide his client with a limited number of acceptable answers that the client may respond with when asked a question.
"if you know the answer is yes, you can say yes."
"if you know the answer is no, you can say no."
"if you know the answer is red, you may say red."
"And if you don't know the answer, you can say that you don't know the answer."
It's that last response that people traditionally have a problem with. People feel like they're not being honest or helpful or cooperative if they say "I don't know."
But, in a deposition, if you don't know, you don't know. And so you must say that.
Fortunately, life isn't a deposition. Even if it sometimes feels like one.
There's no obligation to answer any question. Or to know what the answer is. For you or for anyone else.
Now, of course, it must be noted that the deposing attorney, or the people in your life, may not always be happy with "I don't know" as a response.
I recently sent out notice of my new home address. Gotta make sure those cards and letters keep coming.
Of course, only my stuff is actually moved. Boo and I still haven't made the actual physical transition from Reston to Vienna. We're very busy enjoying the last days of summer. Or something like that.
when I finally did decide when and where to move, though, I stayed true to my new form and told only a handful of people. A very small hand.
And life was peaceful.
So, wouldn't you know I got a note back this week in response to my change of address.
This, according to the sender: "I have known that you have relocated for a long time now."
Apparently, even when we don't know the answer or our own personal future, those who think they need to know, do.