I walked uphill to school—both ways!

WARNING: This post contains a few unsolicited words of advice.

Allow me to start with this…people don’t really care about your poor, pathetic, re-mixed, myopic, self-centered, egotistical, sad stories of your past, unless it pertains to them in some immediately relevant and useful way. Otherwise, it is just an excruciating sob story that someone has to politely endure without being able to ask for a refund.

Beyond boring folks to tears with these miserably, unmoving tales of yesteryear, the author of these tales tends to alienate themselves, which can be very uncomfortable for the audience (not so much for the storyteller, since they have actually projected themselves back in time and can’t hear the crickets chirping or the giant hook being prepped to pull them off the stage in the present). So, I suggest just keeping the psycho-melodrama of your questionable history zipped up tight.

Lastly, when you get the urge to unleash your most personal secrets and regrets of times long ago, absolutely DO NOT crash those waves of remorse on some unsuspecting person, who is currently living through the experience that you feel the need to vomit up. Ironically, and infuriatingly, the person who least deserves all of these pseudo-factual stories is usually the one who evokes the memories, which torture us all.

Let me give you an example, it would be truly and utterly unforgivable, if I decided to inundate my sister Anita with all my woeful tales of college. Oh, how I worked two jobs, slept in the art studio, stole food to stay alive, failed Swahili, etc. Blah, blah, blah. I feel the bile of narcissism choking me even as I write this.

Firstly—WHATEVER! Secondly, if my story is so compelling and undeniably original or noteworthy, I should write a book. And anyone interested can find it readily at the nearest B&N (prominently displayed on the summer-$1 sale rack next to Gurley-Brown’s latest bestseller). Thirdly, the last soul on earth who should have to hear anything remotely negative and heart wrenching about a college experience is a bloody college student. Lastly, I had a total blast in college and would go back again tomorrow, but that is irrelevant to my point here.

After I have had my time, it is my job to be a statesman. It is no longer my story to tell, it is no longer about me. I had my moment, I did my thing, and if I have regrets—than those are mine as well.

Now, I wouldn’t want to be without the guidance of women who have walked the roads that I walk down today. Their experience is invaluable. They know things that I don’t know; they have perspective that I can’t begin to imagine. They have made good choices and bad, and felt the complex emotions, which accompany both. I want to know about their struggles, as they pertain to my situation. I want to have the support of the wise and graceful mothers, who know my story without even hearing it. To suggest that someone’s past should be ignored would be like throwing the baby out with the bathwater. To lose all of that knowledge would be the real tragedy.

But offering wisdom is a far cry from being the sounding board for a less-than-life once lived. Anita does not need to listen to me (Unless I am being truly hilarious, then she has no choice.). She is not required to feign sorrow for the injustices and transgressions from the Stone Age when I went to school. She does not need to pat me on the back for the T-Rex, which got away. That would be absurd.

Precisely the opposite, it is my duty to be there for her as she starts her journey. To be available if she has questions or more importantly, just give her a hug and to tell her not to worry when things get rough. My role is simply that roly-poly cheerleader on the sidelines, trying not to let my panties ride up, while I scream, “Gimme an A!”

It would be unforgivably selfish to make her time about me. She cannot change my past, frankly, neither can I. And a bucket-full of tears isn’t going to wash it away. But we can all change our futures.

So, here is my totally unwanted word of wisdom:
If you can’t control the desire to be selfish, indulgent and insanely narcissistic when faced with someone else’s life—instead of giving into your mind-numbingly-dull misery, try sharing in their success.



Disclaimer: This post has NOTHING to do with Anita. I would also like to note that all likenesses to real and actual people or events are merely coincidental and should be considered a freak accident.