(. . . I Wish I Was)

I spend a lot of time trying to figure out how things work. I spend a (probably unhealthy) amount of time on self analysis, falling victim to the seemingly logical supposition that if I want to understand the world, I must have an understanding of myself.

I had naturally expected that as I got older and gained experience, I would also gain understanding. And with that, greater peace, greater calm. But that just doesn't seem to be the case. Some days it feels like quite the converse.

I've been kicking around the psychology and philosophy of knowing oneself and balancing that against external input. That is, to have a sense of identity but not be deaf to other viewpoints--some of which might have truth or value I've overlooked.

And yet, and yet, and yet. . .

Recently a friend greeted me at the beginning of an outing with a rather unpleasant report of how I had apparently upset and set to grumbling a whole room full of people after my departure. For me, it came out of left field. While I'm pretty sure it was done with no malice--and I believe my friends have a right to express their honest opinions about me, to me--it was still abrupt and out of place, at least to me.

I had a similar experience recently when someone bid me adieu and snuck in a parting shot, casually citing something about my character that I have expressed concern and contrition over, many times. Something, in other words, of which I'm not fond nor proud and which I'm trying to work through.

Someone else recently expressed interest in the possibility that I might return to a former residence. When I asked what had changed, since we didn't hang out when we were neighbors, they replied "Well, you're not crazy anymore." Skipping right past the implication that anything that had ever gone wrong was solely my fault, let me just say that the joke is on them: I'm just as shithouse insane as ever.

Moments like these, where an item of potential sensitivity is treated with casualness, tossed out like a beach ball when it's really a lobbed hand grenade--they really throw me for a loop. Besides the hurtful messages and notwithstanding any truths they may contain, it leaves me wondering: is it me that doesn't make sense, or the world? Have I done such a poor job in communicating essential things about my person that these a the garish results? Or have I somehow earned a level of disregard and insensitivity. Are people just giving back to me their interpretation of what I put out?

So, here's a few things I think I may have sorted out.

• Being open minded and honest tends to make people think that you are open about everything in your personal life. It doesn't. It just means you're not into judging others for what's going on in their lives. 
• Being honest can come across, can even end up being, blunt. When you are blunt or plain spoken about something, people assume that you are insensitive. 
• Honesty and bluntness also lead people to believe that you don't think about others' emotions. They assume you just bash away at life. I think a lot of people who have labeled me blunt, hard case, intimidating etc, would be surprised to know how much time I spend thinking about how other people feel. And how energy I expend in trying not to hurt people's feelings, in being aware of the hot buttons and sore points and delicacies of those around me. 
• Here's a big one: I think if you can vocalize a feeling, and/or discuss an event in a rational manner, everyone assumes you don't have strong emotions, or any emotions. Even if your discussion is contains phrases such as "I have a really hard time with/ I'm really ashamed of/ I am very angry about,"--if you are not crying, frothing at the mouth, kicking and screaming, people associate very little emotional attachment on your part. 
• If you try to be honest, open, and promote rational discourse about all events, including the emotional ones, people assume you are bulletproof. They think they can come at you swinging, because, hey, that's what you do to them and besides you don't get upset, right? 

For the record and for the bajillionth time: I am all for honesty. I would always rather have the truth than a convenient or comfortable lie.

But I'm not bulletproof.