Doormat

There are some days that I swear if one were to look up the definition for "pushover," there would be picture of me as an example. I have the most difficult time saying no to certain requests that I would rather avoid. I often acquiesce to the desires of others over my own because previous experience has proven that is the path of least resistance. The few times I have taken a stand, the results were rather embarrassing and not at all effective in changing the outcome.  By now, I am so used either to being taken for granted when needed or overlooked when no longer useful, that I tend to take it in stride. However, as I get older, I admit that it really shouldn't be like this. Still, old habits die hard...and I am not sure if I am anywhere near changing this.

I began thinking a bit about this as a result of what happened last Wednesday. About a month ago, I made a long-deferred doctor's appointment with a new physician (my previous one having moved away -- just as the one before him had done).  When it finally rolled around, I made arrangements for time away from work, mustered the motivation to go in the first place (I loathe going to the doctors having spent too much time in their company as a child), and  arrived the designated fifteen minutes prior to the appointment.  Almost immediately after handing over my insurance card, I found myself shuttled over to the scheduler. My appointment had been "bumped." In an apparent 'oversight,' I had not been informed of said cancellation. The next available appointment for this particular doctor was not for another month. Stunned by the sheer frustration I felt, I accepted without much thought.

If I had been able to articulate what was running through my mind, I would have questioned how I had not been made aware of this before dragging myself away from work. I would have asked why there wasn't anything available sooner considering I had already been waiting for over a month for this particular appointment. (While it was meant to be a routine checkup, I had also been hoping to discuss the headaches that have been pretty much plaguing me every day this summer.) I would have made it very clear that it was unacceptable not to communicate cancellations like this considering how many arrangements sometimes need to be made to free a couple of hours during the day (I am lucky in that I have a manager who is flexible about such things and I do not have anyone dependent on me for their care). I would have...I don't know...demanded justice or at least an acknowledgement that they screwed up. Basically, I would have done everything BUT what I actually did--meekly accepting the proffered appointment with an uncalled level of gratitude, doing my best to mask my frustration and confusion. I barely managed not to storm out of the office and kept myself from crying.

When I got back from my fruitless little trip, I bent the ears of two very kind friends at work pointing out the injustice of it all. But really, I wasn't frustrated with the doctor's office. I was mad at myself for not taking control of the situation. There were better options available to me at the time, yet I couldn't find the words to say or do anything, and because I never like to act out of emotion, I just let it happen. A recurring theme in my life sadly--where I sit back and let things just happen. While there are clear instances of when I have mustered the strength to do what I want, most times, I just go where someone else points, doing what I am told. It happens all the time with my family and it happens on occasion at work. I do as I am asked because I know nothing better, and really, I seem to work best doing what others tell me to do.

Has my life been adversely affected by this path? Not particularly as far as I can see. However, if I don't start looking out for my own interests, my own passions, they will get further lost as they are subordinated to the whims of others. But how does one truly go about that? I guess my reticence comes with walking that fine line between assertive and arrogant as well as the line between the line between supportive and submissive. I don't want to come across as arrogant or rude or selfish, but I am sick of feeling powerless especially since I am the one who has put myself in that position. Perhaps I just need to find the one thing about which I will not compromise...maybe that will help. But until then, a doormat I will probably remain.

(Just as a quick author's note--there is some exaggeration here. I am fortunate to have friends, family, and co-workers who do not exploit this weakness of mine. And while it does happen that I feel used or taken for granted on occasion within those groups, it is often a matter of my perception mixed with a negative mood...no fault on the parts of others.)

The Wallflower

Can you see her? Just one woman among many, nothing outstanding or interesting about her. Average height. Average weight. Brown hair. Glasses. Looks friendly enough although she clearly has an air of reserve surrounding her. You think you might even know her when she smiles politely as your gaze flits over her, but just as quickly as you glance her way, your mind forgets all about her. She is one in a crowd. A shadow. A nobody.

But let's look at her a little more closely. She is shy, perhaps. And, most likely she is an introvert completely out of her element. Literally in this case, a wallflower, clinging to the edges in hopes that no one will notice. Yet, she is not detached. She isn't purposely isolating herself, just unsure how to break into a world in which she feels the outsider. She observes all that she is going on around her, picking up minutiae of other people's lives in hope that knowing more about these people will finally give her entrance into a world to which she doesn't really belong. She likes the people around her, thinks they are fun, interesting, good-hearted people. But, for reasons she herself does not understand, she is scared to join in conversations, thinking it better to be invisible than to be rejected. Self-conscious, she is afraid she will be found lacking in humor, charm, intelligence. Better to never be acknowledged than to be found wanting.

A skill honed from childhood, being invisible has its uses. If no one thinks you are listening, you learn some interesting if not random stuff. Sometimes, she wonders if she could make it as a spy considering how much information she has gathered over the years. Unfortunately, there isn't much use for intelligence about the day-to-day lives of modern Midwesterners who fall in the 23-40 age bracket, at least at this time. And it isn't like she is going to share what she hears. Doing so would violate her sense of loyalty, broaching an unspoken trust between her and the others. Still, people reveal more about themselves when they do not realize others are observing them, not only in what they say but in what they do. When you are invisible, you see what others are too distracted to see. 

Will she ever change? Intellectually, she recognizes what she does to "protect" herself from being hurt only serves to further isolate herself.  Yet, she cannot take that next step to make herself visible in this new world, to speak up and acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, people may be interested in what she has to say. Having spent so many years believing otherwise makes it difficult to change one's perspective. But, to be honest, she has made great strides over the years. There has been the rare occasion where silence became too quiet, the loneliness too isolating, and she rose above her shyness and was all the better for it, so there is hope. Still, those times were definitely the exception. She does hope that one day she will finally be able to reconcile what she knows rationally with what she feels--that she doesn't have to resign herself to a life in the shadows because she is somehow unworthy of any kind of attention. That sometimes, it isn't a bad thing to be in the spotlight.

Vanishing Acts

As many of you know, I walk. A lot. And it was during one of these regular perambulations at lunch today that I began to wonder, "What if I kept walking and never looked back?" I didn't have much on me outside of my Hallmark badge and my mp3 player, so at the time I wouldn't have gotten very far. 

But the idea kept tickling the back of my brain as I wandered around. What if I had had my car keys with me, my wallet?  What would it have been like to hop in my car, no explanation given, and just drive wherever the road led me? This is not the first time, and I am guessing not the last time, such thoughts have crept into my mind unbidden. I admit that there is nothing in my life that would require me to disappear, and for the most part, I would never want to. Still, I find the idea of leaving this old life behind completely, divesting myself of all baggage, good and bad, to start new alluring. No longer be Wendy, but choose for myself a new name, a new persona, a new everything. 

In my mind, I was working out how best not to leave a trace, the ridiculous knowledge from watching too many police shows clouding my mind with a Hollywood-type plan.  I would have to ditch the cell phone, the credit cards, find a way to create a new identity with all proper documentation. No longer could I rely on credentials obtained as my former self...hard work and charm would be the only way to secure a job in this fictional new life. I would have to change my behaviors perhaps even my appearance. (However, it seems to be I have that look about me where people assume I am someone they know. It can be annoying after awhile...I know I am not alone, but I feel a bit like I have been blessed/cursed with a face that blends in seamlessly into most cities, a face so...undistinguished  I could be any woman.) Crazy. A lot of work. Wholly unnecessary. Strangely, exciting.

After thinking about all the things that I would have to do, I began to wonder about those left behind. And that is where I began to realize how truly perverse the idea was. While it might seem exciting to plan, I couldn't live knowing about the worry I create for my parents and other family members. There would be challenges I would leave behind at work, gaps in things that I participate in regularly. Even if I were to somehow communicate my well-being to my parents, the "Why" would haunt them forever, I think. In novels, when a character purposely disappears, she may send loved ones an occasional postcard, never from where they currently are mind you, as reassurance that if nothing else, they are alive. But does that add more anguish to those behind?

Why was I thinking all this on a beautiful spring day? I am not sure. I could put it down to the fact that when I walk, I think, a lot. Mainly about me (because I am quite the narcissist in this way). Much of my life has been a struggle of me as I am with me as I want to be. In many ways, a clean slate would be far easier way to approach the world anew than taking who I am now and shaping it into who I know I can be. While my family and friends have always been nothing but supportive and understanding, they have only known me to be the reliable one, the responsible one. I am predictable. I am quiet and reserved. Shy to a fault. It is tiresome to be this all the time, but it is hard to act in a way out of character without fearing for a reaction from others. Instead of hearing questions or criticisms if I veer off my traditional path, it seems as if it would be far easier just to leave it all behind. As I am more and more seriously considering doing just this, it comes top of mind far more often. (This being "veering off my traditional path," not disappearing into thin air!)

I know I am not alone in my thoughts, but in many ways that isn't necessarily reassuring. It seems like a fun idea at first...exciting to try on a whole new persona...but what you leave behind still follows you, and really, your essential self remains the same. Or so I have learned. Perhaps this is why fiction exists. To give its authors a chance to adopt multiple personae and recreate these scenarios without ever having to drive on down the highway, catch that train to nowhere, or hop on that bus to the airport. Something for me to think about, I guess.

Have you ever felt 'this close' to running away from it all? What is the closest you have ever gotten? And, perhaps, would you say there are times it would be wholly justified?

(P.S. As I read the above questions, I had this weird feeling as if I am a teacher asking her class for personal reflections. Oops! Not at all intentional, I promise!)