Posted on August 18, 2003 in Frustration
I looked over the “geography” of my place in cyberspace again tonight. Seeing who was a new neighbor, seeing who has tossed me out without explanation. I can’t explain why it matters, why I want to be liked for who I am, why it feels discouraging when I see that I haven’t been added or linked.
I know that I shouldn’t take it personally. It’s just their taste, their attitude, their opinion of me. And what they shape in their head regarding me isn’t me. It’s their personal doll who they pinch and coil into a form that resembles me superficially. It’s not me.
Not so long ago, I had a fellow tell me that when he saw a trackback from my page to his, he felt “afraid”. The same fellow, I gather, also complained about feeling left out of a group that we were both a part of. When I went to his blog and made friendly, he never responded to me. Elsewhere he complained about blogs that had “an American outlook”. I dropped him from my daily visit list to my more irregular list just tonight. Was I just being a jerk? He was ignoring me, treating me as “just another American” with whom he did not want to speak. It was tempting to leave a comment, to let him know that his invalidation worked, to be angry. I refrained and only I will sing my praises for doing so.
I’m still having problems with “the not taking it personally” part of emotional mastery.
There’s a litany to be recited here.
When people project their attitudes and their moods, on me, it’s the doll who mirrors their behavior.
When they stop talking to me for no reason, when they stop reading me, when they delink me and give no explanation, I know it’s the doll who’s chased them away.
When they say that they are afraid of me, I know it is the doll who is menacing them.
When they say that I am boring, I know they’re talking about the doll.
When they call me names, I know they’re talking to the doll, the thing they have in their head, with joints that articulate a set of straw views and a fictional personality that they’ve named after me.
When they read this and say “that’s not very original. You’re not a deep thinker, are you?” I know that they mistake me for the doll who is made of wood and truly has no brains.
When they are surprised because I say “Enough! I can’t take any more of this!” I know that they’ve been pounding on the doll, who is made of stone and has no feelings.
It’s not personal. When I see the doll flap its jaw and people reacting to the doll, not me, I feel very sad. The doll gets all the attention. They don’t want to talk to me or get to know me. I know it’s their loss, but I have an empty hole where I was hoping they’d enrich my life.