Trusting the obvious truth
If you pick someone to follow, there’s no guarantee they’re going where you want to go. (Image by ollguna)
In sixth grade, I distinctly remember a classmate looking at my legs in disgust. "They're so hairy," he said. That's when I learned that the natural way that the hair grows on my body is unacceptable.
By seventh grade, I had corrected this egregious violation of American female beauty standards. A couple of girls asked me (why?), "Do you shave your legs?"
"Yes," I said.
"Does your mom know?" was the follow-up question (why?).
"Yeah," I said. "She helped me."
The response to this was a chorus of snickers. That's when I learned that the natural way of getting help in life (at least, prior to the Internet) is unacceptable.
I often wonder why people make things more complicated than they need to be. Perhaps it has to do with these experiences in which we learn that subterfuge is preferable to straightforwardness, our true self must be concealed, and our interpretation of reality is invalid.
Such distortions make us vulnerable to those who would prey on our insecurities to manipulate us (for instance, classmates who seek to feel superior and rule the school by fiat) or make money from us (for instance, the multi-billion dollar hair removal industry).
These potential pitfalls are everywhere, but when we can learn to identify them, they lose their power. We have to reclaim our trust of the obvious truth—and ourselves.
In my early adulthood, I worked briefly at a shop that sold fancy organs. These electric instruments have a setting that allows you, charmingly, to get a rhumba or bossa nova groove going. To make a chord (which is usually three or four notes), you need only press one key with your left hand. That chord gets incorporated into the groove. Meanwhile, your right hand plays the melody. With minimal effort and minimal musical expertise, you can make it sound like you've got an entire band playing "On the Street Where You Live" or "Mack the Knife."
Pretty cool. What is uncool is the business model, targeted at older adults who are participating in "wellness" programs that teach music under the guise of selling organs. The cheapest organ is under $2,000, but in order to get more grooves and more desirable features, the price keeps climbing. You're encouraged to trade up, replacing your organ over and over in complex transactions until you've paid tens of thousands of dollars for an organ that looks like the cockpit of a jet and costs close to the same.
The program takes advantage of these seniors' desire for community and positive regard. The biggest obstacle to its success is those pesky adult children who come along and say, "Mom, what could possibly make this organ worth $65,000?" But when you're in it, you lose track of the obvious truth.
I am not immune to this by any means. Not too long ago, a trusted mentor invited me to become a coach for his organization. I was flattered—until I realized that he was actually inviting me to pay a five-figure sum for the privilege. Later, my initial interest in the proposal was twisted back upon itself: "You said you'd love to be a part of this. Was that not true?"
For me, the troubling part wasn't even the dubious sales practices. It was how easily I became that uncertain middle schooler again, wanting to learn and follow the rules that would allow me to gain approval. I didn't want to appear naïve and clueless, so I didn't say what I was really thinking: "If you want me to work for you, why would I pay you?" I blamed myself. I felt like I should have known from the beginning.
At least I didn't compound my mistake by going along with this weird scheme, but I can understand how people do. I can easily see how they might pass the point of no return and say yes to something they don't want at all just to make nice, prevent someone from being angry at them, or avoid a worse fate.
It's hard to maintain our trust in ourselves when the messages all around us are contradicting what we understand to be true. It's important that we do what we can to hang onto who we are and what we believe while helping others (especially the next generation) to do the same.
Who you are is not wrong. What you want is reasonable. And if an offer doesn't make sense, you can say so or say no. Buy yourself the time to step back and gain some perspective. The person who is trying to manipulate you won't like that. That's a good thing. Trust yourself over them.
For what it's worth, I don't carry a grudge against my former mentor. I believe that he was doing what had been taught to him—what he thought he was supposed to do, even if it didn't feel right. My middle school classmates were doing the same thing. As these people lose their hold on me, I can have compassion for them. I hope they can figure out how to reclaim their trust in themselves and in their own truth.
