Perspective

Isn’t it annoying when you are having just about the worst day and decide to vent to another person, with the hopes of relieving some of the pressure and weight of whatever is making that day so terrible, and they take it upon themselves to put things in “perspective” for you?

Maybe you got in trouble at work; maybe the A/C in your car broke; maybe you found out your grandma has cancer. And that bit of bad news just compounds with the series of annoyances and indecencies we all suffer on the day-to-day. It is already hard enough being a human. Add to that an unexpected difficulty and all of the sudden the world can start looking like Zed from Pulp Fiction; slowly trying to break you by repeatedly fucking you in the ass against your will because that is exactly what is going to get him off. The most miserable of days. And you come to your friend, or sibling, or spouse because at that moment that person represents an oasis of safety and comfort in a world that is trying to sexually assault you. You look at them in the eye with the full confidence and hope that they will understand your plight. You trust their sympathy so much that you begin to speak, unwinding all of the pent up frustration and self-pity which one would understandably acquire through any stressful ordeal, without so much as a second thought as to what they might say. Linda will understand. Richard will get it. Jose knows all I need right now is for someone to listen to me. And you end your vent session, still feeling stressed or worried or sad or angry, but somehow lighter and less tense because you finally got to express all the discomfort you’ve been carrying all day. And that feels good. That is the first taste of ‘good’ you’ve had all day…. And they respond with “Well, I read a story on National Geographic about a woman in Sudan who witnessed her father and brother be decapitated next to her, then watched as her mother was tied to a tree and brutally raped to death by a squadron of men over the course of days, and was only able to survive by hiding in the town latrine… so… things could be worse.”

What kind of self-righteous, joyless, pee-on-the-toilet-seat person would take such a moment of vulnerability to remind you that you are unappreciative to boot? Oh, too bad your grandma is dying, but at least you’re not starving to death! Damn, your A/C broke? That’s brutal, but did you know that ancient Persians would punish people by tying them to boats, covering them in milk and honey, then sending them down a river to be eaten alive by bugs and vermin? Ah shucks, you got fired? That’s awful, but hey, during the Cambodian genocide mothers were forced to smother their babies so they would not be caught and violently murdered! Well fucking thank you for that brilliant bit of insight, I was feeling like shit before and thought that my future was looking bleak, but now I know that’s only because I am an ungrateful piece of shit. No, really, what I needed to turn my day around is adding self-loathing to my looming state of depression. I mean seriously, what kind of sociopath lacks that much understanding of human emotion to not know that their role in that exchange is that of ‘patient listener’? What kind of asshole would look at a person who is at a low moment in their life and take that as an opportunity to impart a lesson about the subjectivity of pain?

Me, I’m that asshole.

I honestly don’t know how my wife puts up with it. Seriously, that must be exhausting. I can’t begin to tell you how many times she has come home from work, clearly stressed, and vents to me about something that upset her. And my reaction to her story, to her plight, to her moment of trust, is that of an unsolicited reminder of how good we have it. Her story no longer matters; the fact that she is upset and had a difficult day no longer matters because I need to remind her that this is the best time to be alive and that these stresses pale in comparison to the alternative. As if she doesn’t know. As if she has gone throughout her entire life covering her ears every time anyone mentioned sponsoring third-world children. As if she doesn’t know that slavery and human trafficking exist. As if she has somehow managed to live out her entire life, not knowing that there are people that have it much worse than her. THE HUBRIS! Look at me! I am so insightful and you are so limited in your perspective! There is no reason for you to be upset right now; don’t you know how good you have it?! The mere attempt at comparing experiences when a person just needs someone to listen is so filled with condescension and admonition, that it’s a wonder how I keep waking up with my genitals intact every morning.

Of course there is merit to the idea. Of course we should be made aware of our privilege, that’s how we develop a sense of duty to help others who are not in the same position. But there is a time and a place, Lando. Luckily, I have rarely been on the receiving end of something that can be as infuriating as this. But that is only because I am surrounded with kind, empathetic, well-adjusted people who don’t use moments of vulnerability as a platform to wield their self-righteousness as a saber to cut me down even further. I am not entirely sure what I’m trying to achieve here. Let’s toss it up as a moment of self-reflection that will hopefully yield some sort of growth for me as a person. But I am riddled with flaws and I think that this will only leak through the many holes in my personality. So please, if you catch me having a moment of self-pity, remind me that in some parts of the world you can be accused of adultery and stoned to death by your own father, or that Malala Yousafzai took a bullet to the head because she demanded that girls receive an education in her country, or, you know, just call me an asshole.