Everybody! All together now! And a-one, and a-two!
I used to get incensed when I would open the door for someone and not receive an acknowledgment.
I think that is an understandable response to feeling like a ghost hand holding the knob for your party of six-to-eight sated fellow restaurant customers. Not a helpful one, but understandable.
My problem, at the time, was not the opening of the door as a gesture of kindness; my problem was seated in the righteous indignation I felt at the lack of a thank you on the part of the recipients. Or a head nod. Something. Anything. Yoo-hoo! I’m right here.
But righteous indignation is kind of like showing up to an outdoor barbecue in a ball gown*— it’s an emotional response that is overdressed for the occasion, that is gilded with pompousness, that is embroidered with entitlement, and that will make you hot and uncomfortable for no good reason.
To push this simile into big metaphor territory, the ball gown of righteous indignation doesn’t take account for the fact that not only do we live in a flip-flop and jeans world, but historically, we’ve always lived in the world of flip-flops and jeans of one sort or another.
Aside from historicism, my original problem was that I kept opening doors and continued filling myself with righteous indignation when folks didn’t respond in a way that I thought was appropriate, The more I opened doors and received nothing in return, the more I soaked in my own self-righteous brine, which did not soften my hands or make me smell as fragrant as a smoked ham.
It made me feel awful.
Righteous indignation has a way of perpetuating more righteous indignation, and that, my dear reader, is about as much fun as tramping around in a big ol’ ball gown on a hot day.
This repeated gesture of doors and anger was one of those rare moments that offered two clear choices. (Life often does not frequently give you two clear choices, so I felt lucky.)
I could either stop opening doors for people (unthinkable). Or I could stop expecting people to act the way I thought they should act (unthink… Well? Hmm.).
What I discovered as I deliberated my choices is that I like opening doors in public places and private residences for friends and strangers.
More than that, I liked the fact that I was the kind of person who opened doors, who lets people cut ahead in the grocery store, who says please and thank you. By looking exclusively for acknowledgment, I was depriving myself of the joy of the act of kindness— and that joy is something I give to me.
Now, before we go any further, let me reveal that I am not always courteous. (Quelle surprise!)
I am quite capable of being rude, especially in public with aggressive drivers, and most certainly by my own tendency for internal distraction both in private and public. And distraction is probably the root reason why people did not (and still do not) acknowledge that it is my hand that is holding open the door. We are all human. All of us. Every single one. Wait. Maybe…? No, it’s all of us.
I really, really try to be kind and aware, but I am really, really human. Excessively, embarrassingly so— and I am assuming, if you are reading this confession, you also feel all too human in your interactions with folks. (So, hello there, fellow human! Let me hold that door open for you! Watch me yell at you when you tailgate with your car!)
Well, I try. And so do you.
As this world becomes more populated and as our expectations become even more frantic and convoluted (according to popular magazines, which I’m disinclined to read these days), I think it’s easy to get caught up in expectation and in self-righteousness, and to forget that kindness is the gift we give ourselves as much as we give the gesture of kindness to our fellow persons.
And I’d like to think I’ve shimmied out of that cheap ball gown of righteous indignation in exchange for wearing the jeans of personal security and the sweater of self-respect.
But, if you see me wearing the beret of false humility, do me a favor? Just quietly remove it and let me hold the door open for you. Thanks.
*It has been graciously pointed out to me that for some of you? The Ball Gown metaphor isn’t working.
To remedy this oversight, I offer you…:
The Polyester Band Uniform of Righteous Indignation!
Although my original choice to enjoy my own kindness was prompted by personal awareness, writer Gretchen Rubin has written elegantly about this specific issue in her book The Happiness Project. I have to tell you when I read the chapter on gold stars I laughed my head off.
David Foster Wallace, (rest in peace), wrote this beautiful speech called“This Is Water” on a similar, and broader scope. I read this essay often, and it keeps me focused on the mystery of the unseen reasons for human foible. (D.F.W., I miss you so much.)
