November 9th, 2021
Talking shit about people is about as human as it gets.
It actually fascinates me how most folk, no matter how old they get, no matter what they do for a living, no matter how much they have going on in their own lives, never get less excited to sit down and talk gobs of shit.
But the older I get, in a world that feels like it deserves it less and less, I find myself wanting to be more gentle, and needing to make more connection.
My perspective is infinite now, at least relative to the span of a human life. When you’re on your death bed, do you think your last thoughts will be of all the people you talked shit about?
Or will you think about the people you took a chance on? Or gave a second one to? The people you helped, the people you reached your hand out to, the people you dragged from fires, regardless of what happened to them next.
When I got my first managing job almost five years ago, the thing I feared the most going in was that it was going to be exactly how I imagined it as an employee: a table of people talking shit about everybody they employed.
I was not disappointed. It was much how I thought it would be. I lost that job for a variety of good reasons, not the least of which being deep in the grip of the addiction I wasn’t ready to let go.
I managed to not only keep my compassion through it, but renew my vows to that empathy, and that came in handy when I was finally ready to let go completely.
There are people in my life that gave up on me a long time ago, and I don’t blame them. I gave up on myself a lot, too.
And then there are people who have told me to my face that they are so glad they didn’t count me out. And I am so grateful that those same people gave me the support I needed to be the me that I am today.
This isn’t to make anybody feel bad about the shit they talk. It’s human.
This is to remind you of the humanity it takes to talk about something more.