I cried on my drive home from Corona del Mar, not because Miss Thang had inflicted any lasting damage but because I’m so tired of dealing with people like her. I’d hoped, perhaps naïvely, that mending the frayed edges of my selfhood would improve my relationships with people outside my immediate, estranged family. That a brave new world of adventure, friendship, and romance awaited me beyond the borders of the social anxiety disorder that they’d given me. That I’d arrive at this magical destination before I turned thirty and became irrelevant in the eyes of the under-twenty-fives and the men who want to date them.
Imagine how disappointing it was to discover that it wasn’t just my family. That the average human being is an uninspiring mess of petty flaws and vain ambitions with a few good eggs thrown in for good measure—a few kindred spirits just to keep you from slashing your wrists. I don’t know about you, but I’ve always tried to live in a way that allows everyone’s needs to be met, not necessarily by me but by themselves—i.e., in a way that meets my needs without trampling on other people’s. And I expect the same courtesy from them. I expect them to reciprocate my consideration with a general (rather than specific) regard for myself and others.
But most people seem to think that it has to be one or the other, either you or them. They’re always putting themselves first and taking advantage of people who are nicer than they are, which isn’t just selfish but insulting. Do they honestly believe that they’re better or more important than people who are nicer than themselves? Or do they simply mistake kindness for weakness and forbearance for consent?
Perhaps I should object to this behavior on strictly moral grounds but I also find it illogical and unnecessary. I mean, we can’t all be “number one.” It’s a mathematical impossibility. And what’s the point of such petty, ceaseless striving, anyway? What does cutting me off in traffic or running me over with your shopping cart actually accomplish? So you vroom by me before I catch up to you at the next light. So now you’re one car ahead of me. Big deal. All you’ve proven is that you’re a pest to society and a miserable, petty excuse for a human being. Congratulations to you. What do you want, a medal? You’d think that people would get tired of being a pain in the a** and stop out of sheer exhaustion.
The problem with people is that they’re always getting in the way—forcing you to notice them in a manner that makes life uglier than it needs to be. No, not even ugly—trivial. Most people don’t even have the oomph to be spectacularly evil like Attila the Hun (c. 406–453) or Vlad the Impaler (c. 1428–1477) or the Countess Báthory (1560–1614). Not that this would be preferable to the weaselier sort of sinners. Or would it? I mean, spectacular sinners are far from good but at least they’re interesting. Weaselly sinners are neither.
I mean, who would you rather be killed by: Voldemort, who’d at least murder you with a certain degree of panache, or the Dursleys, who’d just run you over with their minivan or leave you to starve in a cupboard? As terrifying as he was, Voldemort spent most of his life (or should I say “lives”?) trying to end a little boy so that the little boy couldn’t end him. It sounds pathetic when you put it that way but at least his epic evil created an opportunity for epic good. All that people like the Dursleys create is an opportunity to wonder why they exist. As my sister’s friend Jenny once said, “If you aren’t living for Christ, you’re just taking up oxygen.” Harsh, but not entirely untrue.
On the other hand, there’s no rational reason that living in a fallen world should cause us to commit sins of either the weaselly or the spectacular sort. I mean, I can understand losing your temper or lying to spare someone’s feelings or to save a life. But murder? Rape? Sex trafficking? Crimes involving animals? Children? Women? The elderly? Every evil known to man? Given that most criminals are men and toxic masculinity is associated with violence, I can even understand why some men might want to duke things out amongst themselves in a sort of pseudo-macho gang war, but why bully the rest of us? Oppressing the vulnerable takes sin to a whole new level. It’s sin committed for sin’s sake.
I can only conclude that living in a fallen world is no excuse for half the sins that most people commit. I mean, why not just make the best of a bad job and get on with things? Being courteous costs nothing and makes life so much easier for everyone. Indeed, the Christians’ mission (should we choose to except it) is to live as perfectly as possible as if the Fall had never happened, essentially showing the world how beautiful it was meant to be before we made a hash of things, to woo sinners to repentance and lost souls to Christ.
But how? How is it possible to like people who are so god-awful? And how can we care enough to share the gospel when God doesn’t actually need our help? Romans 1:18–21 reveals that God has so manifested Himself from “the creation of the world” that even unbelievers who’ve never heard the gospel are “without excuse” (NKJV). So, sharing the gospel is more about the state of our hearts than it is about the state of their souls. We’re supposed to feel compelled to share the Good News out of an abundance of gratitude for how we’ve been saved ourselves.
But what if we don’t? What if—despite our best efforts to wrestle our wayward hearts into submission—we still see people in the abstract as a bunch of selfish, unsophisticated slobs? What if—in taking a cold, hard look at society (including ourselves)—we still find it impossible to view them as anything else?
I wish I didn’t find people so irritating. I really do. It would be so much easier to love people if I liked them more. And life would be so much more pleasant. I’ve even tried false humility (“to be fair, you’re not perfect yourself”) to no avail. For one thing, I really am more XYZ than the average person, so if I fall short, who are they to judge? If I can overlook a constant barrage of rude, selfish, inconsiderate behavior, they can overlook the occasional blip. Indeed, it would be hypocritical and petty not to. But more importantly, I’m not the standard by which any of us is measured. Christ is. And He’s already paid the price for every sin that I’ll ever commit. So, whether I’m the spawn of the Devil or the best thing since buttered muffins is beside the point.
I used to have this argument with my older sister all the time. It got to the point where it was like, “Look, hon, I’m flattered that you’ve mistaken me for Jesus, and it’s precious that you think that my behavior has the power to justify yours. But it doesn’t. Even if I were as bad as you say—even if I were Hitler, stuffing Jews into custom-made ovens (God forbid)—it wouldn’t acquit you of being a nasty, judgmental, self-righteous hypocrite.” And the same rule applies to going above and beyond. Turning the other cheek, etc., doesn’t let the offender off the hook (Matt. 5:38–42). It actually heaps “coals of fire” on their head by giving them no excuse or justification for their behavior (Prov. 25:21–22, Rom. 12:20, NKJV).
Everyone talks about how love should be free of expectation or manipulation, but no one talks about how reciprocity isn’t the same thing as “tit for tat.” All healthy, loving relationships are quid pro quo in the sense that we’re all equally called—nay, commanded—to be kind and considerate and to put other’s needs before our own (Phil. 2:1–4). Expecting someone to put your needs first without doing the same for them isn’t just selfish; it’s arrogant. I mean, what kind of person goes around sucking up all the goodness in the world without doing their bit as if they’re more entitled to it than the rest of us?
I’ve even had people tell me that being polite and considerate is a personal preference. “Just your standard,” as one housemate put it. Yeah, I hate to break it to you, Emily, but God’s laws don’t just apply to other people. He didn’t invent them for your personal benefit so that you could take advantage of everyone else’s kindness without feeling obligated to contribute yourself. You’re supposed to feel obligated. You’re supposed to want to reciprocate. It’s evidence of a good and humble heart. And if someone who finds it difficult to like people can do it, what’s your excuse? Are your sins cuddlier than mine?
Then there was my family, routinely failing to ask me anything about myself when we got together, even so much as a “How are you?” My younger sister: “We just have different communication styles.” Yeah, babe—one of us is rude and the other isn’t. Ironically, Suzette (Goldie Hawn) and Vinnie (Susan Sarandon) have the same argument in The Banger Sisters (2002), proving that it wasn’t “just my perception”: asking about others in social situations is a common thing that polite people do, as anyone who isn’t trying to gaslight you can attest. I mean, how can you have a real relationship with someone who’d rather “win” the argument than speak the truth—who’d rather be “right” than fair?
And it’s not just my family, friends, or acquaintances. The majority of people are like this. When you’re nice, you’re a people-pleaser who deserves to be mistreated for showing others up (the nerve of you). When you give them to understand that you’re actually following the Golden Rule and expect to be treating likewise, you’re suddenly a manipulator. And when the same people decide to “bless” you out of “the goodness of their hearts,” they expect you to show your gratitude in measurable ways for the rest of your life (okay, Rumpelstiltskin). Just once, I’d like someone to say, “Stay with me as long as you need to. You don’t have to pay rent. You don’t have to clean. You don’t even have to be extra special nice to me. Just take this free gift as a testimony of my faith in you and focus on getting your life together.”
How am I supposed to love like that if I’ve never been loved like that? Where am I supposed to find the surplus? How am I supposed to make bricks without straw, much less spin that straw into gold (speaking of Rumpelstiltskin)? More to the purpose, why should I? By what justice does a spoiled brat grow up more loved than an empath? By what justice do people defend family members who are wrong, when my family didn’t show the same loyalty to me when I was right? By what justice am I tasked with going above and beyond when my transgressors are miles off the mark?
I have prepared myself like a man;
I will question You, and You shall answer me.
(Job 38:3, NKJV paraphrase)
The problem with receiving too little love isn’t just how it affects you but how it affects your ability to love other people. Ripples upon ripples due to one miscast stone. “He who is without sin,” etc. (John 8:7, NKJV). Loving the unlovely is difficult enough without having to give more grace and compassion than you’ve received yourself. When that’s the case, loving people is like pulling teeth. Die to yourself, indeed (Rom. 6, etc.).
Now, I don’t need people in the same way that others do. I don’t worry as much about losing their good opinion because I don’t rely on them for my sense of happiness, fulfillment, or worth. Because of this, I have the opportunity to love people more boldly and disinterestedly than most. The problem is that life will never be as beautiful as I want it to be if I’m surrounded by ugly people—or if I become one of them myself. In this sense, I’m as dependent on others as they are on me, with this difference: I can be trusted to act with integrity and they can’t. And I’ll leave it to you to ponder who, under this sun, is more likely to come out on top.
That’s why I resent people. That’s why I find them such an imposition. We only have one shot at what Mary Oliver calls our “one wild and precious life”—and only this life to experience romantic relationships—and only a decade or so to experience any of it while we’re young, healthy, and good-looking. Tick-tock, tick-tock. And theeere’s people, gumming up the works with their senseless behavior, pulling up the roses and watering the weeds.
In Jennifer Worth’s memoir, Call the Midwife, she wonders:
What had impelled Sister Monica Joan to abandon a privileged life for one of hardship, working in the slums of London’s Docklands? “Was it love of people?” I asked her.
“Of course not,” she snapped sharply. “How can you love ignorant, brutish people whom you don’t even know? Can you love filth and squalor? Or lice and rats? Who can love aching weariness, and carrying on working, in spite of it? One cannot love these things. One can only love God, and through His grace come to love His people.”
I’ve given up asking God to increase my love for people. Instead, I ask Him to make manifest His love for me and increase my capacity to love Him back.
Worth, Jennifer. Call the Midwife. Penguin Books, New York: 2012. pp. 118–119.
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