I don’t understand inflexible people. I don’t understand them, and I never
will. Inflexible people are so difficult
to deal with. Normally, I try my
darndest to steer clear of them, but sometimes it’s unavoidable. Thing is, when I come across an inflexible
person, they usually wear their inflexibility proudly, like some badge of
honor. They prattle on about how they
are the way they are, and they’re never gonna change. They like the way they are; they like the
status quo. They really don’t see any
room for improvement and they haven’t a clue as to why you’re so over them. I mean, I guess it takes balls to be that
myopic, that delusional or that self-absorbed that you cannot fathom why your
intransigence might be a little galling to your neighbor. Nevertheless, it doesn’t make it any easier
to deal with.
I don’t believe that people can’t change their ways. We can change anything about ourselves . . .
if we want to. Desire to change is the
key. And if you don’t want to, well then
you won’t. Simple as that. So it’s not that you can’t change, it’s that
you don’t want to. And I guess that has
all to do with one’s ego. It’s true that
inflexibility usually goes hand in hand with other equally irksome character
flaws, such as lack of perspective, and a lack of self-awareness. When you can’t see outside of yourself, when
you can’t step back and look at the ‘big picture’, well that’s when your
blinders really do you a disservice.
You’re not living in reality, you’re living in your own little
delusional world, where your view reigns supreme and your word is law.
Being inflexible means thumbing your nose at personal
growth, at progress. It means sitting
your ass down on the highway of life and flipping your finger at everyone else
as they try to get around you. And make
no mistake, you’re a fucking obstacle; you’re a roadblock; you’re dead weight
to anyone unfortunate enough to have to deal with you. You’re a big bag of sand, only sand has more
value.
As a youth, my mother was the most inflexible person I
knew. It’s no judgment in saying
this. If asked, she’d most likely
agree. At least she’d agree with my
assessment of her during that time. One
of my most vivid memories of my mom as a teenage was her always defending any
position or opinion she might have, however flawed or unreasonable, by saying
that that’s simply how she felt, it’s what she thought, and that she was too
old to change. It was up to us to
understand her and act accordingly. Of
course, as a parent, one has to set boundaries and rules for one’s children to
adhere to. That’s part of the job. But when explanations are called for or when
there are doubts or confusion, you honestly need to give your captive audience
a little more to chew on than, ‘That’s just how it is and that’s just how I am,
so deal.’ I mean to say, that doesn’t
really give a kid much to grab onto, and it sure as hell doesn’t teach him
shit. If anybody else gave you that
response, you’d be like, ‘Piss off.’ Why
wouldn’t you have the same reaction to your mom or dad saying it? Just cos they’re your mom or dad?
Funny thing about my mom is that she’s a completely
different person than she was back then.
She’s changed monumentally, so much so that sometimes I barely recognize
her. Of course, there are a bazillion
reasons as to why she might have changed, innumerable variables. She’s older, parenting is one of those ‘learn
as you go’ kinda things. She was growing
and developing, just as her children were growing and developing. She wasn’t stuck in time. She was adapting. And so even though she blew the horn of
inflexibility whenever the mirror of self-reflection was thrust at her, she
couldn’t have been more mistaken about herself.
She blossomed like no one expected, least of all herself probably. And if she could do it, I pretty much think
anybody can.
I always felt indifferent about my mom growing up. We were so different. She was just a person I lived with, really. A roommate I barely knew or understood. I took it for granted that things would never
change between us. I remember once
telling her that it was okay if we didn’t really like one another because there
was no law that said parents and children had to like each other. And I really felt that. I was completely resigned to the fact that we
were never going to like each other or get along. And I was cool with that, surprisingly. I suppose it was because I was so detached as
a kid. And a bit gloomy. But I couldn’t have been more wrong about
us. And I don’t know if has more to do
with her or more to do with me; I don’t know the how or why or when of it. I just know that the relationship I have with
my mom today is truly one of the most cherished relationships I have or will
ever have. Maybe we were both stubborn
and inflexible back then, and we’ve both grown up and chilled out? Alls I know is that we are different, better
people. And we understand each other,
perhaps because we understand ourselves so much more than we did back in the
days when we were at war.
As I’ve gotten older I realize that I have less and less
patience. Honestly, patience was never
my thing. And so to think that I have
less of it than I had is a little scary.
Cos I really didn’t have all that much to begin with. The things I have the least patience for are
things that I feel are correctable, because not correcting things means wasting
precious energy and time. And life is in
constant motion. People without vision,
without perspective; people who are stuck in time and refuse to grow. Those are the people I have no patience for,
because those things are all correctable.
I just can’t abide myopic people who can’t see past their own noses and
notice how irritating their self-absorbed laziness is. I am no longer a sullen teenager struggling
for recognition. And although decorum
and politeness prevent me from hurling epithets at those people happily
blocking traffic on my highway of life, deep down, I truly am saying ‘Piss
off!’
