I’ve learned the hard way that dwelling on other people’s opinions is like voluntarily wearing a straitjacket made of barbed wire. It doesn’t help anyone, really, least of all you. For much of my life, I was trapped in the mental torture chamber of wondering what this or that ignoramus thinks about me. Spoiler alert: it’s rarely good, and even when it seems to be, it’s usually laced with some patronizing nonsense about how I “could be” so much more if I just toned down the sarcasm or stopped pointing out the absurdity of the human condition. Well, I tell it like it is. If I’m hated for it, so be it.
People who hold negative opinions of you don’t actually know you; they’ve crafted some bizarre version of you in their minds. They don’t want to know you because, God forbid, they might actually have to confront the fact that you’re not the villain in their personal soap opera. No, it’s far easier for them to throw shade from their glass houses, hoping that by degrading you, they’ll feel a little better about their own precarious self-worth. Well, the sad part is that it doesn’t work for them, either.
Unfortunately, their negativity is often contagious and can start infecting you if you’re not careful to recognize it for what it is. You go from casually dismissing their pettiness to harboring your own special brand of disdain. You’d think we’d all be above that—mature adults capable of rising above playground-level antics. Yet the cycle continues: they hate you, you start hating them. Suddenly, everyone’s stuck in this existential quicksand, sinking faster with every eye roll and passive-aggressive remark.
Now, I’m not saying I’ve achieved some Buddha-like state of constant zen. Far from it. I’m just as capable of throwing shade as the next cynical misanthrope. But I try—keyword try—to dwell somewhere else in my mind. It’s a better neighborhood than the ones I found myself stuck in before. I’m now in a place in my life where I’ve chosen to practice—and yes, it’s a choice— unconditional, shameless agape. Yes, that’s one of the fancy Greek words for love. But it‘s the cheap, flimsy love that requires people to be perfect or agreeable; rather, it‘s the kind that loves them in spite of all their foolishness, ignorance, and petty Twitter attacks.
I’m no saint, for sure. But I’ve found that it’s easier to survive the relentless idiocy of the world if I just choose to love people for being the ridiculous creatures they are. At the very least, it’s better for my blood pressure. After all, if you don’t laugh at how absurd human nature really is, you’ll probably end up in bed all day crying. I ain‘t got time for that!
So, where do you dwell? Are you hanging out in the slums of other people’s opinions, letting their nonsense rent space in your head? Or are you moving into the high-rise of unconditional love—complete with a balcony view where you can sip your favorite beverage and marvel at people’s never-ending idiocy? I know where I’m headed, and it’s a much better place to live than where I’ve been.
~ Amelia Desertsong