I found the one phrase harder to say than ‘I love you.’ Except I’ve never had problems with that phrase.
I shouldn’t really be surprised by this revelation, but none the less it was a bit weird and very awkward that the one thing I ‘learned’ from meeting Jorja Fox was more about myself than anything to do with her, the website I run, or the fans I interact with. I’ll never be humble, but perhaps I can learn to be gracious and accepting of things in way that validates other people.
A couple weeks ago I was in Cleveland with my grandmother (from whence I made Tweets about her and joked I was going to get her an account called ‘Where’s My Chardonnay?’ to share her witticism with the world), and she thanked me for fixing up her computer and getting her back on line. I told her it was nothing and she complained that the one thing she didn’t like about how my father had raised me was that I didn’t know how to take a compliment. So I said thank you and she said “No, thank YOU.” and I said “Uh … you’re welcome?”
The next week I met Jorja Fox and she and I had a bit of a ‘Thank you’ war, where we each said it to each other and after she shot me a look of ‘Be gracious, damn it!” I replied, “You’re welcome.”
I’ve talked about this with my partner since, and she’s right. I suck at accepting thanks from people. Anyone. Anywhere. Any time. At home or at work, I just grin and shrug, or reply “No, thank you.” or “It was nothing.” In essence, I blow off the thanks. Simply, I lack the ability to accept a compliment.
This has a converse, by the way, which is very useful. I lack the deep seated desire to hear ‘Thank you’ from various people. I do my work, I do good things, and I accept praise, but I don’t look for it, and my ego’s healthy enough that I actually don’t feel like I need it. This set me apart, in high school, from a lot of people I knew, who sought validation in the weirdest places. I never had illusions that the right dress, the right hair and the right man would make me loved and respected. I always knew that the brunt of the work would always be of and in my selfness, and that I just had to be me.
So great, I was raised to be perfectly suited to handle the magazine life the media throws at women. That’s good. I’m completely perfect for corporate America, where I can count ‘thank yous’ on one hand, but if I had a penny for every time someone tried to blame something on me, or dump their responsibility on me, I could retire by 35. And I’m just not designed right for the rest of the time. I’m not comfortable telling people ‘You’re welcome.’ It doesn’t feel natural or right or the correct term most of the time.
I mean, when I hear “Thank you for fixing my computer”, yes, I reply “You’re welcome.” Well, probably “No problemo,” but the sentiment is there. But when I get “Thank you for donating to this worthy cause,” I think “Dude, what kind of a schmuck would I be if I could and chose not to!? Of course I did!” And then there’s “Thank you for coming over,” to which I want to say “Thank you for inviting me.”
It’s hard for me to accept thanks without defusing it into something less than it was, and it wasn’t until two weeks ago that I realized it might be insulting. I don’t take it as such — when I thank people, I rarely expect a reply, except when I’m being a table-manners-monster with Hubbit’s son. Suddenly I’m wondering if that’s disingenuous of me, and I’m second guessing every time someone says “Thanks.”
So to the world, I’m going to try and be better about saying ‘You’re welcome.’ But more than that, I’m going to try and be better about being sincere about saying that simple phrase! If I get a little awkward about this for a while, well, now you know.