Don’t be afraid of my opinion, because I’m not afraid of yours

I’m fascinated by how many people are terrified to allow someone else an opinion contrary to their own.

If someone says/writes/believes something differently than we do, we’re struck with an almost primal need to purge that difference.
For some reason which I can’t figure out yet, we’re terrified by differences.

The obvious examples are terrorists and racists and any other form of negative “–ist”.
But I’m not talking about the obvious bullies who are acting out of what they believe is “righteous condemnation,” disguising their cowardice.
No, I’m talking about you and me, our neighbors, families, coworkers, students who, when presented with an attitude different than our own, shrink back in worry.

Perhaps we strike out fearful that maybe we’re the ones in the wrong, but we don’t want to change, so we better smack down the opposition. (But that’s only my opinion.)

But here’s a radical notion: What if there’s room for all of us to have our own opinions, and we don’t have to fight every different idea, but simply . . . let them be?

Aristotle said thousands of years ago that the mark of an educated mind is to entertain an idea without accepting it. 

Are we yet evolved enough to follow the Ancient Greek’s advice?
Recent evidence would suggest no.

Think about how many articles you’ve read where an opinion is stated, and commenters rage that the authors are wrong. I’ve frequently published letters to the editor (opinions) and recently published a longer piece expressing my reasons (opinion) why I don’t cry when I send an adult child away on a mission for two years. I was explaining my experiences, yet some commenters said they felt “judged.”

Judged? By MY experience?
What an odd way to think.
(Uh-oh—someone’s going to judge my opinion on that, I just know it . . .)

But here’s the thing: we all express OPINIONS, and we should. These are not statements of fact, not insistences for policies, not movements to obliterate all other opinions.

Opinions are merely interpretations of life based on one’s experience.

And they are all different. And that’s ok. (In my opinion, that is.)

Yet I’ve seen people squirm in discomfort, scowl in surprise, and even rage in fury when someone else’s experience runs counter to theirs, as if their lives have been suddenly invalidated.

But every person feels and interprets differently, and here’s the marvelous truth: the world IS big enough for all of us to have different opinions.
Here are some opinions I’ve heard recently which turned into actual—and unnecessary—arguments:
–Taking trip to Disneyland/Yellowstone/New York City is stupid/dull/overrated and a waste of time and money.
–Home schooling/public schooling/private schooling shows you don’t have any faith in the system/yourself/the world in general.
–Going to college/not going to college is the biggest mistake you’ll ever make.
–Having one/three/ten children is an excellent/irresponsible decision.
–Letting your kids play/not play on the computer/watch TV/not watch TV is a sure way to ruin/help your children.
–Starting a business/working for someone else is the only way to be sure of your future security.

And, fascinatingly, all of these opinions are ACCURATE.

Because these opinions are based upon individual’s circumstances, and if that circumstance is evaluated honestly, then that opinion is correct, even if it runs counter to what someone else believes.
 (But that’s my opinion.) opinion definition

I think vacationing at the beach is dreadfully dull. My in-laws think it’s ultimately relaxing. We’re both correct.

When I taught critical writing, I’d spend weeks trying to explain that various opinions can all be correct, but even by the end of the semester many college students still struggled with that idea.

I had an excellent test of this early in my teaching career. Before Salt Lake City hosted the Winter Olympics in 2002, there was controversy among Utahns about the impact of the games. I had a student who absolutely opposed the Olympics, while I thought their coming was the greatest thing ever. The assignment for the semester was to write an extensive research paper supporting an opinion, and guess what this guy chose for his subject?
The Damaging Effects of the Winter Olympics.
I didn’t like his topic, as you might imagine. While I am a conservationist at heart, living in a host city of the Olympics had been a dream of mine since I was a little kid. (Ironically, we were living in Virginia in 2002, and I confess I went to my bedroom during the Opening Ceremonies and wept because I wasn’t there.)

Anyway, Olympics-Hating-Student was smart. Each day he’d ask me my opinion about an aspect of the Olympics—traffic, recontouring of ski slopes, building of ice rinks, etc.—and then he’d take careful notes of what I said. He’d smile gratefully, smugly even, and would leave me stewing as to what he was up to.
It turns out his research paper became a carefully orchestrated opinion argument to prove my opinion wrong in every paragraph.

It was absolutely brilliant.

Oh, I didn’t agree with a word of it, but I gave him the highest grade I ever awarded: a 198/200 (he had a few comma issues). While I didn’t agree with his opinions, I had to agree that his ideas had merit and value, and while there were not ideas I wanted to embrace, I would allow him to embrace his opinions.

When he got back his paper, I watched as he nervously opened to the last page of evaluation. The grin which broke out across his face was priceless.
His peers, who knew I opposed all of his arguments, glanced at his grade and were astonished.
“We thought you’d hate his paper!” one of them exclaimed.
“I disagree with his ideas,” I told them, “but he’s entitled to his opinions, especially when he’s so carefully researched them and presented them. He did an excellent job. Who said I have to agree with his premise and conclusions?”

Sheldon Big Bang Theory  | You watch your mouth, Shelly. Everyone's entitled to their opinion. But Mom, evolution is not opinion, it's a fact. And that, Shelly, that i | image tagged in sheldon big bang theory  | made w/ Imgflip meme makerMay I submit the following: We balk at others’ opinions because we’re afraid they may be right.
We feel the need to fight back because we aren’t entirely secure in our own opinions.

May I also submit this: We don’t have to.

If you don’t like what you’re reading, stop reading.
If you don’t agree with someone else, agree to disagree and LEAVE IT ALONE.
Stop fighting. Nothing good comes from a fight. Ever.

I believe that God gave us our agency—our ability to choose—to allow us a full range of experiences in this life. When we, for any reason, try to shut down or deny another person of their opinions, we are essentially taking away their agency. That’s a devilish attitude, and one we need to avoid at all costs, or we become devilish—controlling, angry, and overbearing—ourselves.

HOWEVER . . .
There’s a time to push against another’s opinion, and that’s when YOUR opinion intends to change MY way of:

  • Living
  • Eating
  • Dressing
  • Worshipping
  • Teaching my children
  • Living according to the dictates of MY conscience

Then I will fight back.

There are many obvious examples of this in the world, but let me give you a more local one: A friend of mine recently took her daughter to a musical camp where kids could be trained by professional musicians. The camp fell on my friend’s daughter’s 12th birthday, and to celebrate my friend splurged and bought a store-made cake. She placed it on the food table where other parents had brought snacks, intent upon letting everyone share in her daughter’s birthday celebration.

Except one mother didn’t agree. Putting herself in charge of the table (no one’s sure if she was asked to, but she set herself there anyway), she announced to the children that sugar would make them hyper, and she wouldn’t allow anyone to have any cake, since she didn’t allow it for her own children.

This woman decided—based on her opinion and rather poor science (sugar does NOT cause hyperactivity in children–read this)—that no one should have the opportunity to choose for themselves if they wanted cake.
One person’s mere opinion overruled everyone else’s choices.
That’s wrong.
(In my opinion, that is.)

In our homes we have the right (for now) to impose standards as to what will be allowed and what won’t. In my house I won’t allow abuse, or vulgarity, or pornography, or music and/or entertainment that promote anything like that. In your house, those rules may be different.

But it is NOT my prerogative to barge into your house and force my standards—be they more relaxed or more stringent—upon your family. However, if you come to my house, I expect you to respect how we do things, as I will respect how you do things in your home.

As long as your opinions don’t threaten to take away my freedoms, I’ll keep my mouth shut, and I’ll even be your friend.
But if that line is crossed, if someone’s opinions try to change the way my family lives, then I will push back.

You can live and think and worship and behave differently than me—I have no problem with that, really. We should afford a level of respect to everyone we love. I don’t agree with every opinion of my husband’s, but I won’t detail those differences here right now because we’ve made it 27 years by agreeing to disagree, and I’m not about to disrupt that cart.

We make these kinds of “opinion accommodations” with many people we love.
So why do we not always do so with strangers? With other nationalities, religions, cultures, genders? Why do we feel the urge—even the sanctimonious right—to blast online the opinions and experiences of people we don’t know simply because we can?

Here’s a radical thought (and this is just my opinion): if you don’t like what you’re reading, stop reading it and move on.  

Don’t attack, don’t claim to be judged, don’t cry foul, don’t do anything. Just step away and do something constructive and useful instead.

I tend to clean the kitchen now instead of lashing out with unexplained venom, crying, “What an idiot! Who does he think he is, writing that?!”
“He” probably thinks he’s a person—just like yourself—who feels the desire to share his opinion to help others of like minds realize their experiences are valid. He’s not forcing his way of life upon you, so calm down already and go scrub something!

But then again, that’s only MY opinion, and I’m frankly, I’m entitled to it, as you are entitled to your own.

“What’s wrong with having opinions?” Mahrree said, her voice rising to the pitch of a trapped cat. “What’s more frightening are people with no opinions at all. ‘Oh, that sounds nice, let’s do it! It just feels good!’ What’s wrong with thinking?” 
~Book 3, The Mansions of Idumea

4 reasons to purge the phrase “I’m so busy!”

It’s the battle cry of our generation: “Oh, I am sooo busy!”

Find someone who isn’t busy. I dare you.
Everyone is.
And I’ve come to the conclusion that it’s a terrible line. 

We pull out this phrase for a variety of reasons–maybe proudly or in an attempt to garner sympathy. Maybe as an excuse for some failure, or maybe even as a proclamation of our worth.
But all of these reasons are, to be brutally honest, quite lame.
We wear our busyness as a crown of self-imposed honor, and it’s time to chuck that crown.

  1. We’re not as busy as we think we are.

“Too busy” is a relative term, just like “a great bargain” and “delicious tofu.” What one person claims as “busy” may be another person’s “slow” day.

Our lives, while often very cluttered, are actually simpler than we realize once we get some perspective. For example, watch an episode of “Call the Midwife” to see just how labor-intensive—and even terrifying—life used to be in the “idyllic” 1950s, or read this account of a pioneer woman in the 1840s:

“Drusilla Hendricks had most of the responsibility for taking care of the family, including her husband who was left an invalid after being wounded in the Battle at Crooked River. ‘I had to lift [my husband] at least fifty times a day, and in doing so I had to strain every nerve,’ she recalled. With five children under the age of ten, this young mother tried to survive . . . by taking in boarders, tending a garden, milking cows, feeding livestock, maintaining her home, and preparing the family’s daily need for food and clothing.”
(Women of Nauvoo, Holzapfel and Holzapfel: Bookcraft, 1992; pg. 35)

(I read that passage while sitting on my cozy bed nibbling on a chocolate gluten-free cupcake which I had been “busy” baking earlier.)

Drusilla wasn’t an exception. Read this about “typical” frontier life:

“In the frontier community of Nauvoo, women made soap and candles, both long and tiring chores. They spun thread and weaved cloth to make clothing and even worked at shoe making. A wringer and a washboard always stood nearby. For clothing to be very clean, the white things were boiled with homemade soap, making wash day a day-long affair. Care of animals often fell to women; they built fences, took care of the ‘kitchen garden,’ and helped in the fields, all this while pregnant about thirty percent of the time.” (Ibid. pg. 36)

(After reading this, I guiltily tossed in another load of laundry, dropped in some store-bought detergent, turned a few buttons, and walked away.)

  1. No one likes a martyr.

Sorry, but whining about busyness is terribly uncomfortable to listen to. Claiming to be “too busy” sets you squarely in martyr territory, and while friends and family may croon and say, “Oh, you really are!” inside they’re anxious for the conversation to be over so they can get away from you.

Or so they can ruminate internally that their lives are so much busier than yours, you little sissy.

Think about this uncomfortable question: why do we feel the need to brag /complain about our busyness? What are hoping to get out of it?

These words, spoken by a dear old man back in 2002, have haunted me for over a decade:

Sometimes we feel that the busier we are, the more important we are—as though our busyness defines our worth.
We can spend a lifetime whirling about at a feverish pace, checking off list after list of things that in the end really don’t matter.
~Joseph B. Wirthlin

Are we claiming “busyness” because we’re desperate to prove our worth? Maybe.

Consider these words:

Isn’t it true that we often get so busy? And, sad to say, we even wear our busyness as a badge of honor, as though being busy, by itself, was an accomplishment or sign of a superior life.
Is it?
I think of our Lord and Exemplar, Jesus Christ, and His short life among the people of Galilee and Jerusalem. I have tried to imagine Him bustling between meetings or multitasking to get a list of urgent things accomplished.
I can’t see it.
Instead I see the compassionate and caring Son of God purposefully living each day.
~Dieter F. Uchtdorf

Ouch.

If even Jesus Christ was never “too busy,” I shouldn’t be either.

  1. “Too busy” is a lame excuse. 

Yes, this suggestion is even more uncomfortable than accusing one of playing the martyr, but claiming that we’re “just too busy” may be a way of rationalizing away why we didn’t do something we knew we should.

I confess I’m guilty of this, because it’s just so darn easy to get away with it. I’m frequently “too busy” to drive an hour and a half to visit my parents in their assisted living center more than a few times a year. (They both have dementia and Alzheimer’s so what was the point, anyway?) Yet when my mother suffered a series of strokes last year, and was slowly dying, somehow I found the time to drive down and sit by her side every day and/or night for five days until she finally passed.

I wasn’t too busy to watch her die, and that week alone made me re-analyze my every claim of “too busy.”

  1. “Too busy” suggests we have lost control of our lives.

Being too busy—if  we really are (seriously, watch “Call the Midwife”!)—means that we’ve let too many activities, or obligations, or hobbies, or distractions clutter our days.
It may mean that we can’t prioritize what’s most important each day.
It may mean we don’t have the bravery or honesty to say, “I am unable or I don’t want to do x, y, or z.”
It may mean we don’t have the discipline to shut off whatever electronic gadget is sucking away our time.

What we think is a reasonable, viable excuse may actually be a confession of immaturity.

Now, I’m not saying that we don’t have a lot to do in our lives—we do. There are constant demands on our attention. Why, even as I’m typing this up I’ve stopped twice to change my 3-year-old’s clothes (mysteriously, he keeps getting wet by his 11-year-old brother innocently holding a hose, and is now wearing his fourth set of clothes since this morning), chatted half a dozen times with my kids, discussed weekend plans with my husband three times, gave permission to a teenager to make popcorn, filled my 3-year-old’s cuppy, and that was in the space of maybe an hour.

However, I’m trying to strike from my vocabulary the phrase, “I’m so busy,” although I likely let it slip once or twice as in, “Sweety, I’m a bit busy right now . . .”

Instead, I’m trying this, (at least on everyone else): “My life is so full! Awesomely full!” im too busy

Notice the shift in tone and attitude?

Fullness is completeness.

Being full is usually a good thing (except in the water balloon that my three-year-old brought in the house. Clothing change #5. Another load of laundry which will take me all of five minutes to run.).

Having a full life suggests that nearly every element in my life is there because of my choice. I have CHOSEN this life.

All of us, unless we’re slaves (and I’m not being flippant here: I mean true, cruel slavery, and not something you claim you are to your preteens’ many activities) have chosen our lives to be as they are. Even in the most difficult of circumstances, we still have choices. Rarely are we ever forced into one course of action, and while the options before us may not be ideal, we still have a choice.

For example, at one point last year I was busy working two part-time jobs and running a small Etsy shop. I could have quit one of the jobs, but that would have meant finding another way to pay the power bill which would have meant . . . getting yet another job.

I was tempted to grumble at how hard my husband and I were both working for what felt like only a couple of bucks an hour, but we were working, and slowly improving our circumstances. Instead of complaining that my life was “too busy” to do what I really wanted to do—edit my books or get maybe six hours of sleep—I chose instead to be grateful that I wasn’t just sitting on the couch reading movie descriptions on Netflix (and wondering when the next season of “Call the Midwife” will finally arrive).

I had things to do, obligations to fulfill, people who needed me, and I realized how much I appreciated being needed.

However, I’m not advocating taking on more than we can reasonably handle. That’s where we need to be mature enough to objectively evaluate our lives and say, when necessary, “No, I’m sorry. I can’t organize the Little League luncheon or make party favors for fifty people.” Otherwise we still become martyrs who have taken on too much and eventually have a total breakdown.

Additionally, we frequently have several good things we need to do at the same time, and that’s where prioritizing comes in. Deciding which to do can be difficult, and who to tell “I just can’t do that for you.” But someone once told me that “Other people’s needs should always come first.”

I knew a man who told his son that he had to skip watching him play ball that evening because their neighbor’s sprinkler system was geysering into the neighbor’s basement, and the dad wanted to go help. He said, “It was good for my son to see that I was putting aside something that I thought was important–watching him play ball–for something which really was.” While his son was initially disappointed that his dad was “too busy,” when he saw the flooding mess he offered to skip his game and help as well. Suddenly he was “too busy” to play ball, because he was doing something better.

Living a “busy” life is frequently drudgery. But living a “full” life is marvelous. The sense of I’ve accomplished something good for my family and others is, I think, the purpose of life. What would be worse than no one wanting my help, my advice, or my labor?

So don’t complain/brag about being “too busy.” It’s an awesomely full life!

And really, what would be worse than an awesomely full life?
An awfully empty life.

“Being offended” is not as admirable a trait as you may think it is

Taking offense and being insulted have elevated into national pastimes. Find any article posted online anywhere and read (if you dare) the comments. You’ll find a flurry of, “I’m so offended at . . .” or “I can’t believe someone would write . . .” or “Once again, another insulting article has been published by . . .”

Everyone, it seems, has reason to complain about their feelings being hurt.
Either we’ve become a nation of martyrs, or we’ve never matured beyond 7th grade.

I’m inclined to believe the latter. Even if no offense is intended, someone’s bound to twist another’s words and intents like a pipe cleaner into some hurtful shape, then complain loudly that they’ve been hurt.

This weekend I read about a high school which sent home a funny-yet-instructive letter explaining how graduates should dress for graduation (sadly, such direction is necessary because many people don’t understand the word “appropriate”) and naturally there were many students and parents who found it “offensive,” “insulting,” and “shocking.”

Clearly the attempt at humor—written by a teacher who had since retired, suggesting that this letter had been sent out many times before and was never met with such anger—was meant to lighten the mood of what could be an awkward explanation as to why boys should keep their pants pulled up and girls should keep their “girls” contained at the graduation ceremonies. Why people should choose to be offended at reminders to be appropriately dressed truly baffles me.

I also read a post by a man who was overwhelmed by the effort some moms put into craftiness, and how other women feel they have to compete with often over-the-top productions. “Just. Stop. It.” wrote Scott Dannemiller, because he had observed his wife struggling with her assignment for the treat bags of the 1st graders. (Since when do 1st graders need elaborate and decorated end-of-school treat bags?)

And what did women write in response? Oh, I’m sure you can guess: “He’s openly sneering crafty moms . . .” and “Why is it acceptable to openly mock people?” and “What an ungrateful, hateful rant!”

Personally, I thought the article was hilarious. Yes, some women believe everything they see on Pinterest and feel obliged to conform. And yes, I’m a “crafty person,” but the author made excellent points—

Ah, there’s the rub, I think: We simply can’t abide another person’s point of view, especially if it may border on pricking our conscience.

The idea that maybe we might be wrong about something is . . . hurtful?

Or are we too prideful?

The opposite of pride is humility, and while people give that a negative connotation, what “humble” really means is “teachable”: recognizing that we don’t know everything yet, that we aren’t perfect yet, and that we’re WILLING to be open to correction and suggestions on how to improve.

Oh yes—that’s not ANYTHING our society wants inflicted on it: humility? Blech!

Instead we throw a fit when someone suggests we (or our children) are dressing, acting, or saying anything inappropriate.

Instead of checking ourselves to see if we need to improve, we whine and whimper that someone’s being “judgmental” and “offensive” and “hurtful.”

Instead of allowing someone their own points-of-view, on any matter (we are a free-speech society, in theory anyway), we cry foul and proclaim “They hate us!” and in turn become bullies to those whose opinions we refuse to allow.

Aristotle once wrote, “It is the mark of an educated mind to be able to entertain a thought without accepting it.”

What he means is, let people have their opinions; you don’t have to affected by them at all.
But instead we choose to take offense at ideas that we fear threaten ours.
We don’t have to.

Look at that phrase: “Choose to take offense.”

First, it is a choice to be offended. I’ve known a few people who can manipulate the most innocuous statement to insinuate offense.

“She complimented me on my shirt today. Does that mean she thinks my shirt yesterday was hideous?”

“He said I could borrow his new lawnmower. Clearly he thinks my yard isn’t as good as his and I need his help.”

“She said I looked tired. What did she mean by that?!”

Probably nothing!

No one thinks as much about us as we think they do. Many of us learn that back in junior high when our natural narcissism makes us believe everything in the world really is only all about us. And unfortunately a lot of people get stuck at that phase, even as adults.

That’s the problem with “taking” offense; when we actively take (an action on our part) offense, we get stuck. All forward progress in our day, our week, our lives comes to a grinding halt because we stop and decide to fight what we choose to see as a personal attack on something we love to do or believe.  Quite often that “attack” is nothing more than a weak perception on our parts that we overinflate to gargantuan sizes, and we lose traction and time pouting that someone hurt our feelings when 99% of the time no such thing actually occurred.

But occasionally a very personal, very sharp attack does come at us, fully intending to wound or even destroy us.

There are times when offense is clearly meant, and the aggressor stands there waiting for us to fight back.

Still, we can choose to take offense, or not.

Years ago I heard someone say, “Go ahead. Try to offend me. You can’t, because I simply won’t accept offense.

The idea was astonishing to me, and one that I’ve tried to adopt myself. I’ve lived around people who chose to take offense at every little thing, and their lives were needlessly exhausting as they perceived attacks on every side.

However, not taking offense at anything—letting people say and do and imply whatever they want, and letting that mud fling past me instead of stepping into its path—has made my life abundantly easier.

On many occasions people have nervously said to me, “I hope I’m not offending you, but . . .” and what followed was nothing anywhere near offensive. (Usually they’re offering me and my large family their hand-me-down clothes. As a woman who hates shopping and spending money, it’s Christmas Day when those garbage bags are deposited at my front door!)

I smile and say, “I’ve chosen to never be offended by anything, so you’ve got to try a lot harder than that.”

But back to the deliberate offenses, the calculated attacks: Even then, we do NOT need to take offense.

The best example of this to me is that demonstrated by the musical “The Book of Mormon.” Yes, it’s won numerous awards, has grossed millions of dollars, has been received worldwide, and yes—it’s a deliberate attack on the beliefs and ideals of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS). We’re also known by the name “Mormons,” the name of the ancient author of the compiled book which is lampooned and mocked in the musical. The whole notion of missionaries and morality is parodied by writers who openly hate the Church and brazenly stole copyright names to turn all which we hold sacred into the profane.

Yet the Church has chosen not to be offended.
They’ve chosen not to fight.

They’ve chosen to step away from the mud flinging and simply go on with doing what they believe is right.

There are no lawsuits over the copyright infringements. There are no organized protests. There is no money or time or effort expended in wrestling in this muddy bath. Mormons have been persecuted before, to the point of theft and rape and murder. Compared to the horrors early members faced in the 19th century, a blasphemous little musical is nothing.

There are too many far more important tasks at hand, so the Church continues to focus on building its humanitarian efforts, churches, temples, and going about business as usual. I see the attitude of, “We’ll leave the judgments to God, and be about doing His work in the meantime.”

Well, I confess that wasn’t my initial reaction to the musical. When I first read about the production, I was furious. As a mother of missionaries, future missionaries, and married to a returned missionary, I panicked that such an outright mockery would damage the efforts of tens of thousands of sincere people.

That hasn’t happened. In fact, I’ve read of several accounts of people who attended the musical, decided to contact missionaries to make fun of them, but ended up joining the Church instead. In every major market there have been critical reviews commenting that the musical is abrasive, offensive, and vulgar, and if it were directed toward Muslims instead of Mormons, jihad would have been declared on all fronts.

But all the Church said about the musical was this:

The production may attempt to entertain audiences for an evening, but the Book of Mormon as a volume of scripture will change people’s lives forever by bringing them closer to Christ.

And that was it.
The producers of the musical state the Church is being a “good sport” about it, and blah, blah, blah, because what more can they do about someone who refuses to fight?

Frankly, I still hate the idea that the musical exists, and that people willingly pay ridiculous amounts to see Mormons and missionaries mocked. But I refuse to take offense.

In a fight, the one with the most power is the one who walks away from it.

“No one’s ever successfully insulted Rector Yung, because he refuses to be insulted. People do their best, but Yung won’t even acknowledge the attempt of an affront.”

The Falcon in the Barn, Book 4