Making Assumptions

What's that saying about making assumptions?

Last week I decided to put a pink streak in my hair. Well, it was supposed to be a pink streak. It ended up being a pink splotch. But still, I thought it would be fun so I did it. In retrospect I realize I probably should have found out how long pink dye in blond hair would last before I committed to the splotch. I didn't think about that at the time.

I haven't done anything crazy to my hair for a while now. Having admitted my addiction to color changing chemicals I've been very rational and grown up about my hair recently. I have resisted the desire to make drastic color changes. Until Saturday. When I had a relapse. There I was, home with a free hour and a tube of fuchsia dye in the linen closet. Temptation overtook me. This happened.

It was supposed to be a subtle hot pink strip that just sort of peeked through the blond. Instead it ended up looking a little like I had suffered a head injury.  But, I was late for a party so I didn't have time to worry about it.

I found it interesting that hardly anyone at the party mentioned the bright pink clump of hair on the side of my head. Granted many who were in attendance know me well enough they probably weren't surprised. I'm sure some people couldn't say they liked it so they just chose not to say anything. And it was a pretty polite and conservative group so I wouldn't have expected any of them to say, "What the (insert expletive here)?" 

One relatively young man did say he thought a lot of people would assume a woman my age had dyed her hair pink in an effort to cling to youthfulness. But he added that he knew me and figured I had done it, 'just because.' He is right. I did it just because. Just because I could. Because it was Saturday and I had a free hour and a tube of fuchsia hair dye in the linen closet. And because I'm an addict.

I thought a lot about what he said though. He is right. A lot of people who don't know me would think I had done it in a desperate attempt to look young and hip. Let's face it. If I were going for young and hip I would have changed my hair and clothing style to something a lot more edgy.

Nevertheless, his comments made me think about how often we make assumptions about people.  As if, by mere observation we can actually know something about someone. I'm pretty sure we can't know something about someone unless we actually know the someone. But that doesn't seem to stop us from assuming.

I wanted pink hair because I could. Just that simple.

We all do it. We all make assumptions about people based on what we see. We assume things about people who are fat and skinny and young and old. We make assumptions based on skin color, accent, mannerism, style of dress and a myriad of other arbitrary criteria. Unless we know a person, though, we've no place making assumptions about them.

I'm ashamed to admit that I've made bad initial assumptions about some of the best people I know. Neither size, shape, nor color make the person. It's what can't be seen that truly matters.

I didn't end up loving my fuchsia clump but it was a fun experiment. I'm now conducting a fun experiment trying to get rid of it. I'm always hopeful that I will continue to have hair in that spot even as I try a variety of things to bleach it out. Instead of the bright shock of fuchsia, I currently look like I got a wad of pink cotton candy stuck in my hair.

I can't say I've learned to be more rational about hair color from this experience. I haven't. But I can say it has made me think about how often I make wrong assumptions about people. And about how making those assumptions keeps me from offering grace and kindness and compassion. Without grace and kindness and compassion we can't make this world a better place.

Assume grace.

Crying in Wal-Mart

I'm really not that crazy. I mean, yes, I'm a little bit crazy. But who isn't?

In fact, I'm not even sure crazy is the real issue. So I burst into tears in the middle of a store. What's the big deal?

(Source: Google Images)

For starters I had to go to Wal-Mart. That alone is enough to make a person cry. I typically don't go to Wal-Mart for a number of reasons, including concern for social justice issues and their general business values. Not to mention the overall weirdness of the place. But the other day I needed to go to Wal-Mart for an item I couldn't seem to find anywhere else. I was determined to get in and out as quickly as possible and headed toward my goal item with great intentionality, zipping past dawdling shoppers and short cutting through clothing racks. I got where I needed to be and started to scan the shelves. In a matter of moments a mother and a little girl, somewhere around 3-years old, came into the isle. They interacted sweetly for a bit and then the girl spied something she wanted. She asked for it. Mom said no. She asked again. Mom said no again. They did this for a while before the little girl lost composure and started crying and begging for whatever it was she wanted.  The mother never lost her patience but kept saying no.

That is when my crazy kicked in. I had to leave. Immediately. I had to walk away from their interaction because without warning I started to cry along with the little girl. Fortunately I wasn't wailing the way she was but I had to ground myself emotionally to keep from saying to the young mother, "Buy her what she wants. You don't understand how little time you have left with her. Soon she'll be gone to college and you'll be doing this alone. It goes by so fast." 

Obviously I didn't say that to the woman. For one thing it probably would have frightened her to have a tear-streaked-middle-aged woman she's never seen before telling her what to do with her child. Not to mention she was doing the right thing by not giving in. But my instantaneous reaction to their exchange made one thing clear.

It is time for Anna to come home for a little while.

Nevertheless, I made my way to the checkout trying not to look too off-balance as I attempted to regain my composure. I wanted in line for a near eternity as the cashier examined the fine print of every single coupon provided by the customer in front of me. Every. Single. Coupon. Every word. Every date. Because God forbid Wal-Mart might lose thirty-five cents by honoring an expired coupon. But that's beside the point.

I eventually made my purchase and left the store. By that time I was nearly back to normal but it made me think about why I felt the need to rush out of view because I had been blindsided by my emotions. Does crying because I miss my daughter really make me crazy?

I've always been one who cries easily. My mother made me stop watching Lassie when I was little because she got tired of me crying at the end of every episode. Although, in retrospect, I'm not sure making me watch Alfred Hitchcock was such a great idea.

Anyway, my Wal-Mart experience made me wonder why we, as a culture, are so afraid of tears. Why do we apologize for crying publicly? Assume it is a sign of weakness? And experience embarrassment and discomfort when someone sees us cry?

I think we've got it wrong. I don't think the intensity of missing my daughter when I saw that young mother and her little girl makes me weak or crazy. I don't think my tears indicate some emotional imbalance.

I think it makes me human.

Rather than hide my tears from view, maybe I should have just celebrated what they mean. That I miss the young woman with whom I spent years building a close and intimate relationship. That I recognize the speed with which time goes by and the importance of living intentionally and joyfully. That life is precious and fragile and fleeting.

I'm not saying I'm just going to walk around crying all the time. And I don't feel any compelling need to watch old Lassie TV shows. But if you should see me crying in Wal-Mart, don't assume I'm crazy or imbalanced or just hate Wal-Mart so much it brings me to tears. Just understand.

I'm human.