Critibot

I have a habit of being too critical. But it’s not because I think I’m better than everybody else, or think everybody else sucks, it’s because I’m worried about what other people think.

For example, my frequent critiques of Wilma were supposed to help her avoid the distain of her peers, not damage her self-esteem. I thought she was good at (most of) what she did, but I was worried what other people would think, so I constantly pointed out how she could improve.

This wasn’t restricted to my marriage. As far back as I can remember I was doing this.

I have known Optimus Prime since I started school. I criticized his singing, the jeans he wore, the way he talked to girls, the way he played baseball. Basically everything.

He remembers. Especially the jean thing. We were in my parents car, still preteens, extra sensitive about just about everything, and I told him that he should get some new jeans that were a brand name, like Levis or something. Mostly because I was extra paranoid about my own clothes. People made fun of my clothes when they weren’t brand names, so I begged and pleaded and cried with my parents to get brand names so people wouldn’t make fun of me (of course, back then, I didn’t cop to the last part). My Mom looked through second hand stores because she said she couldn’t afford brand name clothing (NOW I believe her).

Optimus Prime reminded me of this story when we were in University. He was crushed, but tried to shake it off. It hung over him for a long time.

The ironic thing is that he was the more popular one. He was charismatic. He had more girls pursue him. He did things I would never do because I was worried about what other people thought. And I could see flaws in what he did. But everybody else loved it. They lavished praise and affection on him. Of course, I was horribly jealous.

I have gradually learned that people are more forgiving and accepting than I gave them credit for, especially in social situations, especially if they like you. I have also learned that lots of people generally like me. Not quite the lavish affection and praise that Prime received, more like “he’s a nice guy” and occasionally “he’s a nice guy and he’s cute.”

Yet, every once in a while, the worry rears its head. Usually with hot buttons. I start to perceive strangers, others as threats, social threats, people ready to judge and damage and hurt. I clam up, and I try to take people I like with me. Try to protect them from the doom. Wilma seemed to excel at hitting those buttons.

It’s amazing how rarely they get pressed now that she’s gone…