I met up with a friend the other day. A friend that I have known for a while, and we have seen each other through some ups and downs. We were comfortable with each other as people. Enough to have fun and have deep conversations, all the same. “How are you?” They asked. I am very guilty of answering with a rehearsed, habitual, “Fine. How are you?” Not today, though. Today, I didn’t even have it in me to feign the avoidance a response like “I’m fine” can allow for. No, I deviated from the normal pleasantries and went straight for the kind of discomfort only vulnerable honesty can provide in these moments and let out an. “I’m tired,” before my manners interveined.
“From too much fun?” they said, fishing for good news and trying to keep the conversation positive. “I wish,” I replied, “No, just physically, mentally, and existentially tired,” I elaborated. I wasn’t looking to linger on my state of exhaustion; I just didn’t want to use, or maybe I didn’t have the energy to lie my way through another pleasantry if I didn’t have to. More than a year of fighting unemployment, a constant barrage of bad news, and a relentless schedule and to-do list have a way of wearing you down after a while. They knew that. It wasn’t a surprise; they genuinely were just hoping for something a little better.
“How are you?” No matter how well-meaning, because it is normally meant well, no matter how benign the question is on the surface, it is not looking for a negative response. It wants to move on. No one really wants you to be doing poorly. They just don’t want to hear about it. Some questions aren’t really meant to be answered honestly, and vulnerability has no place in polite small talk.
As a polite friend does, I was able to quickly follow with a joke to change the tone and quickly changed the subject to something lighter. The conversation was pleasant, but the exhaustion remained. That was my exhaustion, though. As much as I know that friends and others would quickly come to my aid if I needed anything from a friendly ear, to a babysitter, and as far as a loan and dinner to get me through the month if I only asked, that wasn’t the reason for seeing them. That wasn’t what I needed. Staying on task is polite, and being good company is an important part of being a friend.
Pivoting From a Tired “Fine.”
The English have a way of speaking that I have always loved as an American who lives in the South. It is not because of the accent or even their vocabulary, but it is fun to debate the difference between color and colour or the pronunciation of aluminium; it is the way manners work their way into their speech without effort. Manners are fading out of fashion across the world, but some of that sentiment lingers in our cultural subconscious. More in King’s English than even my own familiar southern American dialect, manners have a place in the structure of speech beyond the cordial, “yes ma’am.”
There is a response to the question of “how are you” that may be more familiar across the pond. One that I have chosen to adopt. Not as an appropriation, but it’s a straightforward and honest way of answering that dreaded question when you often have those tired sort of days.
Now I respond with “Mustn’t grumble.”
It’s easily understood linguistically and so genuine. We all could grumble about our situation or our days. While some people find it easy not to, for some, it takes more conscious effort. When you say that you mustn’t grumble, you are leaving space for your less-than-cheery disposition and setting it aside for polite interaction by not sharing it. Sometimes, you mustn’t grumble simply because there is nothing to grumble about. Either way, it doesn’t matter; you don’t have to spout the unenthusiastic lie of being fine.
You Aren’t Fooling Anyone
When you say you are fine with that tone, you know the tone I mean, that tone that begs someone to ask what is wrong, you undermine the words. The platitude of being fine doesn’t have to be a lie, but it means you actually need to be, indeed, fine. The fine that the definition actually implies: “a satisfactory or pleasing manner; very well.” That kind of fine, you can see it on someone’s face and hear it in their voice. That kind of fine warrants the response, “What has you in such a fine mood?”, and should be met with good news.
We have become so accustomed to sarcasm and the misery that comes with it. Sarcasm can be useful and funny when not constant. When it becomes excessive, it rots away at moods and demeanors. Even a beautiful sunny day has a dark cloud, or you wish there was one to block the sun. It is a socially acceptable state of pessimism, so it stays on all the time. There is plenty to be pessimistic about. If there is one thing you can be positive about, it is that something will go wrong. I am not speaking from a place of superiority, above the pessimism and sarcasm; I am speaking from experience and ongoing rehabilitation.
Our words aren’t only outwardly impactful; they directly affect us, the person who said them. We don’t believe anyone quite as much as we do ourselves, so when we hear our words, we listen and reflect on their meaning. So if we tell lies, things we don’t actually feel or believe, we start to believe them. That fake “fine” that says how we are not fine, but don’t want to talk about it, we hear that and know we aren’t ok. We don’t even want to hear about our struggles. We degrade and ignore our own, obvious feelings.
Positive affirmations, said with honesty and conviction, can have the same effect. Passing by a mirror, if you feel that you look good, you can enhance that feeling by complimenting yourself out loud. Give it a try and catcall yourself next time you spend some time and effort to make yourself look good, feel the difference. Now, I won’t take this as far as bending the universe to your will, but you can at least bend your own psyche to the positive. That kind of confidence has a way of materializing good things. Look for good, and you will find it; look for the bad, and you will find that too.
Ditching the “Fine” for Good
I set out a while back to stop lying. Not in the sense that I claim to know the factual truth, just your standard, low-level lies. I didn’t start trying this because I was pathological or manipulative, Pinochio could have been both of those things and not needed a nose job. I started because I realized how many things I said that I didn’t believe or knew weren’t true; little things to spare other people’s feelings, be polite, not make a fuss, or hide my feelings and thoughts. It’s common, and most people do that, but that doesn’t mean it is actually contributing anything positive to the world around us. These little acts of dishonesty just rob the world of who we are.
Sometimes not lying means I talk less. Sometimes not lying means I spend a lot of energy being very clear in efforts to be both kind and honest. Sometimes not lying means I have to brace for hard conversations. Sometimes, I fail, and either have to correct myself or just live with the fact that I am not perfect in this endeavor. All are acceptable, all have positive outcomes, but most of all, they are all me.
Something happens, though, when you work to stop lying, and it is work. You start to feel like yourself. Maybe you have gone most of your life without that feeling, from keeping up appearances and the little lies you would tell. When you start catching your lies, you have to ask, “Why did I say that?” and be ready not to have an answer. You find that your words and thoughts are an echo chamber in your own head, and they are likely not even your words or thoughts. They are the things you heard others say while those around you nodded and applauded. They are ideas, never examined. They are likely not even serving you past the point of holding a random opinion on something. When you start to see this, you can’t unsee it. You realize how much you don’t know or haven’t actually thought through the things that you are quickly willing to say to others.
This may be one of the most revolutionary acts you can commit as an individual: simply not play along. You don’t have to be mean, rude, or overshare your deepest thoughts and feelings. You don’t have to sacrifice manners or the kind social platitudes people are used to. You simply have to show up as yourself. People like people, they really do. What they grow weary of is caricatures of personalities that are predictable and finite. Just showing up as a human, not willing to be fine and mask who you are for what you think will make people more comfortable. This is why most people are impressionable; they are willing to hear, memorize, and repeat the things that sound good and have popular opinion on their side. As they listen to their words, they start to believe them and take ownership of them. At some point, propaganda of all sorts creates itself.
No, I am not fine. I am ok though. I mustn’t grumble, because you don’t want or need to hear it now, despite the fact that I, like you, have plenty to grumble and groan about. Dwelling on those things won’t do us any good, so I want to keep the conversation moving, in hopes of finding something good through it. When I find that good thing, I will probably share it, because I want to hear it again and believe it is true. I want to share positive news and let some of the negativity of this world fade into obscurity and out of memory.
I really do hope you are genuinely fine in all the best and literal ways.
Stay true.