Skip to main content

Glass House

Met my friend S for lunch today after several months. She is one of my trusted advisors on what works (or not) when parenting tweens. J finds her hip, cool and pretty - the winning combination. It helps that S has a number of interesting hobbies and a beautiful singing voice. I was telling her about how J has often asked me if it was okay to share something fairly personal with her best friend - I have said yes but that conversation never ended up happening. J decided against it fearing she may be considered weird for having a problem that needed sharing - no one else does that. She does not want to be the minority of one. 

S's perspective on the issue helped clarify things for me. According to her, this is the Facebook generation - they are used to living in the public eye, their lives airbrushed to perfection. Everyone is exuberant all the time, winning at everything and incredibly happy. That is the artificial standard that people are using to calibrate themselves. In that context, it is hard to be authentic, have a problem, have anything less than perfect life - ofcourse J will balk at the idea of sharing even if she wants to. The friends she fears to talk about what's bothering her have the exact same fears. They are all living in glasshouses on their personal islands - incessant chatter in cyberspace but no real communication.

S is ten years younger than me, but we know a lot about each others' lives - specially of the parts that are deeply flawed. She lives in the glasshouse  like her peers. The inflated standards she mentions apply to her as well. It seems like she can let go of that with me. We can talk about things that really matter to us - hopes, dreams and fears. Meeting for a couple of hours is an authentic experience - she can always go back to the glass house and project perfection as the rules of engagement require her to do.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Part Liberated Woman

An expat desi friend and I were discussing what it means to return to India when you have cobbled together a life in a foreign country no matter how flawed and imperfect. We have both spent over a decade outside India and have kids who were born abroad and have spent very little time back home. Returning "home" is something a lot of new immigrants like L and myself think about. We want very much for that to be an option because a full assimilation into our country of domicile is likely never going to happen. L has visited India more often than I have and has a much better pulse on what's going on there. For me the strongest drag force working against my desire to return home is my experience of life as a woman in India. I neither want to live that suffocatingly sheltered existence myself nor subject J to it. The freedom, independence and safety I have had in here in suburban America was not even something I knew I could expect to have in India. I never knew what it felt t

Cheese Making

I never fail to remind J that there is a time and place for everything. It is possibly the line she will remember me by when I am dead and gone given how frequently she hears it. Instead of having her breakfast she will break into a song and dance number from High School Musical well past eight on Monday morning. She will insist that I watch and applaud the performance instead of screaming at her to finish her milk and cereal. Her sense of occasion is seriously lacking but then so is mine. Consider for example, a person walks into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying detergent because they are fresh out of it and laundry is only half way done. However instead of heading straight for detergent, they wander over to the natural foods aisle and go berserk upon finding goat milk on sale for a dollar a gallon. They at once proceed to stock pile so they can turn it to huge quantities home-made feta cheese. That person would be me. It would not concern me in the least that I ha

Under Advisement

Recently a desi dude who is more acquaintance less friend called to check in on me. Those who have read this blog before might know that such calls tend to make me anxious. Depending on how far back we go, there are sets of FAQs that I brace myself to answer. The trick is to be sufficiently evasive without being downright offensive - a fine balancing act given the provocative nature of questions involved. I look at these calls as opportunities for building patience and tolerance both of which I seriously lack. Basically, they are very desirous of finding out how I am doing in my personal and professional life to be sure that they have me correctly categorized and filed for future reference. The major buckets appear to be loser, struggling, average, arrived, superstar and uncategorizable. My goal needless to say, is to be in the last bucket - the unknown, unquantifiable and therefore uninteresting entity. Their aim is to pull me into something more tangible. So anyways, the dude in ques