A Letter to my reputation

Hello Friend,

I wish that greeting was different. I wish you were a second cousin I saw every couple years at semi-awkward family reunions, instead of the close friend that you are. We speak often. You lodge your daily requests to be considered and appeased. I’m usually a punctual listener and respond with border collie like obedience:

Say yes to another commitment on the calendar.

Dismiss my own emotions in pursuit of another.

Wake up at 2 am to keep you and your anxiety company. 

But sometimes my response is late, or ineffective, at which point I hear you begin to pace. Slow and measured steps unable to hide your worry. You become increasingly unsettled with the idea that others might think of you poorly. Fear rises that words like incompetent, undependable, or average might attach to you. And so you knock at my door, even if we spoke earlier that evening, even if there are other guests visiting. You ask to be brought in and consoled. 

I can already hear your comeback, and I agree. I’m a willing participant in our dysfunction. Your fragile ego isn’t the only one carefully tended to. I’ve enjoyed polishing your appearance through productivity and pleasing others. Albeit misplaced, you’ve provided ground for my identity to grow. 

So friend, here’s the thing: you’re not really a friend. You’re needy. So friggin needy. I’d imagine you were Bill Murray’s inspiration for What About Bob? Your self-centeredness rivals the worst three year old with no siblings attending preschool for the first time. There’s a using of me, and of other’s appreciation and respect, that robs us of dignity. 

In many ways I wish this was an eviction notice. You’ve got 30 days to pack your crap and get out of the house. But I know you’re crafty, and I know fighting you head-on gives you more power and devotes more energy to you. So, instead of evicting you, I’m updating the terms of our lease. Effective immediately:

• Prepare for disappointment
  
  Your high expectations will need to come down. Getting skunked while fishing, letting someone down, or being unable to troubleshoot the sprinkler system used to be embarrassments to hide. Get used to them. Disappointment does not equal indictment.
  

• Prepare for loneliness

As I said earlier, you've required a lot of coddling. That changes now. As a genuine friend of mine said earlier, “your offense is not my responsibility.” So, when the aforementioned disappointment comes, you can wring your hands by yourself.

• Grow some callouses

No explanation needed.

Hope you enjoy your new accommodations. 

Sincerely,
Your new landlord

Jesse French
Restoration Project Executive Director