Attitude is everything. And words can be your most powerful ammunition.
During my several counseling and teaching jobs in college, I’ve often been taught to be careful with my words. There is a mountain of difference between saying, “Did you understand me?” and “Was I able to explain myself clearly?”
I’m not suggesting that you be fake or hide what you actually feel, just that a small bit of paraphrasing might help you reach your goal quicker and also spare a few folks’ feelings. Instead, many people choose to make completely unconstructive remarks that have the added benefit of being useless.
Here’s one I read recently: “It’s all crap.”
Wow, thank you for that well thought out comment, fella. I know exactly what you mean.
Actually, I don’t. What do you mean?
I hate it when people say it’s “bad” or it “sucks.” To be completely honest, I don’t like it when people overuse the word “good” either. I don’t want to sound like your English teacher, but those adjectives mean nothing. What if you ask me whether I like your site and I say, ‘It’s good.”
Are you feeling good, now? Cause you shouldn’t. “It’s good” either means that I didn’t like it and was trying to be cordial or, probably worse, I didn’t even visit it. Had I been to your site, I could tell you how the tone of green you chose for your link works well with the dark blue text and that I love the font in your name. I might tell you that I think your font is too small and makes the page slightly unreadable or that there is too much text on the screen. But saying it’s “good” is just a way to brush you off. It means I don’t care. It means I think your site is so bad that it can’t be salvaged.
Tiny little words with so much power. The response you’d get from taking a small minute to reconstruct your sentence. The effort you put into details. Why not give it a try and see if you find the responses as intoxicating as I do. There are few more wonderful things in the world than truly helping out someone else, even in the smallest way.
So maybe it’s time to start using your words.
Previously? One For All.
I was raised in a very Jewish environment. I don’t mean to imply that it was religious, just that my surroundings almost exclusively consisted of Jewish people. In a country where 99 percent of the population is Muslim, I imagine it’s not rare for the minorities to stick together.
I also hated most anyone I grew up with. Almost all of them were snotty, air headed, superficial people. They judged you solely on looks and what brand names you wore. They backstabbed without discrimination and they were cruel.
So as soon as I was old enough, I chose my own friends, most of whom were Muslim. When hanging out with them I used to joke that since I was a Jew myself, it was acceptable for me to belittle other Jews.
There’s a discussion in MetaFilter this week about Mel Brooks’s comment upon accepting one of this Tony awards. The poster complains that he finds it unacceptable that people make light of such a dreadful situation as the Holocaust. One of the counterarguments posed is that since Brooks is Jewish himself, he should be allowed to make fun of it any way he pleases.
My personal opinions on the matter aside, I think saying that since Brooks is Jewish he should be able to treat Jewish subject matters however he chooses, is unacceptable. For the people who said that there are many ways to deal with an issue and this may be how Brooks chooses to do it, that’s fine. I’m just against the idea that any member of a group of people should be allowed to speak on behalf of the group.
Just because Brooks is Jewish doesn’t mean he’s the chosen speaker for all Jews worldwide. It also doesn’t mean he’s not allowed to have his point of view and feelings about the matter. We’re all allowed to have thoughts on anything. Even though I’m not Muslim, I might have an opinion on the misconceptions about Muslim people in Western civilizations. While it’s true that I might not know what being Muslim feels like firsthand, that doesn’t automatically disqualify me from being able to intelligently discuss the subject matter.
In the same token, just because I’m Jewish doesn’t mean my opinion qualifies for all Jews. Some Jews might find power in looking at the humor or irony in the horror of it all, while others might abhor the idea of the word comedy and Holocaust being used in the same sentence. People will always have differing opinions and feelings about similar experiences; that’s what makes the world interesting. And someone’s right will often be someone else’s wrong. And that’s fine.
Sure Brooks can address the Holocaust in a manner he finds appropriate and so can a Swiss or a Muslim or most any other person. And there is a difference between speaking from first hand experience and just reading or interfacing with others, but it still doesn’t mean that all members of a minority see eye to eye on all issues concerning that minority group.
So saying that Brooks could make fun of the Holocaust because he’s Jewish seems like an invalid argument to me.
Not that the show is directly about Jews or the Holocaust anyhow.
Previously? Blissful Ignorance.
There are two kinds of people in the world: those who ignore problems and those who like to work through them.
It would be fair to say that I belong to the latter group. Until recently, I thought this was a desirable and mature characteristic.
Let’s talk about the ones who believe in the bliss of ignorance. To me the idea that a problem would disappear if only it were never addressed sounded ludicrous. I kept saying “Are you telling me that if I completely ignore his picking his nose all day long, he’ll actually stop?” I know many people who act as if the problems are simply not there. Some even make excuses to cover up. Anything, as long as we don’t have to face the real issue.
I just think this option never gives the other person the benefit of the doubt. If a friend’s behavior is upsetting me and I never tell her, she could possibly keep on doing it and I’d have no right to get more agitated, though I most likely would anyhow. Ignoring the issue only allows it to reoccur and it says to the other person that I don’t think it would be worth my time to talk to her.
So it made perfect sense that if an issue arose between me and a person I cared about, I’d sit down as quickly as possible and tell the person my concerns. It also made sense to me that we would discuss the issue and our feelings about it until we came to possible resolutions and even picked one to try out.
I also used to subscribe to the ‘don’t go to bed angry’ belief. So that mentality coupled with the previous made it dreadful when any problems occurred. Especially if the other party was one who likes to ignore the issues.
Imagine if you will, me sitting up in bed, frustrated about a problem and trying to talk it out with my boyfriend. He’s tired and all he can think of is how to make this problem go away so we can sleep. So I talk and he nods. I suggest resolutions and he agrees to anything. I can tell what he’s doing so I get more frustrated and now he’s annoyed I won’t drop it. Then I start realizing it’s getting late but I can’t go to bed angry, so it’s even more urgent that we resolve the problem. So I push harder. I want him to cooperate. I need him to listen. He’d better believe in resolving issues and start suggesting viable resolutions or…
Well, you can imagine the rest. Not a pretty picture.
It seems there’s a good time for ignoring an issue and a good time for addressing it. And nothing has to be done ‘now’. If your relationship is solid, it’s okay to go to bed angry and then resolve the issue in the morning when you’re both calmer. It’s even okay to ignore it for a while so the other person can breathe and be ready to talk. And it’s also okay to ignore some things completely. Many habits come and go, instead of fighting each of them; I’ve learned it’s best to pick your fights.
It’s best to resolve the major issues, or at least really try to, and let go of the small ones. If the small problem gets bigger, you can address it then. On the other hand, if it disappears, you avoided some unnecessary talk.
Don’t get me wrong; I’m not suggesting ignoring an alcohol problem or a situation where one person feels used. I’m talking about the little things, like putting the dishes next to the sink or not picking up the towels when they fall. Not everything needs a four-hour conversation, not everything needs to be fixed.
Next time you see a towel on the floor, think hard about how much time it will take for you to resolve that forever compared to the amount of time it will take you to simply pick it up.
And then pick the damn towel up.
Previously? Lead vs Follow.
When was the last time you took a look at your own life and revisited some of the choices you made?
Time passes so quickly, especially when you’re busy, that many of us get caught up in the day-to-day life and never take the time to sit back and look at the big picture. We never take a breath and say “Am I in the job I’ve always dreamt of?” or “What kind of compromises have I made and have I made them consciously?”
Anne Tyler’s new novel has a main character who wakes up one morning and realizes that her life has completely gone off track. She sits back and starts envisioning what sort of life she would have had had she not derailed back when she did.
Another recent book I read talks about how a frog will jump back out when thrown into a boiling point of water, but how if you put the frog in cold water and then heat the water slowly it will sit there forever, until he’s fully cooked.
Both made me think of how we lose track of things so quickly and rarely take the time to take a peek at the big picture. This applies to most anything in our daily life: relationships, career, friendships, priorities, etc. Unless some major disaster occurs, many people live the days one day at a time and try to make it through that one day without too much grief. Once the day’s over, we’re all too relieved to have made it.
These books made me think and try to take a big picture look at my life. Especially since I’ve been thinking and planning some major changes in my life, I decided it was crucial to take a look at my life and how much of it is a result of my actively trying versus just falling into the situation. This way, as I plan the next steps of my life, I can take the effort and moment to ensure I can get back on the road or consciously make the derailed path my new choice.
It’s completely fine to change your ideas, priorities and even mind. You’re welcome to want to travel the world one day and get married the next. You can move from being a programmer to a musician and then go study psychology. You can date men and then women. Anything and everything is conceivable and most things are not beyond the realm of possibility in life.
Just as long as you don’t let life drag you along. Take control of your life. Make it what you want it to be. Let your decisions be conscious.
Lead the Way.
“I like to listen. I have learned a great deal from listening carefully. Most people never listen.” -Ernest Hemingway
At the end of my theories of personality class, our teacher asked the class which of the six theorists we studied, (Freud, Adler, Sullivan, Skinner, Jung, and Rogers) we would choose.
A few students raised their hands and told their preferences. Most of the choices depended on the specific problem that the student assumed to be facing. For example, if one suffers from a phobia, Skinner might be a good choice since he worked with many phobics.
I said I would have liked to go to Carl Rogers.
Not to just any Rogerian, but Rogers himself. Even though there are many aspects to Rogers’ theories that I enjoy, he had a specific trait, or maybe we can say a gift, that most practicing Rogerians don’t have.
He knew how to listen.
There are videotapes from sessions Carl Rogers held with a patient. In the tape one can see that to Rogers, at that moment, all that matters in the world is that very patient and the words he or she is uttering. Rogers knew how to utterly and completely listen to another human being.
How often do people do that? And I don’t mean ‘pay attention’, I mean truly listen.
Most often as the other person talks, we’re formulating our answer, thinking of something completely different like a problem at work or an important to-do, or even simply tuning out. Most of us never bother to scratch deeper than the surface of a conversation, especially if it doesn’t directly involve us.
I don’t mean to say we’re selfish or that we don’t care. I just think that most of us are usually thinking of too many things at once, so we don’t really concentrate on one particular thing at a time. It’s certainly possible to listen to a friend while making a grocery list in one’s head. And I don’t mean just nod, but listen enough to be able to recite the words back to the person. But is that really listening?
When was the last time a certain person or conversation had your full attention? And I mean 100%. Being listened to is an incredible rush. You can definitely tell when someone’s listening and not just hearing. When the person is fully there with you and you’re not only their number one priority but their only priority for that moment in time.
Somehow we tend to do that when we’re in the process of making new friends or falling in love. Since it’s a completely new environment we tend to be ‘all there’ and we have very few assumptions since we don’t know the other party well enough to assume. So we listen. We really listen.
I decided that I want to do more listening. What I can learn from really listening to one person is exponentially more rewarding than simply hearing the words of a hundred people.
Previously? Slow.
If I were a car, I’d be one stuck on overdrive.
During sixth grade, I prepared all year for an exam that would allow me to transfer from one school to a better one. After ten months of obscene hours of studying, private lessons, and a ruined summer, three days before the exam I found out that the school would only accept one person.
Almost a hundred of us taking the test and they would let in only one person.
I had no chance in hell.
But I’d come this far and I was going to take the damn test regardless. On the morning of the exam, I woke up with a fever of 38.5, which is 101.3 for the Celsius challenged. It seemed like all signs pointed to this school not being in my future.
I went to the test nonetheless. And because I was so sick, I read each question several times, ensuring myself I knew exactly what they were asking. I took my sweet ass time and I didn’t worry, mostly cause I couldn’t; it was already too much effort to keep my eyelids from closing.
And, of course, I got in. (Otherwise my telling this story would be pointless, right?)
I know that the only reason I scored so high on that test was cause I was too tired to rush through it. I didn’t make the usual mistakes that come from hurriedly misreading the question.
I’ve always done a million things at once. The TV would blast while I did homework. I did my undergraduate degree and graduate degree simultaneously. During the same four years, I held five different jobs on campus, dated two different men (not simultaneously of course!) so it wasn’t like I was closed up in my room studying all the time. Even when I walk down the street I walk rapidly, more concerned with my destination than my route. Always rushing. If I’m not doing a million things, I’m often doing nothing. It’s like a car that can do 0 or 100 but nothing in between.
I know that I have my mom to thank for these specific genes. She suffers from the same speed problem and often complains at the end of each day about how she has a million things to do and how she feels overwhelmingly worn out.
On Saturday, I lifted one of my nephews in an effort to stop him from jumping into the not-so-clean waters of the Bosphorus. Within twenty seconds, my back reminded me what a completely moronic decision that was. Pains started shooting up and down my left leg.
So my back is broke. Again.
Now I’m walking, more like limping I guess, around New York City, slowly.
Slowly.
I am taking my time. I have no choice. But I’m realizing that while fast accomplishes many things, slow is crucial. It makes you pay attention. It makes you see details. It makes you think.
It makes you enjoy.
I’m sad it took my body’s incapacity to get me here, but I’m trying to make the most of it. I’m learning that sometimes you want to cruise at 40 and appreciate the landscape.
Previously? Hatred.
If you’ve been following my log for a while you might have noticed the theme of self exploration. On of the reasons I’ve always enjoyed writing diaries is that they sort of make me face who I am.
Especially lately I’ve been trying to look within and face some of the major flaws, hangups, issues that I have.
Turkey happens to be one of them.
Ever since I can remember I’ve wanted to leave Istanbul. I grew up in a crowd where I was continually excluded and ridiculed for being different. While I enjoyed reading, my so-called friends spent their time gossiping and shopping. I was the nerd and the dork. It seemed the only way I could escape these labels was to go to the other end of the universe. One where people would stop treating me as the freak.
The thing is I never stopped hating those people. Each time I come back and run into one of them my knees go weak and I become the same girl with coke bottle bottom glasses and extreme lack of self confidence. Which, of course, results in my having violent reactions to their presence and I hate them. Just the thought is enough to make me cringe.
Tonight I was sitting at a concert and thinking of all those teenager friends whom I hate and I decided that hatred is a sign of a flaw in myself, not others. If other people can cause such a strong emotion to come to the surface there must be some residual issues within.
Many psychologists believe that the things we hate in others are really the reflections of flaws we have within, but I’m not sure I agree with that. I do, however, agree that for me to feel something as strong as hatred there must be something going on. So I spent some time thinking why I hate them and howcome they still have such a strong effect on me.
And I came to the same conclusion as I have been reaching for many other things lately: cause I let them.
It’s truly amazing how much more is within the range of one’s capacity than one is willing to admit. It’s so much easier to say “Oh I’ve always been like that and it’s who I am.” Just like it’s easier for me to hate those people rather than accept the fact that a part of me still feels insecure/inadequate.
So here’s the deal: as of today I don’t hate these people anymore. I might not agree with their choices in life and I still don’t appreciate the way they treated me as a child but the past is past and I am ready to move on and let go.
Hatred is a wasted emotion.
Previously? Regret.
I’ve always been hung up on the past.
Logically I fully understand the uselessness of getting hung up on the mistakes or bad decisions that have already been made. The idea is that you learn and you move on. My brain often has problems relaying this crucial and sensible information to my mind and emotions. If I ever hurt someone I tend to feel responsible for the rest of my life.
I’ve learned that since I can’t let go easily, it’s best for me to try most anything such that I won’t have to live with regrets. This lesson, of course, doesn’t come cheap.
Many years ago, as a teenager, I was completely infatuated with a friend who felt the same way about me. For one reason or another, I thought it best not to date him at the time. It completely broke his heart and he no longer wanted to speak with me. Literally to the day I still feel awful about this stupid mistake that I’ve made over twelve years ago. I still wonder at times how my life would have turned out had I had the guts to date him way back when.
It’s not to say that I’m not thrilled with how my life turned out. I adore my boyfriend and I don’t regret a moment of being with him or with any of my previous ones. I just regret that at the time I wasn’t more honest with myself or him about why we couldn’t go out and that I never took the chances as they reappeared later on in our lives.
He’s one of the major reasons I take risks today. I know that I don’t want to look back and say “what if” with all the other things in my life. I’d rather try and fail than never try at all.
The funny thing is, most likely, had we dated it wouldn’t have worked out and we would have broken up not to really ever speak again. Now that we never did, we’re pretty good friends. So I spose that would have never happened. But still I cannot help but think all the “what if” scenarios.
Especially when I’m home where so many of my mistakes were made. Over here what I do is under the scrutiny of too many people. The small group of people with whom my family associates watches over all of us like hawkes. I was often too scared to take risks. Too scared that I would be judged and alienated even more than I already was.
Once I made it to the US, I was suddenly free to do as I pleased. And all the risks were mine to take, the mistakes mine to make.
And I’m truly thankful for them.
Previously? OCD.
My father has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. He’s never been officially diagnosed but you can take my word for it.
Most of my childhood was spent with his rearranging the small pieces of paper by my mom’s bedside. Or I’d be in my bedroom chatting with a friend and my dad would walk in to say ‘good evening’ when he came home from work. After he closed my door, he’d knock once more and pick up a random piece of thread or anything else tiny that might be on the floor of my room. He’d do this at least three times before he left completely. If a tiny plastic part of anything was lost he’d spend hours looking for the piece or get a new one made. If that was impossible, he’d buy it all from scratch. We never ever had any broken anything in our house. We still don’t.
My sister’s son, Jeff, must have somehow taken after my father. Today my sister dropped me off to hang out with the babies while she went off to run an errand. Jeff, Aksel and I put on a movie, Peter Pan, and played games while we watched it. An hour later my sister returned and Aksel ran to the door to greet his mom. Jeff walked up to me and motioned me to turn off the vcr. As I pressed the button, he yelled. I looked at his face, trying to comprehend what bothered him. After a few seconds he walked over to the vcr and pressed the eject button.
He was mad that I’d turned off the vcr without taking the movie out.
Once I took the video tape out and placed it in his box, he went off to greet his mom. On the way, he picked up her slippers.
There is absolutely no way a family member is allowed in the house with shoes on. Jeff will make sure the slippers are set in front of the door as the family member gets off the elevator. Last night, on the way to bed I passed by the hall with him on my lap and he complained that the door to the attic was open and wouldn’t go to bed until he saw me close it.
Since my father doesn’t live in the same house and neither my sister, nor my brother in law are all that tidy, it totally blew my mind to see how Jeff might be such a neat freak.
I wonder if OCD is inherited.
Either Jeff is extremely observant and is somehow imitating his favorite family member, which happens to be my dad or this need for order is something my father’s genes passed down to little Jeff.
It’s amazing, however, that the genes managed to skip right over both my sister and me.
Previously? Amerika.
My sister’s little boy looks at me with eyes shining and says “Amerika!” After a few minutes we all realize he’s calling me. I look in the eyes of Aksel, pronounced the same as Axel, and say “What’s my name?”
He doesn’t hesitate. He goes, “Amerika!”
We all laugh. My sister has spent the last three weeks trying to teach my nephews my name. She wanted to surprise me so she also taught them a bit more. She’d go “Where’s Karen coming from?” and Aksel would say “Amerika!” And they’d all be happy.
So, of course, the poor boy thought that was my name.
Yesterday after we found the discrepency out we tried to set the record straight. “No, no sweetie her name isn’t America, it’s Karen.” He looked at me for a few minutes and said “Karen.” And then two minutes later I’d ask him “What’s my name?” he’d go “Amerika!” And I said “No. No. Karen.” Another hour later I asked once more and he said “Ame–Karen.” So we burst out laughing. By the end of the day he’d figured it all out. And called me “Karen.”
The little episode made me think of my life and how what I represent changes drastically when I come here. In the States, I am the foreigner. The girl who’s from Turkey. Over here it’s just the opposite. I’m the one who’s in America.
I used to think that this duality pointed out the fact that I didn’t really belong anywhere anymore. A foreigner in both of my lands. Never really fitting in in either location and always in between. But I don’t think that way anymore. I figure I’m much better off than many…
I belong in both of these countries.
Previously? Tick Tick Tick.
And we’re down to one.
I’m going home.
I’m going home.
This time tomorrow I will be on the plane. In less than forty-eight hours, I’ll be hugging my nephews.
I’ll be walking down the coast of the Bosphorus, licking the best ice cream ever. I’ll be watching the waves and enjoying a delicious conversation with my best friend, Levent.
I’ll be hugging my nephews.
I’ll be curling up in the living room with my mom and my sister. I’ll be sitting on my dad’s lap. I’ll be giving kisses to my grandmothers.
I’ll be hugging my nephews.
I’ll be eating the special delicious salads that I can never find in New York. I’ll be eating Turkish feta cheese on toasted bread and drinking sour cherry juice. I’ll be picking fruits right from the tree. Erik and Dut, both non-existent in America.
I’ll be hugging my nephews.
I’ll call up my childhood friend Milka and visit her and her little boy. I’ll be hugging them, too. We’ll talk for hours. We’ll remember the old days, we’ll make new and wonderful memories.
I’ll be hugging my nephews.
I’ll do my best to write daily. Home always makes me think of my past. It’s amazing how everything feels like it should be the way it was when I was seventeen. Each time I go, there are new places, new trends, and the money is worth even less.
But I’ll be hugging my nephews.
I’m going home!
Previously? Wasted Emotions.
I realized today that I waste so many of my emotions.
Of course, on some level, I always knew this. But somehow it just hit me today in a way that suddenly made me realize it well enough to rid myself of this destructive behavior. I guess even though I know something about myself, it takes a certain level of acceptance/understanding for me to do something about it.
Anyhow, I was talking to a friend and he said that he worried about his friend often, and I replied, “You shouldn’t worry, that’s a wasted emotion.” He looked at me like I was a freak and then started laughing at me. How dare I, the queen of worrying, give such advice, he said.
He was right, of course.
Certain emotions are totally valid and people experience them regularly. We all get angry, feel sad or happie. There are legitimate situations that cause one or more of these emotions to emerge and I think that’s perfectly acceptable, assuming your emotion is proportional and correlated to the event.
And then there’s an entire set of wasted emotions, the top three in my list are worrying, feeling frustrated and being jealous. I can’t think of any scenarios where such emotions are constructive or worthwhile. Let’s analyze each:
While worrying makes your insides rot, it doesn’t actually help you or the other person resolve the issue that’s making you worry. For example, after I took an exam in college, I’d spend hours worrying about whether I passed or failed. Does it matter? Not really, at that point. Regardless of the outcome, it’s impossible for me to change it. Would it have helped if I worried before the exam? Again, not really. It would have helped if I studied but worrying itself doesn’t help me one bit. On the contrary, it might have stopped me from concentrating. You might be inclined to say, “Who worries about grades? That’s so stupid. I worry about important things like getting a job or being sick.” But, trust me, worrying doesn’t help in any one of those situations either.
Frustration. Another totally useless emotion. What does frustration even mean? It can be out of boredom, anger, helplessness or many other actual emotions. But frustration itself is not good for anything. It’s most likely an emotion that symbolizes the need to “do something” about a situation that is in some way out of hand. Feeling frustrated doesn’t resolve the issue, realizing what’s causing the frustration and addressing that, however, does.
Oh and one of my favorites, jealousy. I used to be so incredibly jealous that it was embarrassing. I’ve always believed jealousy is closely tied with someone’s self worth. Most people who’re jealous of their significant others feel that way cause they don’t think they’re worthy of their significant other and that she or he might leave at any minute when she or he realizes how unworthy the person is. Sad, but true. And jealousy can be overwhelming for the person who feels it and totally unbearable for the party for whom it’s felt. Talk about a wasted emotion. You end up driving the person away just cause you’re stifling the crap out of them.
These three are my top wasted emotions. I’m happy to say that I’ve made huge strides in jealousy and it’s almost non-existent for me now. I’ve also worked hard to improve the frustration one. Which leaves me with my worst: worry. This will be extremely difficult for me to let go.
For some reason worry is associated with being nice and caring. We worry about the people we care about and that’s a good thing. Actually, I no longer think that’s true. Worrying doesn’t help the other person. Sometimes it stifles him or her and limits his or her freedom in the same way jealousy does. Almost always, it eats you up from the inside and sometimes even makes you feel anger towards the other party for not being considerate of your feelings. I think caring is totally fine and wonderful, and it involves being there for the other person, feeling happy and angry and sad with them. Sharing laughter and making memories, being a shoulder on which to lean. Helping out, lending an ear. All these are acceptable and all show that you care.
But worrying, well that’s a waste.
Which is why I will stop.
What emotions do you waste?
Previously? Home.
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projects for twenty twenty-six
projects for twenty twenty-five
projects for twenty twenty-four
projects for twenty twenty-three
projects for twenty twenty-two
projects for twenty twenty-one
projects for twenty nineteen
projects for twenty eighteen
projects from twenty seventeen
monthly projects from previous years
some of my previous projects
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