Accountability

An anonymous poster put this comment on my blog, Fault.

Ali - I only know about the situation what I've seen here but it doesn't sound like people are judging you, it sounds more like friends offering accountability to me. Which is an amazing thing that you have friends that care about you so much that they'll offer the 'tough love' that's needed sometimes in life. At least that's my assumption to what is happening..again I only know what I've read here.

Which is fine, this person admits to having a very limited view of the situation. The person didn't know that the two others who commented before him aren't even people I know in real life. (Although I didn't really take their comments to be judgment or accountability anyway.)

But it got me thinking about what accountability really is. And how it seems like Christians are often eager to hold people accountable, even if they haven't made much of an effort to care about the person before that person did something to be viewed as a wicked sinner.

I'm all for friends holding me accountable. I know who I can go to when I just want to hear encouragement and support no matter how wrong I know I am, and I know who I can go to when I need people who will be honest and tell it like it is. I've welcomed the latter from good friends throughout my life, and most recently in regards to my divorce.

What I'm not for is people popping into your life just to "hold you accountable." That isn't accountability, in my mind. It's judgment. No matter how lovingly it's said. If you never cared about having or maintaining a relationship with me before, you don't have a right to criticize my decisions now. Because chances are, I'm not going to want to get into the specifics with you. You haven't earned my trust. And so you will always be "holding me accountable" from a blinded viewpoint, without all the information.

If you want to earn the right to hold someone accountable if and when they do mess up, don't wait for them to mess up. Be a caring friend in the first place. If you haven't done that, trust that their real friends have covered the accountability with them.

Misunderstood

I've often felt misunderstood. Like no one really gets me - or if they do get me, they don't like what they see.

In elementary school I coped with it by convincing myself I was an alien from another planet. No wonder I didn't fit in with the humans, I told myself. I wasn't one of them.

In middle and high school, I coped with it by deciding it was my identity to be different. I avoided watching Titanic because everyone else liked it. Wherever the crowd was headed, I was heading the other way. Which worked for a bit, but I got lonely.

In college it was different. Everyone was a Christian, everyone was looking for new friends, and everyone lived together. College just worked.

But college ended in three years and I was back to square one, trying to find my place in this world. And I made friends here and there, but I've never stopped battling that feeling that no one really likes me for who I am.

There was one exception: Buttercup. Buttercup and I shared so many personality traits, despite the difference in body hair and number of legs. That's one reason it's been so hard to deal with her loss. I feel like I lost the one living thing in this world that ever really, truly got me. And absolutely loved me for it.

But here I am, alone in the world. I seem to be the only woman in Colorado who didn't get the "I can't wait to have a baby" gene. And one of the few women who doesn't want to participate in some crafty type of women's event where we quilt or scrapbook or crochet. Or go to jewelry/make-up/purse "parties." (I'm sorry, these are sales pitches, not parties.) And my sensitive taste buds often leave me feeling like people perceive me as a child. And no one seems to have the time for friends, anyway. (Or is it that they just don't have time for me? ) But dogs, they've got all the time in the world. And they're never short of adoration.

So I sit and wonder if I'll ever make a real two-legged friend here. Someone who likes me enough to initiate time with me, not always the other way around. Someone who doesn't try to pressure me into wanting kids. Someone who wants to understand me, not change me. Someone who shares her struggles and listens to mine. Someone who doesn't make me feel like I'm the odd one out in a world of women who are all the opposite of me.

Positively

I know I'm not always a positive person. I complain and whine, for sure. I've deviated from my high school way of answering "How are you?" with "Awesome!" every time - even when I first woke up after having my wisdom teeth removed. My first several months of blogging (early 2006) were largely complaint blogs. But I do try to look on the bright side and have a good time.

There are some people who never seem to have anything positive to say. Every conversation with them, every tweet or status update, is some new complaint - sometimes overt, sometimes thinly veiled.

And I have to say, it really makes me not want to hang out with those people. It's not fun to be around negative people! It's different if it's a friend who is having a bad day and is therefore negative...of course I'd be there for that person. But if it's the kind of person that walks around with a cloud over his or her head Eeyore style, I just lose my desire to be their friend.

I was challenged in this area recently. My dad played a song for me, "She's A Butterfly" by Martina McBride, that he'd wanted to play at my reception for me. He said it sounded like it was about me. The lyrics say things like, "You should see her fly, it's almost magical" and "Everywhere she goes, everybody knows she's so glad to be alive." And I could totally see that describing me a while ago...but I feel like I haven't been that person in a long time. And I miss it. I want to be the butterfly my dad remembers.

First Impressions

When we arrived at my workcamp in June, the dirRextor (director named Rex) greeted me and Dan and walked us around to introduce us to everyone. I knew pretty quickly that there probably wouldn't be anyone who got on my nerves (and there wasn't), but I had no idea the bonds I would form.

Most notably, my friendship with Phuong-Hieu. I remember when the diRextor introduced me to her. She was bending over behind a counter and popped her little head up to say hi. When he told me her name, I was a bit lost as to how to say it. She showed my her name tag, on which she'd written a phonetic key, but I was still a bit lost. And I had a hard time understanding what she said when she showed it to me. I figured that while she seemed nice and peppy, I probably wouldn't get very close to her because it was hard to understand her in that initial conversation and our first staff meeting.

I pretty quickly grew accustomed to her accent and could understand her well. Though it took a full day or two before I could say her name without pausing to think it through first. (It's pronounced Fung-Hue. I kept wanting to say Fung-Hwee so I had to mentally correct myself first.) From there, our friendship blossomed quickly, full of sarcasm, fun, and some pen hostages. When we left workcamp, I missed a lot of people, but she topped the list. I told her to move to Colorado, but she thought it would be too cold for her. Tough it out, Phuong-Hieu!

I could've stuck with my first impression and steered clear of her. I could've given up because of a language barrier (and not even really language, she speaks English fine)...but I'm so glad that I got to know her. And steal her pens.

I learned a valuable lesson as I built a great friendship: don't linger in your first impressions. Don't count anybody out, for any reason. You might just be missing out on getting to know a really cool person.