Once upon a time, I believed
everything I was told. I was gullible
with a capital "G", no two ways about it.
My dad told me that the robins on the lawn were “listening for worms”
every time they turned their heads sideways near the ground, and I believed
him. It wasn’t until 20 years later that
my boyfriend pointed out that robins’ eyes are on the side of their heads. They weren’t listening for worms, they were
looking for them, for pity’s sake. I felt like a dipstick, to say the least. I am still a fairly trusting soul, but even a hick from the sticks like me isn’t stupid enough to
buy some of the garbage that’s being peddled in this world nowadays.
"Gullible Jo Loses Her Pants" AKA "Who Would Lie To This Poor Child??"
For instance, do the movie
theatre chains really think that I don’t get what they’re doing with these 3D versions
of movies? Am I supposed to believe it's simply a coincidence that "Pacific Rim" is showing in 3D at twenty different
times at my local theatre, but only twice in non-3D (read: cheaper) format? Really, Cineplex? Do I look that stupid?
Scotiabank has a slogan that
regularly makes me spit blood during movie previews. (Jenn, you know this better than anyone.) “You’re
richer than you think.” Really? Well, I’m pretty sure that if you were to
measure wealth in the intangibles, that’d be right. My sons are more precious than gold to me, as
are my husband and my friends and my health.
But since this slogan is coming from a bank, which I’m thinking is a wee bit
more interested in cash flow than counting blessings, I’d like to say that NO, I generally am not richer than I
think I am. Usually, the end of the
month shows up with a few extra days and my bank account is...ahem...slightly less than equal to the
challenge. In fact, if my bank account
was a person, it would be the kid on the playground who just fell off the
monkey bars and is lying winded on the ground, crying. No, Scotiabank, I'm not richer than I think
I am. Not if I’m actually conscious and
stone-cold sober. Which sadly, I am most
of the time. Hyuck, yuck.
I used to believe that everyone
on Facebook was as deliriously happy and busy as they seemed, every minute of
every day. But after a few years, I
started to get a little hardened to things.
I think you know what I mean: “Just
bought a new toothbrush…and now I’m going to use it!” People on FB (including yours truly, much to
my shame) sort of remind me of people in beer commercials: everyone is the best possible version of
themselves, and the fun never stops. In
the beer ads, you don’t see guys with beer guts slumped over a bar or teenagers
vomiting in garbage cans. So it is with FB, where you don’t see anything but the high points.
It’s a natural urge, to present our most attractive, vivacious, amusing
selves, but are we really thinking anyone believes this load of
bull-puckey? I’d like to be brave enough
to post a picture of me in my sweats on the couch, slack-jawed and staring at a
re-run of “Gravity Falls” with my boys on a snowy Saturday morning. That would be truth in advertising, but the
fact is that I'd feel like I was letting my FB friends down.
We show people what we want them
to see, and often there’s a huge gap between what we project and what is
real. What’s scary to me is that it's not that hard to forget
about that gap. We start believing our
own baloney and giving in to the urge to sugarcoat our lives. That was brought home to me most recently by
the death of “Glee” star, Cory Monteith.
His was an image as squeaky clean as a newly Windexed bathroom mirror, in
addition to which he was handsome and talented as all get-out. To say that the 31-year-old’s death, alone in
a hotel room of a heroin and alcohol overdose, was a disconnect between his
image in the public eye and the truth of his situation is to say the very least. I doubt anyone looking at Mr. Monteith’s life
would have thought it would end as sadly and ignominiously as it did.
As Charley Rich used to sing “No
one knows what goes on behind closed doors.”
You got that half-right, Chuck. No one
knows, except the ones behind the doors. I don’t think it helps if
we ignore (sometimes) unattractive reality in favour of making ourselves
seem like the most popular kid in the class.
Sometimes you just have to believe that being yourself is good enough. For you and all your friends.
