Not Necessarily a Retraction, but a Follow-Up OR Eye of the Tiger

Hmm.
Remember how I said we don't often see ourselves as we really are? There's a bit of a problem when other people have the same blurred perception about themselves and about others. My senses are misfiring.
Once upon a time I fancied myself a bit of a journalist. I loved reporting the straight facts and making sure there was no editorializing. But because so many of us writer-types think we're witty, there's this secret longing to be the next Dave Berry or something. Occasionally during my time at a certain news establishment, between editing special sections, a magazine and the arts and culture pages, there'd be a hole to fill, and the editorial board was OK with me spouting off my two cents. The first time I did this, the response was marvelous-- it even got me a temporary boyfriend. Another time, after I'd left the news-- selling out for a "cushy" PR job-- I submitted an editorial that I thought was fun, and still I run into a few people who remember me for my writing. But there was this one time I tried to be funny, and a lot of things went haywire.
It was during the days of the Martha Stewart/ImClone insider trading scandal. Martha was getting skewered by the media and in the court of public opinion before she even went to trial and long before anyone had heard of "Camp Cupcake." And let's be honest-- Martha is not the most popular celebrity-- she's certainly good at what she does, but she comes across as very cold and serious. Well, in an attempt to give readers a laugh, I wrote a satirical piece "defending" Martha. I noted all the good reasons to admire her, including but not limited to her "good business sense" and the fact that she and I share a common cultural heritage. It was salty and over-the-top, and I thought it was pretty good.
Except two days after my piece was published there was a letter to the editor calling for my beheading.
Actually, it wasn't so bad as that, but it did enumerate my "logical fallacies." It's the kind of thing you really have to let roll off your back because either a) the gentleman writing the letter completely missed the humor or b) (and very likely) he just saw it as an opportunity to see his own writing in print. Option b is obviously rather attractive-- otherwise I wouldn't have written a column in the first place.
What did hurt my feelings a bit was later in the day, working on the next day's news in the editor's bay. Print glory doesn't even last a full 24-hours anymore. But I digress. One of the other editors knew the kid who'd written in about my column, and said she heard him celebrating and bragging about how he'd torched me. It made me feel really bad that he'd get that much satisfaction publicly kicking me to the curb, even if he'd missed the point completely. It seemed really mean.
OK. Put that story on hold for just a moment.
Story Number Two goes back to the other night's party at Clark Kent's house. A lot of the kids were playing "Around the World"-- that ping-pong game where you run around the table. I remember playing with Peter and Brett and Chandler one night and having a great time back in college. But I KNEW those guys really well. And at the party, I got overcome with a bad case of shyness. When one of the girls asked me why I didn't play, I told her I was too shy, and I'm not sure she believed me. Because anyone who's had any real-life interaction with me probably wouldn't guess I am. Oh, I don't mind speaking in front of people, or talking to strangers to get a news scoop or making sales calls or even being onstage. But particularly in small groups, it sometimes takes me a while to get comfortable. Even when I fake it.
Anyway, what do these two stories have to do with anything?
I'm in trouble. Big-time.
This morning I cheerfully joked about my weekend, and gave myself a virtual pat on the back for being clever and thinking all is well. I even included stories I wouldn't have originally, only because I'd misunderstood and thought that someone had asked me to. When he said, "Oh, you're always writing about me," I thought "Oops, I probably haven't yet," so I was trying to make up for lost time. Tra-la-la-la-la-la-ooh-la-la.
I was even so silly as to think he'd be flattered that I'd written about him, so I sent a little "Ta-Da, You're Famous" text (not what I said, by the way, nor what I'd even imply, but you know what I mean). And then all hell broke loose.
And by all hell, I mean I got a new one ripped, and now I feel awful. Not even because of what I'd written. Not even because I'm embarrassed that my family (aka my coworkers) saw me crying in my office. Not because I'd been misunderstood. Other reasons.
For example, I feel awful that I hurt some feelings. Not my job to enforce Hammurabi's code on anyone, even in loyalty, and even when that wasn't my intention.
And I feel doubly awful because along with the chastening regarding a specific action, this person said, "It's cool. I've heard you're like that anyways. [SIC]" I didn't know what thing I was supposedly like, so I asked. "Extraordinarily negative," he replied. And that's all he said.
Which brings me back to story no. 2. I'm not sure people understand what I AM really like. I'm guessing they understand their perceptions. I know that's all I've got on anyone else. And not only am I shy, but I'm also pretty fragile. Sometimes I've gotta take charge and power forward through a situation, but I'm afraid I give off the impression that things just roll right off my back. I am strong, I suppose, and I am accomplished, in a way. But mostly I see where I can improve and keep my focus on that. That's not a negative outlook on life, though. That's me seeing realistically just how far from perfect I am, but how grateful I am for this life-- for opportunities to course-correct and to grow and overcome weakness.
You know how from time to time I talk about how I'm trying to cultivate charity in my life? I'm hoping this experience (along with a few others) will help me refine my capacity for love. Charity suffereth long and is kind. Um, check and generally check. Envieth not. Big-time check (which is a quality that came built-in, not one I posses because I cultivated it, but I'm so grateful I can mourn with those who mourn and rejoice with those who rejoice). I'd even say I've got the "rejoiceth in truth" bit down. But that still leaves "is not puffed up"-- because, of course, I am; "seeketh not her own"-- because I'm rather discouraged still when the love I give out is not equal to the love I get, even though it's what you give out that counts; "is not easily provoked"-- this post speaks for itself, "thinketh no evil... believeth, hopeth, beareth and endureth all things"-- well, let's just say I have plenty to work on in this department.
If Bobby Hill were just some dorky guy trying to give me my comeuppance, I'd probably take it on the chin and dismiss the whole thing as a big misunderstanding. But because I actually liked old Bobby and respected him as a person, it wasn't my chin that got hit-- my feet got knocked out from under me, and whether knowing it or not, he went for the jugular, fueled by some meanness that I'd suspect originated from people who I've defended him from privately.
From time to time Reuben cautions me against being so honest and open in such a public forum. I might be wise to follow his counsel, but I like the accountability of it all. So, gentle readers, thank you for your attention. I mean to be reflective, not negative, but I promise to post again when something interesting happens. I get knocked down, but I get up again.