Manners

When I went for this hike I was out of sync with my friends. It wasn’t their fault and it wasn’t mine. It’s just the way it is sometimes. They weren’t interested in the things I wanted to talk about. They were talking about things that I found upsetting. And everyone was anxious for unrelated reasons.

I adapted by doing something that a younger me would find anathema. I don’t know why I did it, and I don’t know why it works, but it’s what I’ve started doing in these situations: being the best, most pleasant woman I can be.

As we walked through the mossy alders, I focused on setting my shoulder blades back, elbows akimbo, and walking with my upper body as erect and ballet-like as possible, head up and back.

Pro tip: hiking in any situation is a good time to practice posture.

At the same time, I focused on staying silent, but keeping a soft smile on my face, especially with my upper lip relaxed (I tend to tighten it and curl it under when I’m stressed). When I did speak, I made a conscious effort to speak in a high voice, with no vocal fry, and a slight girlish lilt. I also made sure to always have either a laugh or a complement in any sentence, and to ask the other person a lot of questions.  

In short, I coped by being a better woman. By denying I was anxious or off-balance or hurt, and fulfilling a bunch of stupid expectations about what a woman is supposed to be like. Consciously, deliberately, and effectively. 

I didn’t do it so they would think I was pretty, happy, and pleasant. Here’s what it is: manner is a bandage, a protective patch on the raw parts. Adopting a false and pleasant exterior is like putting on a contact lens over a scraped eyeball. The cornea can heal, shielded from friction: the lid can blink, over and over, without causing further injury. 

Someday, I’ll have the strength of character to meet social stress with insight, grace, reasoned debate, and love. Someday, I’ll have the wherewithal to stay with myself when I’m feeling uncertain. Until that day comes, I am at least no longer doing what younger iterations of me did: getting overtly upset, showing hurt and hoping someone cared and asked why, or pointedly excusing myself and ghosting. By being completely unlike myself, we all had a beautiful walk in the woods. If we weren’t vibing, we didn’t feel hurt about it. And the sky was no less blue and the sun no less welcome for it.