On a typical day, our mailbox has the paper, farm publications, maybe a bill, and lots of solicitations, ten or more some days. We donate to some causes, and apparently the word is out.
The other day there was an envelope that didn’t fit those categories. It was from a fellow I know. I occasionally have business dealing with him and thought it was something to do with that. It was neatly folded and nicely typed. My heart sunk a bit when I realized it was a well written letter criticizing me for a recent column.
Occasionally I hear something negative about one of these efforts. Putting these out there with my name on them, it’s not to be unexpected. I had someone ask recently if I get many negative comments. I said not much and conjectured that people who think I’m an idiot quit reading long ago.
I used to have my own troll in the online version. The anonymous and consistently jaundiced “Jimmy Joe” was always ready with a negative comment. I’m not sure if something happened to ol’ Jimmy, or if he gave up on me, but he’s disappeared.
It was easy to brush off Jimmy Joe hiding behind a fake name. But the letter I got was from someone I like and respect. I gave it a couple readings. Since it was politely offered, I put it in that part of my head where thoughts and opinions gurgle around.
I don’t imagine any of us likes criticism. Ben Franklin famously said, “Our critics are our friends; they show us our faults.”
Yeah. Sure Ben. Whatever.
There is a sting to criticism. It is a confluence of embarrassment, contrition, defensiveness, with trickles of shame and anger flowing in. There, in that stream of emotions, I flash back to similar moments. All the way back to being a kid, and my dad is upset that I was doing something wrong in my chores. Or my mom pointing a mess I’d made. In those moments, my mom used to say I was a “lump.” I still call myself a lump when I screw something up.
Moving ahead a few years, Eila Perlmutter comes to mind. When I was at St. John’s, Eila was an English professor of some repute. She taught and wrote and was nearing the end of an esteemed career. I was part of an honors writing course. It was expected that you were serious about words if you were in that.
I remember going to see her about a piece I had written. It was humorous. At least I thought it was. Today we would call it snarky. Eila was not amused. The red marks surrounded my typed paragraphs like they were under siege. To say she had a scowl would be kind.
My dad and mom and Eila were right, and I learned from each of them. Accepting criticism is difficult but useful. If it comes from people who mean well and care about us, it can move us on the path to be the person we want to be.
I was thinking about the value of constructive criticism. In a marriage, it is a tool to be brought out rarely and with thought. If there is too much, that is nagging and can poison the well of married life quickly.
In our forty-one married years, there have been stupid fights and careless arguments. We’ve said regrettable things and forgiveness was needed. At the same time, no one knows me better. Whatever flaws I have would be impossible to hide for four decades. Not giving credence to that person I live with wouldn’t be wise.
I have noticed something and pointed this out to Pam. It takes processing time for me to hear her if she is pointing out one of my aforementioned flaws. An immediate shield of defensiveness goes up, which slowly lowers if I think about what she said for a day. I think that is not uncommon, to need time to accept information when we are being challenged.
There is one person who knows you better than your spouse. That is yourself. We are consciously and unconsciously evaluating ourselves every day. “Could I have done that better? Should I have said that better?” Self-criticism can be constructive. Here, too, it can be harmful if it grows out of proportion. It can become self-nagging. We can learn from our mistakes. But to beat ourselves up over and over can lead to despair.
There was a flurry of self-help books in the Seventies. Among them was the eye-rolling title “Looking Out For Number One.” Now blogs and podcasts have moved into that territory. There is no lack of people willing to improve you for a fee.
I suppose these can be helpful. Be careful in trusting a faraway writer working with stereotypes. Better to seek console from those nearby. Hopefully, we have a small circle of people around us who can offer gentle criticism if needed. That is a blessing if so.
Unfortunately, gentle, well-intentioned, and kind-hearted criticism is easily lost in the deluge of harsh and mean-spirited criticism that is epidemic in our country.
We are in Advent right now. Advent and Lent are seasons for looking inward and trying to make ourselves the best version of us you can. They can be times for reflection and refinement as we prepare for the holiest days. Metaphorically, we want to be the best we can be when we enter the stable Christmas morn, kind of cleaning up and putting on our best clothes.
Recently there was an “examination of conscience” as an insert in our church bulletin. For Catholics, that can be used as preparation for the sacrament of confession. A good examination is more than a list of sins we may have committed. It also asks whether there were times we could have done more. In other words, sins of omission, not just sins of commission are considered.
I see now this work of making myself the best person I can be isn’t a job I can complete like painting a room or combining a field. That task continues. My letter-writing friend is willing to help.