At the time of writing, I was slightly pissed. Actually, I was quite pissed. After I just accidentally deleted a blog that I had worked on for quite some time, I got a lovingly lovely email from none other than some womanizing pretentious doughy manipulative abusive cult-loving lying cheating asshole guru named John, warmly inviting me to study with him again. I so wish I could walk into a Mikasa store and just smash and break every overpriced plate and bowl with no consequence. In reality there wasn't much I could do other than screaming uncontrollably. But of course I didn't. I have manner, ya know. Instead I went to the elevator and let one rip. It most certainly didn't help the situation, but the thought of someone unknowingly walking into the pungent product of my angry tush somehow eased the pain a little... how insensitive of me.
Right when I was blowing off some stinky steam, I had an epiphany: I want to start a revolution. I think we should reclaim the word "sensitive" and not misuse it the way Lindsay Lohan with vodka.
One of my closest friends Pinky Bombmaker met this dude whom I lovingly name Anal Douche. If you've been reading my blog, you'll have a pretty good idea how much stress I was under in October because of my mother's surgery. You can read all about it here. So right before my epic journey back to my parents' to care for my mother, Princess Madgelover and I went for dinner. Pinky Bombmaker joined us later and he brought Anal Douche with him. Totally understandable. Pink Bombmaker wanted his two favourite bitches to meet his potential husband, kinda like the final interview.
Here's the situation: on the cusp of my epic journey, I spent a whole afternoon at a landfill because of my real job and I barely made it home for the time when Princess Madgelover came to pick me up. I did manage to change clothes and cover my mad hair with a bandana. After the intro, the first thing Anal Douche said to me was "I didn't know you were a maid", referring to my bandana and my fashionably homely look. The hello kitty jokes came immediately after. You see, obviously I can take a joke. It's only fair to take one when you dish one. But it's a RIGHT that you earn when you engage in any kind of interaction with Sarcastic Yogi. I ain't picky, but I do have boundaries. It suffices to say hello kitty jokes are off-limit the first time you meet Sarcastic Yogi, unless you are Joan Rivers or Betty White.
So the night went on with more Anal Douche's neverending stories and opinions on just about anything, and it ended with his recommendation of my Halloween costume as a "slutty hello kitty maid", and that he loved "West Side Story"... in short, Anal Douche is the type of person I loathe: a self-absorbed narcissist.
As you can imagine, I lost almost a quart of blood from biting my tongue so hard. That was the only sensible thing to do.
A while ago I set my sadhana of the week: be sensitive to all, including people I loathe.
We've been hearing people say "oh, you need to be more sensitive" or "I wish you were more sensitive". Then I realized "being sensitive" had been grossly misused as an umbrella descriptor to being nice, gentle, accepting, supportive, forgiving, etc.
"Being sensitive" does not mean you go all soft and politically correct. It just means "quick to respond or detect slight change", or simply put, you are aware of something. But it doesn't really dictate how you'd respond. Nowadays "being sensitive" appears to be a desirable or highly sought after trait of humanity when it really isn't. Just ask any premature ejaculator and he'll tell you being sensitive is most definitely not a good thing. I don't know when or where the association between "sensitive" and "lovey dovey gooey" came from, but look at all the personal ads and you'll know what I mean: 39 y.o. single white male, 5'7", 179lbs, stocky build, large penis, intelligent and sensitive... I just cannot fathom why any man would admit he's a fast shooter in the sack when he's trying to score with the ladies (or men).
Fast forward a tad more...
I am a sensitive person.
Yup, you read it first and you read it right. Sarcastic Yogi is a sensitive person. I watch and cry at all romantic comedies starring Julia Roberts, Jennifer Aniston and even Meg Ryan before she made her face look like a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle. I'm particularly sensitive to self-serving bullshit but I do try to take sensible actions. For example, during the period of "being sensitive", The Catastrophizer, a local teacher, professed her love for some womanizing pretentious doughy manipulative abusive cult-loving lying cheating asshole guru named John. I almost threw up after reading her open love letter. Even Sarcastic Yogi's tough stomach is sensitive to bullshit that pungent.
We are all sensitive to something,...or so I hope, otherwise you'd be as alive as my pet dust bunnies.
Then it dawned on me that people are confusing "being sensitive" with "sensible action". I think it's time to rip off the band-aid and look at the truth, even though we know how much it hurts.
To put it in perspective...
So I got an email reminder from Plenty Of Fish that my profile had been inactive for a while and it found me a few matches. And of course, the first profile was of someone "honest, funny, charismatic", aka Anal Douche. You see, I hate drama, but drama seems to love me and this episode is no exception. Seriously, what are the odds of my friend Pinky Bombmaker seeing some dude whom I loathe, and me getting the email from POF which I haven't been on for many moons, which the first "match" for me was Mr. Anal Douche, all during the week of me trying to be "sensitive" to all?
Obviously I'm sensitive to my friend's feelings, and the most sensible thing to do was breaking the news to my friend that Anal Douche was still shopping around in the meat market... like ripping off the band-aid because it's time, and because it's the right thing to do. But thank Jeebus I didn't have to say anything. Pinky Bombmaker knew. He made the Sophie's choice and dumped that guy's ass.
Short term pain, long term gain. It's an oldie but a goodie.
A lot of people, especially yogis, have been taught or even expected to be sensitive to everyone's feelings. I guess that's why so many have trouble with speaking up or letting go. They hang on to that one little thing they find reassuring and validating for some reasons, even though it only reassures or validates how toxic the relationship is. The truth is: the truth often hurts. And severing a relationship hurts, even when it's screamingly unhealthy and dysfunctional. Relationships do end. There comes a time when y'all have to rip off the band-aid and tell it like it is. My friend did. He could've hung on to the status "I am attached" and continue to date Anal Douche, knowing that the guy's whoring around behind his back. Sounds familiar?
We don't have to like everyone. Lets face it: I am not fond of a few people in the local yoga community. I don't intend to have an unprovoked shouting match with them but I don't pretend to like them either. But many try to take on too much on the plate, as in trying to be sensitive to everyone's feelings. Worse yet, too often we are the least sensitive to those who are important to us, including ourselves. May be, just may be, by forcing ourselves to be sensitive to all including the assholes, we are being less sensitive to ourselves. In the process, we risk compromising our integrity and becoming a phony, or at least increase the risk of having a heart attack because we put ourselves under too much stress.
You know that story about some emperor wearing some non-existent wardrobe while pretending he wasn't butt naked? Everyone was cheering him on. But I'd rather be that kid who points out the emperor's ass is fat, flat and naked. It may seem a bit insensitive, but it is the most sensible thing to do.