(Not) About Spinach

I love spinach—raw or cooked. I think it’s one of the best vegetables, though that’s an unpopular opinion.

This might be another one: I think you should tell me when I have it in my teeth—at least if you’re an important person in my life.

Now, don’t get me wrong: when you tell me I have spinach in my teeth, I will nearly faint from shame.

I will think, How long has that been there? And because I am so horrified, I might even say, for a minute, that There is no way there is spinach in my teeth, and demand that you, Show me where! And when I do see the spinach, I will think that because there is a tiny piece of spinach in my teeth, it would be better if those teeth were knocked right out of my head, and my head itself should be lopped off and then tossed over a fence into an abandoned field, where vines will grow over it and it can offend no more.

I am that person.

But if you let me know that my lipstick is fabulous, and you’re glad that when I laughed I did it so my whole mouth came open (even though that is why you saw the spinach in the first place) and that you love me for more than the quality of my teeth, if you tell me that if I go—real quick—to get the floss, you’ll wait right here…well, I know that you’ll be there for real. And maybe, if I say, But I wanted that spinach there, I put it there on purpose, you’ll say, “OK. Just wanted you to know.” Or, “Tell me more about that...” That’s good, too. Because then we can talk about it.

Lately, there seems to be a trend toward glorifying a praise-only system of support. I do believe that listening (and/or deep reading) is key to understanding, but I don’t think it’s the only thing that most of us need from our team. If we aren’t open to hearing what isn’t working, how do we trust when someone tells us what is?

Some of the most generous support I’ve received has been the kind that—from time-to-time—told me I could do better.

Like when my children have shown me that I’ve done something frustrating or hurtful, that wasn’t in keeping with the good in our relationship. Or when friends have told me that I’ve erred, and stuck around to talk it through. Or when my writing teacher Zsuzsi Gartner set the bar high, and expected us to clear it. Yes, it wasn’t all warm and fuzzy, but it made me understand that she believed in us, and what we were capable of. To me, it seemed the highest form of respect. And I’m grateful for all the things that taught me.

The way I appreciate the people who will point out the spinach.

Especially when they wait outside the bathroom door, while I remove it—and insist that I don’t stay locked in there, but come back to the party and dance.

Something I’m thinking about, as we get closer to taking off our masks.