Jane, disgruntled

First, let it be known far and wide that Jane appreciates sympathy, empathy, encouragement, support and all cheerleading in general. She's encountered a wide range of wonderful folks who take boosting her ego and demonstrating care for her well-being to a rather humbling level. Names might not be named, but the love is felt. And returned.

And then there's the other kind of folks. Good people, most assuredly, with equally good intentions. But please allow Jane a moment of candid response to their oozing sincerity. Succinctly, it needs to stop. There is a huge difference between checking on Jane, between inquiring about Jane's level of fabulousness and between bellowing approval of that level (Jane has a neighbor who does exactly that from across the street and her volume makes this quite powerful. Somewhat overwhelming at times, but powerful nonetheless) and...the other type of sympathy. The type that stops them in their tracks, whether while walking through their yard or driving down the street. The type that causes expressions of melancholy to fill their faces. The type that changes their voices from whatever pitch, tone and volume might be normal to long-voweled, low-pitched, oh-poor-you expressions of grief.

"Jaaaaannne. How aaarrrrreee youuuuuuuu?"

Well, gee. Jane was feeling pretty darn spectacular a moment ago. But now she's wallowing in a wave of good intentions. Still, she rallies and replies with a smile and something along the lines of "Super, thank you." You'd think that would give these good people a proper nudge. You'd think that then they would shake off the Poor Jane blues and take a good long look and realize that in spite of everything there really is a sparkling person standing in front of them. "You know what?" They would say. "You look super. Way to go, Jane!"

Ahhh, but unfortunately this does not often happen. Instead, Mr. or Mrs. Means Well can't go with the cheerful flow. They are sure that Jane is only putting on a brave front and that she is secretly getting in touch with her inner Eeyore. "Ohhhh," they respond. "Reeaaaaally?" And they shake their heads and stretch the vowels out to impossible lengths.

At this point Jane must fight the temptation to walk up and shake Mr. or Mrs. Means Well until they lose either their long vowels and sad expressions or until they lose all inclination to ever stop and speak to Jane again. But she must not do that, because then the neighborhood would be fueled with rumors that Jane is Out of Control. The grief has done her in, poor thing. Poooooor thiiiiiing.

Jane knows that the Means Well people really do mean well. And she also knows that reaching into the car and slapping them hard upside their sympathetic heads will not solve anything and will only feel good for a brief moment. A very brief moment. A very brief and highly rewarding moment. Okay, but no. Can't do that. So Jane beams joy rays at them, or at least she does until she realizes that the combination of joy rays and holding in what she would really like to say actually results in a somewhat alarming baring of her teeth. No wonder the Means Well crowd scurries away.

The point of this disgruntled rant is that Jane wishes you, the gracious reader, to consider your tone when greeting someone who has gone through a Big Awful. Take your cue from them. If they cast themselves into your arms and weep, hold them and rock and make those oddly comforting murmurs that nobody can really understand beyond the tone of caring that they offer. If they shuffle and sigh and slump their shoulders, draw out those vowels. They need them. But if they are marching along with their head up and their shoulders back and an expression of "I really AM that fabulous" on their face, stand back and smile and maybe even applaud.

Jane's Neighbor Across the Street: "Jane! How are you doing, sweetie?"
Jane: "I am fabulous and amazing!"
Jane's Neighbor Across the Street: "You're d*** right you are!" (this is followed by enthusiastic hooting and arm waving, which might sound extreme but is actually rather pleasing).

Now THAT'S what I'm talking about.