Categories: uncategorized
Date: 22 June 2010 12:27:07
I understood Tchaikovsky. As usual, of course, I don't mean by that what you think I do. I remember reading about Tchaikovsky (at least, I think it was him, but it may have been some other composer, my memory being that unreliable) being so insecure that he would approach complete strangers and asked if they loved him. Obviously this is not behaviour that can easily be justified rationally, and when I read it I was struck with how sad it was (as the writer, no doubt, intended) and baffled how Tchaikovsky could think to do it, and not be restrained by the absurdity of such an act. But recently I've been thinking about encouragement and how friends of mine can say very positive things about me and yet these seem to have absolute no effect. If I consider myself a failure, and those nearest to me, those who I value most, and those who know me best, tell me that I'm actually a success, then, while I will hear their words, they won't mean anything. It is really as if I haven't actually heard them at all. Like water off a duck's back. I was baffled by that reaction of mine (or, rather, that lack of reaction), but utterly bewildered by the contrasting reaction I would have if someone else said something positive about me. If someone I didn't really know says something good about me, then I react quite strongly, feeling much happier in myself and generally being built up in the way that any compliment ought to. And I realized that it comes down to expectations and motives. I know that if a friend says something positive, then it is not based solely on their assessment of me. It is also influenced by their judgement of how I will react, their judgement of whether I need encouragement or not, and their judgement of what they expect I will want to hear. Simply put, my friends are likely to say something positive to me because they want to give me the uplifting feeling of receiving some compliment. Conversely, if a non-friend says something positive about something I've done, then I know it is based on nothing other than their assessment of my deed. It is not influenced by any concern for me, or any feeling of not wanting to upset me. It is a pure reflection of their judgement of what I have done. And so, I suppose, it was with Tchaikovsky. Approaching a stranger he knew he would get an answer that was not influenced by obligation or expectations, an answer that was more objective and, therefore, more valuable. Perhaps if I can hold my bafflement at Tchaikovsky's actions in tandem with my empathy, then I may be able to see the flaws in his logic and mine, and better hear, respect and respond to the opinions expressed by my friends.