Being a "Good Kid"

 Here's a thought I haven't had in a while;

    When you are the "good one" in the group, 
    You are more than likely held to an exponentially higher standard than those around you.

The "good one" gets away with nothing and is judged for everything. They are very typically never freed from a watchful eye, one way or another. It's never good enough. Any of the other kids in the metaphorical group will steal beers from their dad's fridge, stay out past midnight, snort chopped up pills from their Aunt Franny's cabinet while baby-sitting the neighbor's kid... unless the cops get involved: nothing gets done. This is expected behavior.

Meanwhile the one who's sacrificing childhood memories for a clean record gets verbally beaten to death by the teacher down the hall when they sneeze during French class.

The moment you raise the bar, you raise others' expectations of you.

This is something I have been exposed to for nearly my entire life. Started as the kid who avoided trouble (horrible for one's social life, by the way), grew into the one in the group who "wasn't sure what Mom would think about that" (once my sister took pity on me and surrounded me with people who were older and infinitely cooler than me) only to make my final transformation as the hard-working (and at times truly the least-fit-for-the-job) corporate back-breaker. 

I have since slowed my roll a bit at the workplace. I still try my best every day and push myself; I've just been a bit better about applying my favorite word (balance). 

...But I still don't want to cause trouble. (What would Mom think??)

Now! I haven't had this thought in so long. So why now? 

I have recently been accused of having a few less-than-sweet attributes. No big shocker there; I am more than aware of my imperfection. This is not what I have come to ponder on. 

I tried to talk to a different person (let's call them "Beverly") about these downfalls of mine and Beverly took very little time to hesitate. Her fangs were out, her weapons were drawn and she pounced. 

It felt as though she had been waiting her entire lifetime for such an opportunity (which is strange, considering Bev has not known me her entire life). Here I was thinking I was just having a conversation with a friend and BAM! Hello, nasty. 

Now, it has to be said; I am no longer mad at / conflicted about Beverly / her actions (thank you, processing server in my brain). However, at the time I was completely insulted and taken aback. I have not (at least in the last ten years) spoken so viciously to a friend. Again; it is not that I am perplexed as to how Beverly could ever think I am less than perfect. I am upset at the intention. Or perhaps lack thereof. Why does it seem so impossible to be considered? I know I am not as in-touch with my emotions as I could be / as others (mostly others that I hold dearly) are. Does this attribute of mine shoot off a Bat-Signal to those around me to metaphorically put their dukes up? (Thank God I am not a big strong-looking beastie or I may have been un-metaphorically boxed.) 

Is it that these people think I can take it (possibly because I am part robot)? Is it something un-clockable / coincidental? Is it that the Beverlies of the world are all-too eager to witness my stumbles - and as such - do not consider my feelings at all? Because they are far too consumed by the excitement of it all: "MY DAY HAS FINALLY COME." There are more polite ways of telling someone how much they suck, you know. I have been on both sides of that conversation; it can be done.

Meanwhile, I never meant / mean to "rub things in faces". I get genuinely excited about things. I love good conversation (especially with friends). And I don't mean to exclude anyone, but I truly cannot explain how incredible it is to finally feel as though I am able. My mind has fucked me up sideways (mostly in the earlier years). It has made me feel as though I was destined to be miserable, lonely and entirely exiled from victory (large or small). And don't cry for me, Argentina; this is not a futile attempt to make anyone feel sorry for me. I am aware of what an incredibly safe and privileged life I have led. I am also aware that I should take my own advice that I have given friends: 

"just because it could be worse, doesn't mean you're not allow to have feelings about it" / "don't let others' experiences cheapen your own". 

Also: I genuinely get excited about others' victories, as well. I do not downplay (an awful thing to do). 

So if I've been cheering on those around me and not rubbing my own triumphs in anyone's face, it's really quite irritating that there are Beverlies in the world, allowing themselves to physically be near me while quietly praying for my downfall. 

It is so unreal. I am convinced that there are people out there that (at least subconsciously) get so insulted by others' successes. Their little victories. Those people who are never really happy for you. Mostly a bunch of "why-not-me" drowning in a sea of envy. (A jealou-sea, if you will.) And when you mix an insecure, jealous individual with a triumphant "good kid"? It is a recipe for disaster. 

This is not to downplay all of the hurdles one must jump when one is deemed the "trouble-maker", it's just that I wanted to write about what I knew. I can only imagine how exhilarating it is causing mischief and - honestly - I still get the adolescent drive to do so from time to time. I would always dream of being "cool" enough. Of being the one who had friends. Who did fun stuff. However I also can only imagine how incredibly tough / seemingly impossible it would be to "outrun" that past to start anew. 

This is also not an attempt to spread hate and/or divide. My intention to separate parties in this entry is simply an attempt at making my thoughts a bit easier to digest. I love conversation and writing, but that doesn't mean I am necessarily good at either. I often find that if I can give specific examples to the person I am trying to communicate with, it is easier for my rambling thought to be understood. 

I have said it before and I will say it again: there are no good guys or bad guys. Just people. As I age I find it more and more possible to find the reason(s) for others' actions. In doing so, I have been able to better-control my temper (again - still not perfect there, but not as bad as it once was). I have also been able to see that sometimes peoples' actions are not fully in their own control. Sometimes we humans only do things because it is inherently human to do so. And how do you get mad at that?

I still get mad sometimes (not perfect, for the seventy-fifth time). But knowing that Beverly was likely acting out of insecurity / inherent human reaction certainly helps the mad evaporate into curiosity and, at worst, irritation.