Whenever I’m face-to-face with someone and the topic of my impending move to Chicago comes up, I’m counting down to the moment when they decide to impart upon me certain wisdom about Chicago’s winters.
Cold. Miserable. WET COLD (as if cold as fuck weren’t enough). From friends to complete strangers, the comments are better than an egg timer. I could cook a goddamned roast to perfection if only I timed it to coincide with the inarguable expertise of others when it comes to Chicago.
So I have a question:
Why is it impossible for us to allow others to have their moment?
It’s not unlike when I come down with a cold and cave to the poor decision to post about my questionable health in a Facebook or Twitter status. I never realized before Facebook how many of my friends went to medical or nursing school.
Oh wait — they didn’t.
And yet the next layer is added — those who have no medical training explaining how incorrect my chosen medical providers are in the care and treatment they offer my periodic ailments. I wonder if Hippocrates dealt with this kind of shit.
God knows, I’m not immune to being a dick and the first finger I point is always at myself. But when did this trend begin — the one where we hear about someone’s decision in a public forum and feel the need to be the Supercalifragilisticockswagger Expert on all that is life, current status, happiness, and did I mention life?
Quit shitting in people’s Cheerios*.
*I’m more a Grape Nuts or Golden Grahams kind of girl but semantics and by the way fuck you.
Here’s the thing: When it comes to my move to Chicago, do you really think I am:
- Packing up my life, 2 dogs and 2 cats
- Moving nearly 1000 miles
- Going through the epic anal probe that is a mortgage process
- And buying a 2-bedroom condo in a brand new city
if I weren’t fully all-as-holy aware of what the weather is like? And why would anyone think that the weather is even a point of contention that weighed in on my decision to move my life and business clear across the country?
It’s not as if I sat down at the beginning of July and said, “Self, yah. Chicago is a great metropolitan city. Culture, public transportation, a damn-sized lake. Second City is here. Hey! I’d be really happy here!” And if someone had come along and said, “Ummm, Erika — did you know that the winters in Chicago can be pretty harsh?” I’d have gone:
Wow. Hadn’t thought of that. Glad you brought that up because I don’t have the WEATHER CHANNEL APP ON MY GODDAMNED iPHONE! ZOMGLOLWTFBBQ I AM SO GLAD YOU MENTIONED THIS SO I DIDN’T MAKE A HORRIBLE MISTAKE!
Seriously. Shut the fuck up the next time you feel the urge to shit in someone’s Cheerios. You’re the one who looks like an asshole — and it’s because you’re being one.
Let people have their moment. Their happiness. Their challenges. Our respective lot in life isn’t to be the expert in all things that are other people’s situations. Rather, it’s to be the support structure to best lift them up as they journey towards their dreams, deal with the sniffles, and anything else that life brings along. And there’s a reason that you can’t find a box of Cheerios on a grocery store shelf with a label that boasts “Now with extra shit!”
It’s because your shit doesn’t belong in anyone else’s bowl.
You’ve been slapped.