For the next week, I’m going to write all about how much I suck. No, no. Not quite like that. Self-Dep Week is all about acknowledging the flaws that make me (and all of us) the people we are: three dimensional, fucked up, and full of shortcomings. The way I see it, the better you know your flaws (and the more open you are about them) the better those around you are able to navigate those foibles. Doesn’t necessarily make the flaws go away, but at least acknowledging them puts it all on the table: I’m a fuck up. So are you. Let’s go get a beer.

Today’s Suckage: Uncompassionate
I walk right past people begging on the street. This is learned behavior. In 1996, I was walking down The Ave, the mangy main street of Seattle’s University District. It was 8am, and I was going to work. The street was quiet, but a young woman on the sidewalk in front of Brueggers called out to me, “Spare some change for breakfast?”

“No,” I said, “But do you want a bagel?” The girl looked at me blankly. She was sitting in front of a bagel shop, asking for breakfast food. What’s not to get?

“I’m getting a bagel for breakfast. I can get you one too, if you want,” I explained. She scoffed, “no,” and my already heartless demeanor got a little worse. WHAT ARE YOU DOING SPANGING FOR BREAKFAST FOOD, AND THEN TURNING DOWN BREAKFAST? You deserve that sidewalk, chica. (Ouch. Let’s talk about victim blaming, shall we?)

Perhaps my lack of compassion was learned a different way. Perhaps my cruelty is simply rebelliousness. My mother is exceptionally charitable. The meek, the abused, the disadvantaged…she wants to help them all. The first time she met my junkie boyfriend back in 1997, she adored him. Sure, her only child was dating a divorced, drug-dealing, drug abusing father of two with a bad attitude and a criminal record … but the poor man! He was full of stories about his rough childhood, filled with neglect and poverty — right up my mother’s alley. Mom’s always been charitable; I’ve always been impatient and privileged. I’m strongly a democrat, but sometimes my heartlessness makes me feel like I’m a republican. NO ONE MATTERS BUT ME. Give me a tax break and let’s go beat up some welfare recipents.

I’m uncharitable when it comes to relationships, too. I demand people in my life who can stand on their own feet emotionally. I’m dismissive and quick to judge. This is especially unkind when the person in question needs a little extra care — for example, is massively insecure. I become She of Little Tolerance, blustering, “Well, when they get some balls and can actually speak their mind, then we can hang out. But I’m not waiting around.” Andreas, ever patient with my flaws, is constantly reminding me to exercise similar patience with others.

Tomorrow’s Suckage: Inertia