As many of you know I love to listen in on other peoples’ conversations. No, I don’t mean that I stalk individuals and listen illegally into their discussions. But I have been known to trail after an interesting couple simply to hear the rest of what they are saying. But allow me to give it some context. If you hear someone speaking about murdering another, you really want to know more.
We live in a society where everyone seems to have a mobile phone connected to their ear lobe. I cannot count the number of times I have been forced to speak up before a person runs into me simply because they’re paying attention to their phone and not what was in front of them. Ah, the joys of technology!
We can’t know exactly what someone else is talking about on the phone or in a text. We don’t know what that individual is dealing with. Is the text to a girlfriend/boyfriend explaining that they are pregnant, accepted into that prestigious law firm or asking for them to bring home milk?
We live in a society of tidbits. We hear snippets of a conversation walking down the street, often more than one. We are jostled by someone trying to get into the store and for a micro second we share a look. What is that person dealing with? Are they happy, sad, frustrated, suicidal, manic, murderous? We don’t know. And yet we often make judgments based on a split-second interaction. Tidbits.
No one seems to know the whole story about anything. The Media included. Politicians tell us what they think we want to hear. Is there any truth in what they have to say? Possibly. Friends speak from the heart and sometimes tell you what you need to hear. But often they tell you what they believe will make you feel better. What is the truth? And is the truth something that needs to be relayed all the time? I don’t think so. Let me give you a little context. A friend had convinced me to go to a new hairdresser. She was a Stylist from New York! She had a very heady reputation and they could fit me in. I think I was supposed to be honored. When I entered her very luxurious salon I was asked if I wanted a Perrier. I did not. She then spent 15 minutes talking to me. She told me she wanted to know what kind of person I was so that she could give me the haircut I needed. She spent quite a bit of time whipping my hair into… something? After I had forked over the national debt for a small country, I left. I don’t think she was terribly impressed with me. We didn’t speak.
I have never been to New York. I hear is a “happening” city. Food, Fashion, Finance. The Holy F’s? Perhaps the haircut I received was considered fashionable in the mecca that is considered Manhattan. I don’t live in New York. I explained I was quite conservative and liked the simple things. My hair looked like it had been cut by an eight-year-old high on cocaine with dull scissors and a tick. I wish I was kidding. My sister was getting married in a week. There would be pictures.
I went back to my regular hairdresser and pleaded with him to fix it. It became really short. Oh, and that very fashionable New York hairstylist? She moved on to more appropriate grounds. Lesson learned. Context.