Dear Neighbor,
It’s April, the month that hosts a special day for fools, myself included, and my only wish is that it landed more often on the calendar so we could celebrate our tomfoolery.
Just as we have the vernal equinox (March 21) and autumnal equinox (September 21), April Fools’ Day is the six-month counterpart to Halloween when we’re allowed to be preposterous, zany, have fun, and lose control.
Control is multifaceted. While self-control is good, admirable, and should be taught via example by every parent, adult, guardian, leader and teacher out there, the operative part of this term is “self”: Keep your word, clean up your messes, pay your bills and debts on time, apologize when you screw up, mow your lawn, and take out the garbage. Be your own hall monitor. This makes for a good life, for you and for everyone around you.
Self-control is good, but the impulse to control others is not, and makes for unhappiness. Life runs smoothly when we take care of business — our own business. So, let’s talk about control freaks.
I’ve encountered more than a few control freaks, and probably you have, too. One thing I think we can all agree on is that they’re not fun because excessive and picayune hovering takes the joy out of life. The only way to deal with control freaks is to run as fast and far away as possible: Distance is your only ally.
This itch to be superintendent of all mankind (or even a few neighbors) comes from an exaggerated sense of self: While we all have the right (and duty) to surveil all that goes on within our property lines, control freaks have an outré sense of boundaries. Their purview is as far as the eye can see, like drones gone amok.
It’s not “My way of the highway,” but “My way or my way; pick your pleasure.” (Run away!)
Yesterday I had a hair appointment with my darling Matthew, who has coiffed me for nearly 20 years. On behalf of hairstylists everywhere he confirmed the agony control freaks can afford.
Remember “The Nanny Diaries,” the book in which the authors dished on their previous employers, those especially rotten? Matthew could write “The Hairstylist Diaries,” and regaled me with eye-rolling tales of outrageous clients who stare with laser eyes, monitoring every snip, bring in highly Photoshopped and airbrushed photos of A-listers, demanding to look “just like her.” Matthew would counter, to no avail, “Even movie stars don’t really look like this.” One woman brought in her own products, proclaiming they were superior to those of the salon, then demanding a discount. (Aren’t we special?)
The worst one, after showing up late — Do not do this! You’re paying for his skills and his time — with beady eyes following Matthew’s every movement and commenting critically on each, finished with, “Oh, this looks great. I wish I could afford to tip you.”
Matthew has also decided to run away from the control freaks: The next time one of these women (alas, it’s almost always women in the salon because men tend to be control freaks elsewhere) tries to book an appointment, there won’t be one available. Matthew agrees that distance is your best ally.
Control freaks think they’re smarter than anyone in any and every room, thus granting them the freedom to micromanage, criticize, berate, and generally treat people like doormats.
Of course, they don’t see it this way “It’s not criticism, it’s ‘advice.’” This was said to me years ago when I’d had it with a nitpicker who’d criticized my vacuuming skills. I responded, “You say advice; I say criticism.” Tomatoes, tomahtoes. The message is the same: You’re a mental giant; I’m incompetent.
Everyone has talents and a genius, maybe intellectual, maybe emotional, maybe technical. I’m a good Spanish teacher but would be a nightmare tackling your taxes, being a chef, or driving an Uber. Don’t just pick your lane; know what it is and own it. Protect yourself from the control freaks who regard every lane on the freeway of life as their own. You have a right to a lane, too.
Similarly, everyone has what I call “potholes,” those areas where our skill set nears zero. To drive happily down the highway of life, recognize and revere others’ talents, especially those you don’t have. I’ve known neurosurgeons I’d trust my sliced-open brain to, but not a leaky faucet. And then there’s Mike, my wizard plumber, who isn’t the guy I call when my laptop gets hinky.
Know and respect your genius and everyone else’s. In other words, you do you. And let them do them.
