As Brene Brown uses the word, a badass is someone who stands fully in his or her own truth, who might fall down doing something that matters, but gets back up with fresh determination to return to the arena of action.
Someone like Mom, circa 2000. After a lifetime of turning a blind eye & deaf ear, she finally - by her own efforts & egging - came to stand in her own truth.
Something happened on Sunday that got me wondering, what is the opposite of that definition of badass, what is its antonym? According to the Urban Dictionary, that would be douchebag.
Yesterday, I woke up after a night of fitful sleep, my dreams beset with fretful images of uncertainty, of feelings that were masked & coded. It occurred to me they were rooted in my confusion over feelings about my older brother.
It is easy to tell myself that my feelings are neutral, that I've come to a place where how he does or doesn't act can do no harm. I can accept his actions in the present moment & be okay with that.
Except that was NOT standing fully in my truth; it was bogus. It felt true, but a voice inside me screamed, "That's so NOT your really feelings."
I don't know my real feelings. I doubt they'll ever be clear, there's so much stuff from such young years wrapped around & threaded through them. I've neither the time nor the energy to fret it out. But when Peter spent my Valentine's Day phone call NOT basking in the joy of telling me about his first visit in over three years with his daughter & her family who've been on the other side of the world for all that time, but instead focused on himself, railing about not getting whatever sort of Christmas presents he felt were better than what he had... Well, it dawned on me - whatever my feelings may be, my opinion of Peter is clear: he's a douchebag.
Another Urban Dictionary (UD) antonym for badass is poser. Which, for who knows what reason, my oldest brother most certainly is. And it would seem totally without cause. Peter was born with wonderful gifts & preppy looks in a time they really mattered, opportunities & support that his little sister envied, the love & devotion of parents who always seemed to stand by him.
Per the UD, a poser is someone who tries to be something he isn't. I could never figure out just what Peter wanted, but even as a little kid it was clearly not what he had. That can be a great spur to action & success, but it didn't play out that way with Peter. I never knew what he wanted, what sidetracked him from the accomplished life he seemed destined to have. But Mom could, although that didn't become clear until after she died.
Mom loved Rosamunde Pilcher. A copy of September was in Mom's library, one of the many books I sorted through after Mom died. Most went to the library for the book sale, some were kept as special treasures, others because they were written in. September had page numbers noted on the very first page. Had I been a Rosamunde Pilcher fan when Mom was alive, had read September, it would have clear just how well she knew her first born.
Page 355 (talking of a man's mother):
Noel ~ From time to time, we had the most stupendous rows. Usually about money.
Violet ~ That's what most family rows are about. And I don't imagine that she (his mother, artist Penelope Keeling) suffered from materialism.
Noel ~ The very opposite. She had her own philosophy for living, and a selection of homespun truisms which she would come out with in times of stress, or in the middle of some really important acrimonious argument. One of them was that happiness is making the most of what you have & riches in making the most of what you've got. It sounded plausible, but I never quite worked out the logic.
Violet ~ Perhaps you needed more than words.
Noel ~ Yes, I needed more. I needed not to feel an outsider. I wanted to be part of a different sort of life, to have a different background. The Establishment. Old houses, old families, old manners, old money. We were brought up to believe that money didn't matter, but I knew that it only didn't matter provided you had plenty of it.
Mom got that Peter was a poser, and I think she felt guilty, felt that she was somehow responsible for his longing to have not merely money & success, which he could have earned, but to have a whole different history, which he could only fabricate.
One of the most AH HA! moments of my family life happened in 2000, when Pam & Peter announced Whitney's engagement. Mom found out about it after it happened. When it dawned on her that it was possible her beloved granddaughter was engaged & no one had told her, let alone invited her to the announcement party, she called to ask Peter, believing in her heart of hearts it could not be so.
Peter's response was illuminating, to Mom as well as myself. He was furious at her, yelling so loudly that I could hear him, although by the bedroom door. A guest, sitting down in the living room, could hear the racket. "How dare you be so presumptuous as to think you would be invited to the party! I bet that Elsa (me) put you up to this. Well, you can tell her that Mim & me & the f---ing world are sick & her tired of her trying to control us."
Mom, in a sterling moment of rising strong, didn't flinch or turn pale or shrink into herself. Instead, she looked straight at me, held the phone away from her ear, did a talking gesture with her left hand, as she said, "I'm sorry you feel that way Peter. We'll talk later." & hung up.
Whitney explained it was Pam's fault, because she'd made up the guest list. Peter said the same. Only my nephew, Reynolds, had the guts to stand in & speak the truth, "Dad would not have been comfortable if Gocky had been there." Which was spot on.
It seems reasonable that Peter, who presented himself as something he wasn't, couldn't bear to have people around who knew him as anything other than what he cared to show.
Writing about it still tears me up, because my brother could have been so much, blessed with a combination of solid intelligence, savvy social skills, an upbringing that transcended his family's humble finances, looks that immediately gave him entry into well-born & bred Philadelphia society. While he could have found a welcomed place among them, he could never BE them, which seemed his true heart's desire.
How can I know my feelings toward my oldest brother when they are so wrapped around my sense of heartbreak over the messed-up life for which he set himself up? Will content myself with the sorry realization that he's a douchebag. It's accurate, it's easier, it's infinitely less heartbreaking.
Credits:
strippedchic.com (quote from Jen Sincero)
urbandictionary.com
sportscards4all.com
candytaveras.wordpress.com
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