Are you docile or difficult? Because I speak up or write about things that shouldn’t be, I am naturally classified under “difficult.”
Docile means to be dutiful. Well, that’s certainly not me. Perhaps, my father is the great enabler. He’s often told me only the dumb are docile. Well, he certainly got the daughter he deserved.
But should we be called difficult when we refuse to be doormats? Or should we simply be called decisive because we have decided to be assertive in situations that call for us to be so
Unless you make a career out of complaining about the endless inefficiencies you face daily, I would argue that one who takes the time to complain about poor service is not someone who is trying to be difficult but someone who wants to be heard, maybe has had enough and more importantly, wants things to change—for the better.
In the age before social media, newspaper columnists (like myself) were labeled entitled when we aired our grievances out in our columns. And I understand where this came from.
Those who work in media, after all, possess both the capacity and the venue to express themselves publicly while the rest of the citizenry do not.
But then came social media—the great equalizer.
Today, at the tip of every digital native’s finger lies the capacity and the medium to say what they want publicly.
In one click, every digital native has the capacity not just to call out poor service, wrongdoing or bad behavior but also the capacity to cancel (wrongly or rightly) anyone who steps on their toes.
Finally. All those who thought me entitled now find themselves doing what I did—complaining publicly and in fact, outdoing me by doing it globally—venting out in ways and words I never even imagined possible.
And I get you. You vent because you want to be seen and heard. And you wouldn’t do this if your complaints were attended to, in the first place. Well, that’s how I felt too. I just happened to write a column.
Are we difficult? Or are we simply people who have decided not to be doormats?
I made a promise to myself (after cancer) to get mad less. It’s no easy task. And while I have not made myself blind and deaf to everything that is not being done right, I have to say that only God can give me credit for the nine out of 10 times I have let so many things go.
I smile, though, each time I drive into this basement mall parking lot. You don’t know how I celebrated when the great Bobby Nalzaro wrote about the necessity of marking those parking lot posts. Like him, I too, found myself in a maze inside this parking lot, almost going mad, trying to get out.
So, when you see these marked posts, today, remember that they are there because Bobby “decided” to speak up. And Bobby was not a “difficult” man.
It’s not about being difficult. It’s about doing what’s right.