My Thank You Problem

#mywifesaysimcomplicated

This is one of those posts where I want to have understood a problem I’m having by the time I’m done writing it.

Part One:  What I THINK the Problem Is

When I was a kid, I was taught to say thank you if someone said something nice to me.  To my recollection, I did so as often as you could expect a child to do.  But somewhere along the way, thank you’s became tricky for me.

I got to thinking about this because a friend gave me a compliment ment recently and I added all of this baggage to the backside of the thank you.

So much of this problem stems from the fact that I have a very public-facing job on Sunday morning.  I’m a musician.  I do things in front of people that normally warrant an encouraging response…clapping, compliments.  I’d just as soon avoid all that.  Worship is my goal, not accolades.  (EDIT:  I’m reminded of a friends words, “It is good to lift up the music and the musicians in gratitude.) But there’s something about music that is different than other expressions of worship.  It moves people to want to respond in that way.  I’ll accept that one day.  That’s a whole other post.  Also, let me say that although because of my job I might receive more complements than the average, I’m not showered with compliments everywhere I go so much that I just can’t deal with everyone loving me SO MUCH.  I’ve received two compliments this week, and I screwed one of them up.

I first became aware that I had a thank you problem when I was in college.  I was a soloist in my college choir concert.  I sang  the solo clearly and beautifully and in a manner that only a young voice can .  I was a very inconsistent singer in those days (still am) and it didn’t always come out right, but this time it felt like no one in the world could have sung it better.   After the concert, I was weaving through the crowd to find my parents and I ran into one of the doctoral choral conducting students.  His usually somber face lit up when he saw me.

He said, “David.  Wow!  Your solo!  That was a real golden moment for me.”

To which I responded, “Yeah, it was a real golden moment for me, too.”

That solo was one of the great moments of my life. I felt that I was awesome for once and had no sense of humility in expressing it.  His response was to make an expression like “Geez. THIS kid.”  And then without saying anything turned around and left.  I say I was sincere because I was, but I wasn’t really raised to be humble, or if I was, I never learned to do it.  I had instead developed some serious praise-seeking habits, and when I finally got some praise, I feasted.

I didn’t think anything of it at the time.  But at some point, maybe a year or two later after I gained a little maturity, I remembered that moment and realized that although I was sincere and that’s a good thing, I might have come off like an arrogant prat.  And this is when it occurred to me.  All I needed to have said was “Thank you so much.”

So simple, and it’s really all anyone wants to hear.  If they want more information they will ask.  Some mistakes I’ve made when given a compliment:

them: “Great singing!”
me: “Thanks, but I didn’t feel good about it.”
This insults their opinion.

them: “Hey, I really liked your song.”
me: “Thank you so much.  That was the best I have ever sung it.”
This lacks humility.

them: “Wow.  That was such a wonder recital.”
me: “Thank you so much. I started practicing in June.”
This detracts from the accomplishment.  It’s showing the man behind the curtain, so to speak.  If they want to know, they will ask.

them: “The project was a success.  Everyone says so.”
“Thank you.  You see, I had this vision…”
It’s egotistical to think they want your grand vision in response to a complement.

them: “Good job on the feature update”
me: “Thanks.  At first, I coded it this way, then tried this factory pattern but then I figured out that this was the solution.”
My boss could care less.

them: “You work so well with kids”
me: “Thank you so much.  I used to be a music teacher, but then I started getting physical threats and then I got a negative one dollar raise.  So I quit.”
This story is just sad.  It in no way belongs in a thank you.

This is what I mean by adding baggage to the back side of a thank you.  It’s kind of like saying “I’m sorry, but…” as an apology.  It negates the apology altogether.

What someone really wants to do is shake my hand, tell me how much they loved whatever it was that I did, and go on their merry way.  They don’t want the baggage.

I’ve improved light years on this.  Nine times out of ten, I smile, shake a hand, take a hug, and say “Thank you so much.”  I rarely have a problem.  But it still happens.  I still add baggage on to my thank you’s.

So what’s my problem?  Why do I still struggle with this sometimes?  I have a nearly constant running stream of dialog in my head.  The thank you baggage is just a part of that stream.  So I guess I’m saying that it’s a filter issue.  That’s it!  I have a filter issue, so I just need to learn how to solve it.

When my wife and I are hanging out with friends, and my filter breaks, she kicks me in the leg under the table.  Then I shut up.  If I could only have her with me all of the time!

Part Two:  What the Bigger Picture Problem Is

At the core of this whole thank you thing is me and my rigid social rules. Social anxiety.  I can’t remember who, but I had a mentor somewhere along the way who taught me the thank you rule, and it stuck.  And remember that friend that got me thinking about this in the beginning?  I tried to apologize later in the day for not accepting their compliment properly.  Did they care?  Not one little bit.  It never occurred to them that I had broken any rules or showed any ingratitude.  I’ve developed this anxiety where I want to try to fix history.  I wanted to go back in a time machine using a text and try to set it right.  The truth is that things are well enough left alone nine times out of ten.  But I ignore that instinct.  I fret and I fiddle.

Maybe that choral student didn’t really think poorly about anything I said after all.  Maybe he just needed to go to the bathroom.  But even if I did make a poor impression, it’s likely that he didn’t think about it much if at all.  And so I have the thank you paranoia now.  There is an art to accepting a compliment that everyone should learn, but really, people are awfully forgiving when it comes to this if they even notice at all.    The truth is, if I gave you a compliment and you expressed that you didn’t deserve it, I would probably touch you on the shoulder and say, “Nope.  I know what I’m talking about.  You. Were. Superb.”