Brilliant … But Bouncy

It’s Not Your Job To Tell Me How To Live.

Sometimes I lie awake in bed writing imaginary letters – although rarely do I share them with their intended recipient. The following is in response to the woman on my softball team who, after I tried to save a cicada and a little boy killed it, “explained” why I shouldn’t feel unhappy about that incident. This is the letter I wrote to her – in my head.

Dear Teammate,

You said, “Not everyone likes bugs, Kirsten.” You said, “I used to crush things all the time when I was little!”

I didn’t crush things when I was little, and I feel sorry for you that you did. I will continue to save cicadas until the day I die, should the cicadas need me.

I don’t try to force anyone else to like bugs. I didn’t ask you to save cicadas, so why did you continually roll your eyes when I set them into flight?

It’s not your job to tell me how to live. And it’s not your job to “help” me if something happens that I don’t like. I don’t actually need your input on everything I do or say.

It isn’t helpful to negate my feelings. It isn’t helpful to negate anyone’s feelings. Whether or not you agree with my feelings is irrelevant.

But when you followed me into the bathroom and asked, “So if you save bugs, are you pro-life?” …

And I said, “No, I’m pro-choice.” …

You went too far. You invaded a space that was both personal and political and then you pushed your agenda hard.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” you said. “You kill babies, and that’s worse than killing bugs.”

I wanted to scream at you: Being pro-choice doesn’t mean I kill babies! I value every life: plants and trees and bugs and dogs and humans. I can value human life and still believe in choice. Just because you don’t understand how I think doesn’t mean you have a right to try to change it.

But because I have no right to push my agenda on you – I said nothing. Instead, I said, “I understand your point,” because I do. I am the type of person who strives to understand. Then, because I only want peace, I walked away from you.

At the next game, I sat far away from you. I spoke to you only when you spoke to me, and only about sports. Then you moved your chair next to mine, and I heard you whenever you spoke.

At the end of the games, someone announced a new vaccine clinic for anyone who needs a COVID vaccine. I said to a teammate who is unvaccinated: “Did you hear that, David?”

And you responded, even though I wasn’t talking to you.

You said: “Not everyone wants to get a vaccine.”

You are not my parent, my teacher, my mentor or my friend. You are just a teammate. I don’t require your input. I will be civil to you, but I will not want to see you. I will not want to be near you. I don’t care that our viewpoints are different, but I do care that you shove your viewpoints down my throat.

So I am writing this letter to let you know that I don’t appreciate the things you’ve said to me. And I don’t enjoy the fact that you are on my team, because team implies that we are working on something together.

We are just playing ball. You will never be a “team” player, no matter how right you think you are.