How to Drive Away Everyone You Love… and How to Fix It
By: Ben Thomas
Tags: Psychology, Life Lessons, Relationships

Scroll through your Facebook feed on any given day, and you’ll probably see him or her: That person who’s got strong personal feelings on just about every topic — who’ll jump into any discussion like a referee, ready to declare who’s in the right, who’s doing wrong, and who’s too ignorant or oblivious to know the difference.

Have you ever been that person?

Because I have. And it very nearly drove away everyone I cared about.

I’ll tell you a little about what I was like back then. I alienated most of my family by constantly picking fights about religion and politics — even as my parents tried to calm me down — because I’d recently learned that everything they believed was wrong, and I wanted them to admit it. A whole string of roommates moved out because I wouldn’t stop rebuking them about their poor life decisions. Several bosses fired me because, in response to negative performance reviews, I’d tell them just how sloppily they were running their companies.

“How can you think / believe / do that?!” were my favorite exclamations.

Even when I wasn’t actively picking a fight, I felt the need to make my presence known by cracking a joke or making a snarky comment about anything anyone said. And no matter how many times I got told to shut up for my own good, I insisted it was my responsibility to say the things no one else had the courage to say; to call people out when they were wrong; to serve as the trickster who kept everyone on their toes.

In other words, I was in my early twenties.

It wasn’t until years later that, when I broke up with a long-term girlfriend, I looked around to discover — to my shock — that almost no one else had stuck around to put up with me. Most of my oldest friends didn’t answer my calls anymore. Even my parents hadn’t tried to reach me in more than six months. I’d criticized, taunted and annoyed my entire social group into oblivion.

Why had I ever thought it was a good idea to behave this way?

Each of us is born with the unspoken assumption that he or she is the most important person alive. As we grow up, people in our lives debunk that notion again and again — sometimes gently; other times not so much — and over the years, we get a clearer sense of our actual place in the world. We learn through hard experience that we’re not the main character in every scene — sometimes we don’t even have a speaking part that day — but we still hold onto the idea that we’ve got extraordinarily important things to say, so we keep stepping in front of the camera anyway.

That’s why I felt the need to behave that way: Experience had convinced me I was the smartest kid on the block. I felt sure I had a rare and piercing level of insight into the world. I could see others’ shortcomings so clearly, and I seemed to be the only person brave enough to point them out and try to fix them.

Because the alternative was scary. Nobody wants to be yet another person who shows up without the keys; who fumbles through life without any conclusive answers, the way all the normal people have to. So what else could I do? I believed in my unique abilities; in my starring role. Maybe I was sent to this world with some special purpose…

Well, maybe I was. Maybe I am. Maybe we all are.

Growing up isn’t about losing self-respect, or learning better manners, or loosening up morally — it’s about gaining a broader context. It’s not just about understanding your own story, but also about learning to understand where and how you fit into other people’s stories. A surprising amount of the time, the scene in which you find yourself isn’t about you at all, because somebody else is the hero — and luckily enough, someone else is usually the villain, too.

Then again, sometimes you’re the main character after all, and your job is to step right into the spotlight and explain how to fix the problem. And sometimes — gasp! — that problem is you.

Maturity, I think, is knowing which kind of scene is which.