Validate Me

Ever make a comment on something on Facebook, or create a status update with the singular and express hope and fervent desire that someone, perhaps even multiple someones, will Like it?

Of course you have, you vaingloriously beautiful little snail-dart, you. It's okay, I still love you. Do you love me, too?

We all want to be validated. We want our choices and our shoes and our haircuts and our morals and our pickle choices to be validated. Think about that internal warmth and yumminess when someone says, "Oh, those shoes are cute," to you. God, you could die, you blissed-out puppy dog. It's a beautiful thing. And here I am: making fun of it. Go ahead, unfollow me. It's okay. I'll learn to forget you and what we had together.

I was sitting at a meeting today. We had some outside consultant come in to talk to us about our organization. There were a couple psychologists at the meeting, our director, and some of my coworkers. One of our psychologists, when asked by the consultant, "How are you feeling?" replied, "I'm sad that, more often than not, a lot of my coworkers aren't on the same page as I am and I feel that this is a great discussion but that there isn't going to be 100% buy-in regarding what we're talking about up here."

The consultant responded immediately.

"Well, you really have no reason to feel sad," he said. And I felt all the air go out of the room, like we were all sitting inside a balloon had just been popped.

Whoa, pindick. You just invalidated the feelings of a psychologist. Way to go, fuckhead. Fortunately, someone called the consultant on that. And, more fortunately, it wasn't me.

We're so hungry, you and I. For those comments, for that pat on the shoulder, for that, "Oh, I know-- I feel the same way," or the "Wow, that must have been really hard for you," that I'm not particularly sure if our appetite isn't insatiable. And I'm not sure that we aren't justified in seeking out this validation, and, in our anticipating, expecting, demanding, commanding it from others. I'm not so sure that we can pass through this world successfully without that acceptance and that identification from others. I think it is as vital to us as food and water, though perhaps we don't need it quite as regularly.

Or perhaps we do.

I don't know how often you're supposed to update your Facebook status. I don't know what's pathological or what's normal. I don't know how often I'm supposed to check the stats of my blog (after all, isn't every hit and page view and new follower a form of validation?) or how often I'm supposed to receive a compliment or a "Yeah, I know what you mean," from a coworker or a friend. And while we're on the subject, I don't know how often I'm supposed to talk to friends on the phone. Or text them. Or email them.

I don't know how to make new ones, or retain old ones. But, if I did, I'd probably make it a point to validate their feelings, because, if there's one thing I understand about humanity, it's how we are hungry. And I don't mean for asslicking, but for good old fashioned support. A little praise for a song unsung. A kind word. A little boost in the midst of a dirty little world that does its best to cover us with dirt far before we've ceased breathing.

You're welcome here. Even if I don't agree with you and harbor vague suspicions that you may chew your food too quickly, or too loudly, or too animatedly, or that you secretly think I'm a piece of shit in real life, or if I think you may be a piece of shit in real life, or if I cry too much and laugh too loudly-- you're always welcome here. Even when the funny is dirty and the dirt is funny.

Come on in and get a piece, and, in my own weird way-- I'll make sure I give you back one, too.