I made the point to a couple of friend/coworkers the other day that there are people who do, at times, under-estimate me.  The reaction of my friends ranged from disbelief to amusement (in the form of this reply: “they under-estimate you, to their peril”). It all got me to tumbling over again my thoughts of how these–what? traits? truths?–come to pass. Do people treat me a particular way because of my appearance? Age? Personality?  Or do they treat me the way I let them treat me? I don’t “sell” myself (I don’t want to be a pushy braggart), I tend to self-deprecating humour (I’m learning to cut back on that),  I have fairly refined taste (which may appear like snobbery to the Lucky drinkers and “Walking Dead” aficionados) and I like everyone to get along… to like each other, and to like me.

There it is.

There is the quiet victim voice: “Why don’t you like me?”

The conversation referenced above was sparked by an experience I had had with a woman who is all of the things I am not, and I felt she had judged me and found me wanting. My comment to my friends is no less true– I am certain I am held in less esteem than I think I ought to be– but I wonder if I’ve made more of it than it deserves. Perhaps the “at their peril” part is not about me wreaking vengeance (certainly not my style), but rather about them missing out on knowing what I bring to the party (and I don’t just mean Cheezies, gentle reader). Perhaps I have been looking at this all wrong…

Much like the Groucho Marx quote about club membership, maybe I don’t want to be valued by someone who doesn’t see my value…

Lagniappe: