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You know, I do a lot of things for other people. I do a lot of things I probably do not have time to do (but I make time). Some of these tasks are basically thankless, most of them don't "advance" me any (in the sense that devoting time to doing good teaching and research "advance" me). Many of them are tasks that others, with fewer things on their plate, could undertake.

But still, I do a lot of things.

Part of it is - and the odd thing is that I learned this from an article on "8 problem personalities of Youth Group Kids" from "Group" magazine - is that I tend to be what "Group" calls a "Dear Abby Type" - the one always quick with advice, the one always quick to help.

I'm not going to go into the full-depth analysis (mainly because I don't have my copy of the magazine in front of me and I don't want to get it wrong), but basically, that type of person has somehow learned that they way they get warmth and love is by doing things for other people. That people will love them less - or will not love them at all - if they aren't jumping through a bunch of hoops for them. I suppose a simpler term would be "people pleaser."

I don't know whether that behavior is more innate or more learned. I do think there's a certain part of our personality that's genetically coded for and is hard to change; but I also think some of my early school experiences did help contribute to my general people-pleasey nature.

Not to be all whiney, or all psychobabbly about it but: I was an unpopular kid. I was the kid who ate alone in a darkish corner of the cafeteria because the more "popular" kids would not let me eat with them. I was not assertive - it never occurred to me to go up to the popular kids and ask them who made them King (or Queen, as the case may be).

But I was popular with the teachers (which probably, in retrospect, didn't help my popularity with my peers any). I was a "good" child - quiet, nondisruptive, did my homework, generally knew the answers when called on. I learned early on that if I couldn't have my peers' love (for whatever incomprehensible reason - loser pheromones, maybe, or I failed to wear the proper brand of clothing on one particular day. Who knows how and why kids decide who is "acceptable" and who is not?), at least I could have the "grown-ups" love - my parents, my teachers, people at my church. I think that's partly how I became a people pleaser - my Prime Directive as a child was Do Not Disappoint The Grown-Ups. Because, if I did, I felt like no one would love me and I'd be all alone. (Well, at least no one here on Earth would love me. But when you're a pre-teen, having someone tell you "It doesn't matter that you're unpopular in school; God still loves you" doesn't really help that much. Sorry to say.)

But anyway. I think a certain amount of the frustration I deal with is related to the fact that I'm a people-pleaser. And there are some people, no matter how many tap-dances you do for them, no matter how many times you bake their very favorite cookie in the whole wide world and let them eat them ALL while you stand there and watch, are not going to be pleased.

And it's kind of exhausting sometimes, being a people pleaser.

And it makes you prone to question yourself when you deal with people who resolutely refuse to be pleased - the kid who sits in the back of class with her arms crossed and refuses to take part in the discussions you are trying to get going, who rejects the class activities as "stupid," who sleeps during lecture. You ask yourself - why am I not reaching her? What do I need to do better?

(Never, of course - what does SHE need to do better. Never, of course - why is SHE not showing ME respect?)

But anyway. It's something I'm beginning to recognize. Maybe someday I'll be able to be a cranky old lady who tells people where to go when they aren't respectful. Or maybe someday I'll be able to tell someone who makes petty, meaningless criticisms of something I've done "Okay - then YOU do it next time."

Maybe I'm on my way.

Last night, at church, one of the ladies stopped me in the hall. We do an annual "first responders" lunch on September 11 to honor the police and firefighters and EMTs and highway patrol dudes and people like that. I had already volunteered to help out at the lunch, as I don't teach on Tuesdays.

And the lady asked me: "Hey - could you bake a cake for the Tuesday lunch?"

A cake. Could I bake a cake? When would I bake a cake? Part of the situation is that I'm trying fairly hard to push through the last few bits of a paper rewrite, hopefully so I can get it to my co-author (and dear God I hope he likes the changes I've made this time) by the end of this coming week. So I didn't immediately say yes. (Also I was flat exhausted - teaching for 5 hours solid will do that to you - and had a headache).

Before I could say anything, she added "...Or do you not have time?"

And I realized: yes, that's exactly it. I do not have time. Oh, I could make time. But that would mean taking time from somewhere else. (And in the end, the time you make is NOT equal to the time you take). It might mean my paper rewrite doesn't get done as rapidly. Or that I don't have a chance to revamp one day's stuff for teaching (I kind of revamp stuff each semester - discarding what doesn't work, trying new things in the hope that they do, polishing up the stuff that worked in the past). Or it would mean a chunk of time when I don't get downtime. And these days, what downtime I get is something I want to jealously guard. (yeah, yeah, I know: it's just a darn cake. It would mean 50 minutes of effort, tops, on my part. But still.)

So I blinked, and then I heard myself say: "No...no, I don't have time. Sorry."

And the world did not collapse in on itself.

And the lady said, "Oh, that's okay. I'm sure G. [another lady from church who is retired, widowed, and all of whose children are grown] can do one."

And I didn't even feel guilty about saying no.

So...baby steps. I need to remind myself that it is okay for me to say "no" to things that I really don't want to do and that someone else could do (perhaps even more easily than I).