EXCUSE ME,

CAN YOU TELL ME . . . . .

Sometimes, the silly things we do stay with us, not because they matter, but because they still make us laugh years later.

One of those moments happened years ago.

I flew to St. Louis to meet Steve, who’d been working on a Habitat for Humanity project. I’d never seen St. Louis, so it was the perfect excuse for a visit. The flight went smoothly, and off I went to the car rental counter.

Paperwork—check.
Keys—check.
Found my car—check.

I got in and drove to the exit booth. I needed to roll down the window to show my paperwork to the attendant. I pulled up, reached for the window switch… and froze.

I was looking everywhere. Console, door, dashboard—nothing. Cars started lining up behind me. I was sweating now.

I couldn’t find the damn switch to roll the window down!

There were no buttons, no levers, just me, sitting in a rental car with growing panic as the exit lane backed up around the fence.

Finally, I got out of the car, paperwork in hand, and walked over to the attendant.

“Do you know where the window switch is on this car?” I asked.

He looked at me, and I’m serious here, like I was absolutely out of my mind. Then, without a word, he leaned into the car, reached for the inside of the driver’s door, and started cranking the window handle around and around until the glass rolled down.

My eyes had refused to acknowledge the rolling handle!

Manual windows.
In my rental car.
In the 21st century.

I thanked him with a straight face and drove off like nothing happened.
But inside? I was laughing at myself. And I still do.

It’s humbling to laugh at myself.
It’s good for my soul.
I like it.

When I was younger, I hated not having an answer. I didn’t know how to laugh at myself. I thought if someone asked me a question, I was supposed to know the answer to every question. If I didn’t, would they ever ask me again?

Now?
The older I get, the more I realize how much I don’t know. And when I ask for help, I actually feel relieved, because someone does know, and often they know more than I even thought to ask.

I’m not embarrassed to depend on others for instruction and information.

In fact, I welcome it.

But what about unsolicited advice?

When I was a new mother, I must have received unsolicited baby advice at least once a day.
I knew it was well-intended, and I was free to take it or leave it. I was never stand-offish or dismissive toward the advice-giver. I just smiled, nodded, and added it to the ever-growing mental list titled “Things Total Strangers Think I’m Doing Wrong.”

Later, when I was designing and selling my beaded jewelry, perfect strangers would walk up, pick out a piece, and then proceed to explain what was wrong with it, the color combination, the size, the clasp.
Again, I knew I was free to take it or leave it.

What I wasn’t free to do?
Beat the advice-giver over the head and shoulders.

I wasn’t dismissive. I was assertive in my response. As the designer, each piece was an extension of me, my style, my intention, my creative fingerprint. Most of the time, my response was short. Something in the neighborhood of:
“Get out of my booth, you lowly, uncultured heathen.”

(Internally, of course. Out loud, I probably just smiled and said, “Thanks for the feedback.”)

So... it’s okay for me to say, “I don’t know.”
I’m happy to ask questions, and I’m grateful people are willing to help. I’ll listen to well-intentioned advice, because, hey, what if I actually agree?

But if you tear apart my art?

“No soup for you!”