“No offense but…”
Why is it that an honest opinion must be preceded by that hackneyed phrase? I get it. The addition of those few extra words is meant to ensure protection. But it seems to me that when it comes to honesty, this phrase protects the speaker more than it protects the receiver.
It has become a defense mechanism. A disguise for brutal honesty in a way that forces others to feel overly sensitive at any indication that they are offended by the truth. Although this phrase is often employed as a precaution so as to not harm the feelings of those you care about, there is something fake about it, and by extension, something fake about the person who says it. Don’t get me wrong. I, too, have used these words to seem more polite. At the same time, though, I cannot stand to be on the receiving end.
Coming to Kenyon, I knew no one. I had met a Kenyon student at a high school party and had heard the names of students with whom I shared mutual friends, but for the most part, I came here without any established relationships. Most of my friends at home jokingly made fun of me for my bluntness, exclaiming (after I had apparently broken a social boundary) how “awkward” it was of me to speak the truth. As a first-year without any social connections on campus, the first few weeks consisted of many introductions and for others, small talk. But I decided to skip the questions such as “what are you going to major in?” (how is a first-year to know?) and “how do you like your dorm?” (in which you’ve lived for all of two days), in exchange for conversations of substance.
On move-in day, I walked around my hall and knocked on each door to introduce myself and get a feel for the people with whom I would live for remainder of the school year. I also decided not to be hesitant when I walked into conversations and admitted to people that I had forgotten their names (most of them had forgotten my name too!). While others may have thought of this idea as odd and socially unacceptable, it certainly worked to my advantage when every few people in the Convocation line waved at me (and actually knew who I was) and the people sitting next to me wondered how so many kids in our class already knew me.
Maybe it is the New Yorker in me, but when I ask for an honest opinion, I mean it. The addition of extra “comfort” words somehow makes whatever follows feel inauthentic to me. If I ask for your genuine thoughts about something and you begin your response with some sort of verbal cushion, I will likely cut you off then and there, assure you that your truthful input will not offend me, and ask you until it resonates to please JUST. SAY. WHAT. YOU. MEAN.
Some of my favorite advice comes from the movie We’re the Millers. The main character is a drug smuggler who is single and doesn’t know how to relate to people emotionally. Although I do not agree with a lot of his life decisions, I am a supporter of something he says:
“… whenever you get scared of anything, you just do it. You just count to three, and then do it. ‘Cause if you take too long, you’ll start to overthink it and you’ll just drive yourself crazy. Trust me, it’ll change your life.”
I know from personal experience that what he says is true. Social boundaries can be scary. But most of the fear is fabricated by your own idea that your honest opinions must be phrased in a tentative manner or that your actions will be perceived as “awkward.” I’ve learned it’s better to regret what you do or say and wait until it blows over than to wonder for the rest of your life what would have happened if you had said that thing. If you really feel the need to do or say something, stop giving yourself the time to be nervous about the potential outcomes, and, in the words of Shia Labeouf, “JUST DO IT!”
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