Amy Lu's View

I lied in church. In front of the whole congregation. 

I arrived at church late (as I usually do) but not too late, just a few minutes after our start time. As I entered the sanctuary and walked up the aisle to select a seat that wasn’t conspicuously in the very back but not too far up front, the service leader spotted me and asked me a question from the pulpit. A question that caused me to panic and lie. 

Did she call me to account for a sin I had committed (which in our church is most likely to be a sin of omission like not recycling or not donating to public radio)? Did she ask me why I hadn’t signed up to volunteer with the local food shelf or help out with our upcoming service auction?

No, she merely asked me if I would come up and light our chalice. Our chalice lighting is a lovely little ritual that we use to open every service, and I’m sure she thought it was a benign request that I could easily fulfill. But the thought of lighting the chalice, especially when being asked on the spot, filled me with anxiety. 

So I lied and said, “No, I don’t like fire.”

It’s not a lie that I didn’t want to light the chalice, but it is a lie that I don’t like fire. I do like fire, but I don’t like to make or light fires, even when all that is required is using a simple lighter wand. The full truth is that I don’t like to use tools of any kind, or anything that requires even the teeny tiniest amount of technical skill or dexterity, especially in front of other people. 

I have many theories about why I struggle with simple tasks that require any tool wielding or manipulation of the physical world. Primarily, I have limited body awareness–I don’t fully experience or understand how my body operates in the world so I don’t really get how it can manipulate my environment. I’ve lived a lot of my world oblivious to my surroundings because I’m wrapped up in my own head (my dreamy/self-involved Picses nature at play?) Plus, I don’t like figuring out puzzles or following directions or thinking sequentially through a process–everything that seems to be involved in a task like using a vacuum cleaner attachment. Perhaps most importantly, I have very little patience with “things” and get frustrated easily, so if I have to do more than press one button, I’m likely to give up. 

I could have just said “No” and left if at that, but an answer that concise felt rude and weird. I thought I needed an explanation, but going into a long  (or even medium length) explanation about how I’m embarrassed to use tools in front of others seemed even more awkward (and our services always run long so I did not want to hold up the show). So I went with the shortest explanation that I could come up with in the moment: “I don’t like fire.” 

The service leader was unfazed by this and quickly found someone else to light the chalice. The service moved on. I’m sure most people barely registered that this little exchange had happened.

But of course I spent the next 5 minutes (or was it 5 hours?) obsessing about what everyone was thinking about me and my stupid response. Would I be peppered with questions after the service about why I was scared of fire? (I was not).

I WANT to be someone who doesn’t worry too much about what others think of me (as long as it’s not because I’ve honestly caused them some harm). Yes, I am a people-pleaser who actively (sometimes pathologically) seeks affirmation, but still I like to think I’m someone who doesn’t get embarrassed because I do unusual or silly or dumb things. I embrace my nonconformity: “Hey, I’m me and I’m proud I’m unique and quirky.” I’m not bound by conventional bourgeois social norms. I’m not trying to impress anyone with my achievements or my jet-setting lifestyle. 

“We all love ourselves more than other people, but care more about their opinion than our own.”–Marcus Aurelius

But I’m not actually a person who easily goes through life not worrying about the impression I make or if I’m living up to expectations. Maybe I wouldn’t have worried about people thinking I was a weirdo for not liking fire if it was true. Or maybe I wouldn’t have worried, or at least not as much, if I hadn’t been surprised by the request and had a chance to tell the whole truth that I don’t like making fire (Chad just read this and said I am actually not allowed to make fire, even a tiny fire to light a candle, because I can’t be trusted. I can’t really argue with him). 

And of course, I wouldn’t have felt I needed to lie about not liking fire if I wasn’t embarrassed to try and operate tools in front of others. 

My life lesson from this little incident is to accept that I worry about what other people think of me, just like most humans do, and I’ll try to remember this and be less judgmental when I see others worrying about the impression they are making. We may be overly self-conscious and silly, but well, that’s how most of us make our way through our social world.

Or maybe I just need to learn how to lie better on the spot and come up with interesting excuses more quickly.