Yes, I Have Seen the Movie Taken.

I like to think that I have a pretty good understanding of people. I do a lot of observing, a lot of thinking, a lot of wondering why I do the things that I do. So most of the time when people do something kind of funny or weird, I can recognize where it may be coming from, or what is driving them to be that way. But lately I've noticed a funny quirk about people that I can’t quite pin down the motivation for.

I started realizing it when Katie and I were taking a trip to Seville and Paris. About 80% of the time that I told someone, “I’m going to Paris in May” the first words out of their mouth were either, “Ooh, have you seen the movie Taken?” or, “Hang on to your purse, Paris is full of pick-pocketers.”

To which I would kindly say, “I’ll be sure to be careful. I have a zipper on my bag and I keep it in front of me. I haven’t had any problems in Europe before.”

To which they insist, “Well yeah, but Paris is the worst city for pick-pocketers.”

Which is funny, because the prior year when I was going to Rome, Rome seemed to be the worst city in Europe for pick-pocketers.

Why is it that when you tell people something that should be really exciting, the first words out of their mouth have to be ones that temper your excitement? I know this is not what they’re trying to do. I have endless hope in humanity that the vast majority of people either want, or are totally fine with others being happy. But why the skepticism then?

This past weekend I got laser eye surgery (if you didn't notice from all my tweets and Facebook posts and me shouting it from the rooftops). It was probably the most exciting thing I've done since, well, going to Seville and Paris I guess. When I would tell people about it, the excitement in my voice was clear. Yet, almost without fail the responses would be, “Yikes, I could never do that!” Or, “Oh wow, hope it’s a good doctor.”

Like I don’t know that my eyes are a crucial part of my body. Like I wouldn’t have done the research until they expressed their concern that I should ensure my surgeon is experienced.

But again, they know that I have. They don’t really think that I haven’t thought the surgery through. It’s just a knee-jerk reaction, almost like an expression or cliché that you just can’t stop yourself from saying. [Shameless link to a post I wrote awhile back that I am now reminded of.] Critical responses have become verbal filler for us.

I know pregnant couples who have refused to tell anyone what they are going to name their baby until he or she is born. And while most of them don’t express it this way, I suspect it’s because they really don’t want to hear people say, “Ooh, Andrew? I went to school with an Andrew and he was a real a-hole.” Or “Aren’t you worried that if you name him William people will call him Willy? What a terrible nickname.”

These glowing pregnant couples don’t want to hear about how you once had a tax man that duped you and ever since then you just can’t bear to hear the name Thomas. Funny how they never seem to mention that the mechanic who helped them change their flat tire in the pouring rain was also named Thomas. It’s always the jerk that you think of first.

So, why is this? Why is happy news almost always met with words of caution?

And I’m not immune from this either. I’ve caught myself giving completely unsolicited and most likely unwanted advice before too. And it’s totally not my intention to rain on a parade. I have no idea what my intention is, in fact.

Little help here? Suggestions?

“After graduation Maryanne went out looking for a bright new world. Wanda looked all around this town and all she found was Earl.”

-Goodbye Earl, The Dixie Chicks 

(If you have ever heard this song, you most likely don’t ever want to name your kid Earl.)