Howareyou?

In South Africa we have this habit of automatically saying “Hi, howareyou?” when we meet people. The usual response: “Fineandyou?” We don’t think about it, we don’t actually care about the other person’s response; we just say it and get it over with. Sometimes we eagerly skip straight to the response, without waiting for the other person to first inquire into our well-being (“Hi, fineandyou?”), which causes a moment of social discomfort for both parties.

Occasionally you’ll greet an elderly relative and they’ll respond with: “I’m okay,” (whiny tone of voice) “I’m just having trouble with my knees.” (Groan, sigh, knee rub, headshake) “I think it’s the weather. My joints always complain when …” Two seconds into the monologue they’ve already lost me – depression hits me and I start longing for a Minora blade and a hot bath.

In the 80’s Dale Carnegie Fever hit the world. Everybody read his book “How to win friends and influence people” and memorized his social guidelines. The first rule was to smile when speaking to someone. So, people spent hours in front of the mirror trying to coax their lemon-sucking lips into a warm smile. Then they went out into the world, applying this and other techniques on everyone they encountered. The result was astounding: Everyone smiled back. Of course they did not consider the fact that all the other people were also following Carnegie’s guidelines. So, suddenly the world was full of smiling people, who made each other feel great, in a warm and fuzzy kind of way.

The Carnegie memo was sent out to everyone whose business required dealing with other people (unfortunately a major administrative error resulted in the memo not reaching the Civil Service). Sales reps, estate agents and business executives flocked to Dale Carnegie seminars. It turned out that you could make a lot of money out of people, if you managed to make them feel warm and fuzzy.

The Carnegie memo finally caught the attention of politicians. The days of ruling a country with an iron fist were over. The public wanted politicians who cared about them. Suddenly politicians were flashing brilliant smiles, doing victorious air-punches, hugging babies and patting disabled people on their heads (with gloves on – it may be contagious).

And so it was that we managed to create a world full of caring optimists, who said all the right things at the right time. It was during this era that visiting a shrink became a favourite pastime. The reason was simple: we were no longer allowed to have authentic relationships with people; we could no longer express our real feelings; we were expected to always be happy and “genuinely” interested in other people. In short, we were focused on other people’s happiness, rather than our own. So, a shrink became an essential ingredient in many people’s lives.

Sadly the Carnegie philosophy is still alive and well today, two decades after its introduction to an unsuspecting world. In essence I have no problem with optimism and making others feel good about themselves. It’s admirable, but only when it’s genuine, and when it’s not being used to manipulate people. I find that I’ve become very suspicious of people who are always happy and smiling. I can’t help but think: “What do they want from me? What are they hiding?”

I while back I watched the Oprah Show, which discussed the secret depression and unhappiness many people are suffering from. People stated how their friends, colleagues and family believed that they had the perfect lives. Outwardly their lives seemed perfect, yet all kinds of trouble were brewing and stewing below the surface. Every now and then one will read an article about a husband who killed his entire family or a child who shot pupils at a school. Usually the article includes a comment from a friend along the lines of: “He was such a nice man/ boy. I don’t know what could have caused him to do such a thing.” In desperation they’ll try to blame it on violent video games or Marilyn Manson.

The reality is that we are all carrying a heavy burden of secret fears, pain and depression. Yet, we are not allowed to express it. We’re forced to suppress it, like a giant pimple that grows and builds pressure just under the skin. Until one day a single event causes the pimple to burst to the surface, spilling all its ugliness out into the world.

I’ve decided not to let that happen to me. I’ll remain an optimist, but may occasionally choose to let off some steam. So, next time you say “Hi, howareyou?” don’t be shocked when I respond with: “Well, I’ve got a giant hemorrhoid and I hate my non-existent calf muscles.”