Recently, when I returned from a beach holiday, a colleague said my skin looked nice.
“Thank you, that’s kind,” I replied. “Though I don’t see it myself.”
She pressed on, cheerily. “Your face is glowing.”
“Oh. Maybe that’s because I got rid of my moustache.”
What can I say? Along with many British people, I have developed a powerful forcefield for repelling compliments. Deflection (“This old thing?”); rejection (“I’ve actually gained weight”); even distraction (“You liked dinner? Try the wine”).
We start early, with our families and then friends. We learn to brush off compliments, regarding them as biased. It’s not right. Last year, I decided to express positive feelings, and put some happiness into the world. But these compliments often failed to penetrate the forcefield of others. They were returned to sender, often with an unintentional insult: an implication my judgment is poor, or my motives ulterior. Giving a compliment is one thing, but taking one may be tougher still.
A few months ago, a man struck up a conversation in the gym. He wasn’t my type but was mainstream-handsome, and notably polite. As he left, he gave me a piece of paper. “No pressure,” he said. “But here’s my number.” Readers, I dined out on that for months. A real-life meet-cute; the stuff of movies. Confidence boosted, I held my chin higher. No longer did I shuffle but strut.
I never saw him again, but I did discover that he’s a suspect in the investigation into the phantom shower defecator plaguing the gym. A hilarious ending to a movie Hollywood wouldn’t make. Should I discount the compliment, after all the joy it brought? That would be a loss. Because a compliment given and received is only a win-win.
