How Are You Doing?
Don't tell them you're doing fine
Hello my friend! I hope you are doing well today and had a good weekend.
Right now, you’re either thinking:
I’m fine Mack, I had a great weekend.
No, my weekend was shitty Mack.
Which one will you use when asked that question again later today? Maybe this week’s short story will help.
Let’s go back to 1973…
Last night I went to sleep in Detroit City
I dreamed about them cotton fields of home
I dreamed about my mother, dear old pappy, sister and brother
And I dreamed about the girl who’s been waitin’ for so longI want to go home
I want to go home
Oh, how I want to go homeHome folks think I’m big in Detroit City
From the letters that I write they think I’m just fine, yes they do
But by day I make the cars and by night I make the bars
If only they could read between the linesI want to go home
I want to go home
Oh, how I want to go homeDetroit City. Bobby Bare. 1963
It’s a Sunday afternoon in June 1973. Nine-year-old me is headed off to my first week-long overnight camp at Rolling J Ranch in the Southern California mountains. The three-hour trip is exciting, except for the part where my best friend, Brian Griset, gets motion sick and throws up on the bus.
This is Brian and me a couple of years after Rolling J
When we arrive, our counselor tells us to write a letter home letting our parents know we made it, and then we rush off to our cabins. I would repeat this experience 10 years later upon arrival at Navy boot camp. It’s exciting to be away from home with my friends. I’m looking forward to the week ahead.
Until I’m not.
It takes about three hours to realize I am dreadfully homesick. And I still have six days to go. I remember choking back tears, not wanting any of my friends to see. They seem to be having the time of their lives. But in my head, a song plays. I’ve heard it on KLAC, the country station my dad listens to. It’s by a singer named Bobby Bare, Detroit City, and this line in the chorus loops over and over:
I want to go home. I want to go home.
Oh, how I want to go home.
The song tells the story of a young man from the South who heads north looking for work. He ends up in Detroit on an automotive assembly line. He talks about how homesick he is but realizes everyone back home thinks he’s successful. Maybe it’s pride, but he never tells them how miserable he is. He builds a façade that fools everyone but him. Eventually, he swallows that pride and heads back home.
I survive my week at Rolling J, but it sticks with me. When I get home, my parents ask if I had fun. I tell everyone I had a great time. But I’m lying. It was miserable. I don’t go to another week-long camp again until seventh grade.
Think about the last time someone asked, “How are you doing?” I’d be willing to bet you said, “I’m fine.”
But were you?
Are you?
Most of us wear a façade. There’s nothing wrong with that, as long as you’re willing to open up when someone you trust asks how you’re really doing.
I’ve recently finished relaunching my book The Art of Ambiguity. Reflecting on life in 2020, with the dreadful pandemic and comparing it to now, I’m not sure many of us came through the past six years better for it. I think we’re all carrying a few permanent scars. And I’m afraid a lot of people are suffering in silence. Yet, when you ask how they’re doing, you get the automatic “I’m fine.”
So this week, I have two suggestions:
When someone you love and trust asks how you’re doing, tell them the truth. If you need help, a listening ear, or encouragement, say it.
When you ask someone how they’re doing, don’t just brush off the answer. If they need help, a listening ear, or encouragement, give it.
Don’t suffer in silence. Be open to helping—and being helped.
Have an AWEsome week,
