Two of my women friends coughed up a t’riffic expression this morning.
Like a lot of people, they both said, our picker’s broken. We pick the wrong people with whom to couple.
A broken picker. Who can’t relate to that?
For anyone beyond the age of first infatuation, the realization that we have chosen and continue to choose the wrong people is valuable. Being sufficiently self-aware to the point that we can face our limitations head-on is a place of strength, a springboard from which we can realistically improve.
But: A broken picker might not actually be a broken picker. Because so much of our picking ability is developed early as a result of parental and family modeling, to blame ourselves for poor construction is unfair. What’s really happened is that the relevent parts of our picker were incorrectly assembled, or assembled with some key pieces absent, mis-labeled parts, inappropriate parts, or perhaps all the pieces are still in the box. That was a parental failing.
My point is that a malfunctioning picker reflects only upon those who should have built the darn thing in the first place. However, now we’re adults and recognize our own spluttering choices, we can return to the original parts box to find what’s missing.
Constructing a picker isn’t tricky, but it does require searing honesty and some tools. (Some of which are supplied here.)