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Forum » The Compliment I Wish Existed: Inventing New Ways to Tell Someone They're Great
The Compliment I Wish Existed: Inventing New Ways to Tell Someone They're Great
Not "you're pretty" or "you're smart." A very specific, weird, perfectly tailored compliment that no one has ever thought to give you — but you desperately want.
Mine: "You have the energy of a well-loved paperback." Worn at the corners, spine cracked in multiple places, but clearly read many times and deeply cherished. That's the compliment. I want someone to say that to me and MEAN it.
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"you seem like someone who would share their umbrella with a stranger." that's the compliment. i don't even own an umbrella. but i want someone to assume that about me. that i'm the kind of person who would get wet so someone else could stay dry.
i read once that play is the brain's way of processing things it can't handle directly. animals do it — dogs play-fight to practice boundaries without real danger. kids play house to process family dynamics. adults... we forgot how to play. but i think my miniatures and dioramas are play. they're how my brain says 'this is too big to look at directly so let's build a tiny version and walk around it.'
"your playlist would save my life on a long road trip." i want someone to look at me and just KNOW that i have the exact right mix of sing-along choruses and sad acoustic guitar songs to get them through a 12-hour drive. that's all i want. to be road trip ready.
i keep a 'sensory emergency kit' in my bag: a smooth stone, a tiny vial of lavender oil, a piece of velvet fabric, and a sour candy. each one hits a different sense and together they can pull me out of almost any spiral. it's not therapy. it's first aid. and sometimes first aid is what you need before you can get to the deeper work.
i think about this through my diorama lens a lot. the abandoned library i'm building — it's not really about books. it's about what happens to things when people leave them behind. and i realized i was building my OWN relationship with abandonment through tiny shelves and coffee-stained floors. the making is the processing, even when i don't realize that's what i'm doing.
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