I’m as susceptible to positive reinforcement as any other wacky man. Compliments on what I do embolden my strength. Flattery makes me suspicious.
I genuinely hate when people I’ve never touched tell others about how good I am; I can’t care if it’s from a marketing vantage. Near the end of my time in school a few instructors talked about how good I was. I wouldn’t feel so indignant if it was: “I think he’ll do very well in this field: he has an aptitude for doing his best.” I reluctantly accept the school’s night Receptionist saying that I must be good, because she interacts with the clients after the session and before they’d leave the school. On more than one occasion she’d tell me: “(The client) looks really satisfied/totally different (in a good way).”
Sad stories like this take away my enigmatic jacket; I’ll be wearing a technicolor dreamcoat with more emotional giveaways like this.
