The Problem with Trying to Please People is …

That the ones we are trying to please aren’t worth it. The worthy ones don’t need to be impressed. They like us anyway.


So I spent nine days attending a tennis tournament daily. Our local tourney is played at the top-notch country club in the whole province and is quite possibly one of the best in the country. It is located in the area where the millionaires live. For example, everyone knows that the guy that owns the biggest chain of supermarkets and car dealerships—among other things—lives right there. Hollywood stars like Oprah have been known to own properties in that neighbourhood, too.

Not surprisingly, then, many tourney’s attendees lived in the neighbourhood. They were not dressed scandalously. In fact, if you see them at the mall, you would never think they make more than $40K a year, since wearing designer’s clothes and looking like a million bucks isn’t a priority for them. They’re worth at least a million, so why would they want to look it?

With my dry sense of humour, I was able to meet many of these folks, totally ignoring who they were, until it was casually mentioned later on the conversation that, say, they would go home for dinner—just up the street—and come back for the evening session.

One of my best buddies I met when I arrived early to a match, and the only other fan was her. “Oh, we have a crowd of two,” I said. She smiled.

“Are you cheering for the German guy?” I asked and she nodded. “I am cheering for the Latino. So, obviously the crowd is divided. Do you want to try a wave?”

I went on to sit with her for a few days. I found out that she’s been a club member for many years and that she is a tennis champ in her age category. She never once flaunted her financial superiority, only telling me that she goes to Wimbledon and other tournaments regularly because I asked.

I also observed other people, and talked to many others. Being the friendly Latina that I am, I usually start conversations even when I promise I will leave my neighbours alone.

So, I figured out a pattern. The pompous ones that wore designer clothes, expensive purses, and high heels were anything but club members, knew little about tennis, were stuck up and unfriendly, and seemed to be out of their league. In short, they weren’t rich people, they were puffed up wannabes.

In real life—as in not in a tennis tournament—the wannabes are the ones who make me feel inadequate, inferior, out of place, ugly, and underdressed. They’re the ones I feel I have to impress or compete with or please.

Of course, even though the topic here is affluence, the situation translates to all areas of life. The ones that try really hard to look smart aren’t the real thing either.

But my point isn’t to criticize those poor souls that feel so inferior that need to pretend to be something they’re not. My point is that I shouldn’t allow them to fool me. If anything, I probably should have compassion on them.

My sister for instance, likes to urge me to wear designer clothes and buy only leather shoes. The last time I said, “Why on earth would I want to wear designer clothes?”

I know that she has a million inadequacies and that she’s always trying to make herself superior to me and others. But I also need to remember that the real people, in any arena, aren’t necessarily the ones that look the part.

I want others accept me as I am, not for my appearance, and should afford others the same privilege. Furthermore, I shouldn’t be out there trying to impress anyone, because good, down-to-earth people will or will not be impressed by the real me, not what I appear to be.

The best way to go, I think, is to be who I am and let others like me—or not—based on what they experience or feel about me, not based on self-promotion (or demotion) or my hairdo, my purse, or my shoes.

This past week I was judged over my friendliness, and I seem to have done very well. I’m pretty sure some thought I was obnoxious and loud, which doesn’t mean I am obnoxious, it means they’re judgmental, intolerant, and possibly racist.