Despite a lifetime of effort, years of trying to be nice to everyone, there are still those who might, in fact, call me villain. I first realized that “nice” wouldn’t save me in 1997. We were on tour, all bundled up together, across the country. I liked this boy. And also hated him. He was surly and aggressive. And the nicer I was to him, the less he liked me, the more aggressive he became. I tried all my old tricks on him but none of them worked. He liked me best when I didn’t take his shit but dealt it right back. And I was baffled.
It wasn’t until later in my life, when I quit trying so hard to be innocuous and began to focus on being true that I really began to make enemies. I’ve left lots of broken relationships in my wake – people who would not friend me on Facebook or say hello, if they ran into me on a train. I don’t know if they’d call me a villain. In fact, I wonder which of these would.