Greek mythology

Do You Like to Have the Last Word? The Story of Echo

By Marcy Kennedy (@MarcyKennedy)

Do you always have to have the last word in an argument? Do you know someone who does?

Echo, a mountain nymph in Greek mythology, had to have the last word in everything, and it was her undoing.

Echo was beautiful with a musical voice. People enjoyed hearing her talk. Eventually, this went to her head, and Echo took too much pleasure in having the last word in both arguments and normal conversations.

Greek mythology has two separate stories about how Echo’s unique ability to dominate a conversation became a curse that destroyed her.

In one story, Echo was a pawn, and in the other, she was a hero.

In the first version, Zeus, ruler of Mount Olympus, hired her to distract his wife while he engaged in one of his numerous affairs. Zeus’ wife Hera figured out what Echo was doing and punished her.

In the alternate version, Echo learned that Hera sought to wreak vengeance on the nymphs for the infidelities she believed Zeus had committed with many of them. Echo used her speech to distract Hera until the other nymphs escaped.

Both versions led to the same consequence.

“Because you’ve cheated me,” Hera said, “you forfeit the use of your tongue except to reply. You’ll keep your power to speak the last word, but will never know the relief of speaking the first.”

Hera doomed Echo to repeat forever the last words spoken to her.

Echo felt the sting of this especially when she met and fell in love with Narcissus.

When Narcissus exclaimed in disgust, “I should rather die than let you have me,” all Echo could reply with was a pitiful plea of “Have me.”

After Narcissus broke her heart, Echo wasted away until nothing remained of her but her voice, which continued to haunt caves and mountain cliffs.

The Greeks believed when they called out and heard a reply, it was Echo speaking to them. (Hence the origin of the word echo in our language for when sound reflects back to us.)

Whether Echo had a good reason for it or not, needing to always have the last word doomed her to a sad life. It may not destroy our lives, but it can certainly punch some holes in our relationships. And if we’re not the person who always needs to have the last word but we know someone who does, it’s important to know how to deal with it.

I’m a person who always needs to have the last word. If you’re like me, here’s what I’ve found helps.

Look back at when it started.

I’m very different from a person I was close to growing up. I’m a quiet introvert. He’s a charismatic extrovert. I have a dry, tongue-in-cheek sense of humor. He has a sarcastic, have-the-room-in-stitches-and-hanging-off-his-every-word sense of humor. I’m like the china cup, and he’s like the bull.

When we’d argue, he won by strength of personality alone. He’d talk over me and mock every logical argument I made. I never felt like I won a single disagreement.

As an adult, this translated into me wanting to have the last word in every argument because, subconsciously, I felt like that meant I was heard and respected.

The first step for me toward letting other people sometimes have the last word was recognizing that not everyone was like what I’d experienced. Other people would listen to me and respect my different opinion even if I didn’t have the last word.

Ask yourself, “What am I afraid of?”

As crazy as this might sound at first, I figured out one of the reasons I seek to have the last word is a control issue. I was afraid that if I didn’t have the last word, I was giving up all control of the situation, and that meant all the horrible possibilities I’d imagined were going to come true. Flawed logic, I know.

But if you find you need to control an argument or win an argument, ask yourself what you’re afraid will happen if you lose the argument. Express that to the person you’re arguing with.

If you’re not someone who needs the last word, but you need to deal with someone who is, here are my tips from the other side.

Realize that they probably just want to know that you hear them and respect their opinion. They want to know that you’ll consider their side rather than just walking all over them because you think you know better.

Pick a time when you’re not fighting to talk to them about it. They might not even know they always try to have the last word.

Accept that having the last word doesn’t really mean anything. They didn’t win the argument simply because they had the last word, so don’t let it get under your skin. Be the bigger person.

Give them the last word gracefully. Sometimes you’re going to get tired of arguing. The quickest way to appease a “last worder” is to ask something like “Is there anything else you want to add?”

Don’t assume that someone needs to have the last word just because they win most of the arguments/finish most arguments. Sometimes I’m not actually trying to get in the last word. Sometimes I just see a flaw in the argument just made and want to address it. Having the last word and needing to have the last word are not the same thing. Don’t be too quick to judge someone.

Do you feel the need to always have the last word in an argument? Do you know someone else who does? How do you handle it?

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Do You Love Yourself Too Much? The Story of Narcissus

Greek mythology NarcissusBy Marcy Kennedy (@MarcyKennedy)

Maybe we need to focus less on loving ourselves and more on loving others.

In Greek mythology, Narcissus was the son of a river god and a nymph. When Narcissus was young, a blind soothsayer prophesied Narcissus “would live to an old age if he did not look at himself.”

The soothsayer based his prediction on Narcissus’ beauty. All the women he met, human and nymph, fell in love with him. And he rejected them all, feeling he was better than any who sought him.

After his pride and cruel treatment broke the heart of the nymph Echo, Nemesis (the goddess of revenge) tricked him into looking down at a pool of water. Narcissus fell hopelessly in love with his reflection.

In one version, Narcissus fell into the water and drowned while trying to embrace his reflection. In another, he couldn’t bear to leave his reflection and finally starved to death.

Pride and excessive self-love killed him.

Narcissus’ story gives us the name for narcissistic personality disorder. A narcissist is preoccupied with himself and has a sense of self-importance that’s out of kilter with reality. You can see why psychologists chose Narcissus to give the disorder its name.

While most of us aren’t narcissists, we can still fall into the trap of being too absorbed with ourselves and too enamored with our own strengths.

And the longer we look only at ourselves, the more in love we fall with our own virtues. The more in love we fall with our own virtues, the easier it is to look down on other people and get angry when someone suggests we might have room to improve.

Amber West talked about this phenomenon in her thoughtful post on Confidence versus Doubt: Becoming a Better You. “People don’t try to be better,” she wrote, “they just become self-involved. Why look externally if what’s internal is so amazing?” She concluded that it’s not enough to “just be you.” We all need to work toward being “the best you.”

In many ways, our society now values self-esteem over self-improvement. We don’t want anyone to feel like they’re imperfect, as if the knowledge of imperfection will destroy us.

But the opposite is true. When we start focusing on how great we already are, when we’re afraid of offending anyone by telling them they need to change, we stop growing.

I believe in the value of accepting ourselves for who we are and finding people who love us for who we are. I was born with a personality that won’t change, and I developed likes and dislikes that are at the core of my personality and make me happy. I’m learning to be comfortable in my own skin. But I also have weaknesses and faults and bad traits I need to fix. I’m far from perfect, and I will never be perfect. If I start to think I’m perfect, that I have all the answers, I risk becoming mean, critical, and self-righteous.

Recently, I was on the receiving end of a “perfect” person’s well-meaning opinions. I tried to shrug it off, but the comments still stung days later. It reminded me how much I don’t want to be that person, and I started thinking about what I could do to protect myself, and by extension, protect everyone around me from me.

When I look at someone else, instead of looking at the areas where they’ve failed or picking on them to make myself feel better (writers are particularly at risk for criticizing successful authors), I’m going to look at what I can learn from them. I’m going to look for their strengths.

Instead of focusing on myself, I’m going to figure out ways I can make someone else’s life a little better.

And when I’m tempted to look at someone else and judge them, I’m going to remember that everything looks easier from the outside.

“Self-absorption in all its forms kills empathy, let alone compassion. When we focus on ourselves, our world contracts as our problems and preoccupations loom large. But when we focus on others, our world expands. Our own problems drift to the periphery of the mind and so seem smaller, and we increase our capacity for connection—or compassionate action.” ― Daniel Goleman, Social Intelligence: The New Science of Human Relationships

Do you think our society is becoming too focused on self-esteem and not focused enough on improving ourselves? How can we walk the balance between liking ourselves without becoming too proud?

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Would You Change Anything About Your Past?

Apollo and DaphneSometimes I wish I had the power to turn people to stone.

Or into a tree like Daphne, when she was pursued by Apollo.

The great warrior Apollo mocked Eros (the Greek god of love) for handling a bow and arrows. “What have you to do with warlike weapons, boy?” Apollo asked. “Leave them for hands worthy of them.”

Angered, Eros drew two arrows—one of gold that would make the victim fall in love with the next person they saw, and one of lead that would instead inspire hatred. Eros shot Apollo with the golden arrow and the beautiful nymph Daphne with the lead arrow.

Apollo fell madly in love with Daphne, and she fled from him in fear and disgust. Apollo chased her.

But more than just her hatred of Apollo spurred Daphne to run as fast as she could. Throughout her life, Daphne chose to explore the woods over giving in to the advances of the many men who wanted her. She longed to guard her virginity and stay unmarried like Apollo’s sister had.

She stood to lose everything if Apollo caught her. And he was gaining on her.

Daphne called out to her father for help, and he turned her into a bay laurel tree. Her skin changed to bark and her hair into leaves, and her arms sprouted out into branches.

Daphne was safe from Apollo and from all the other potential lovers who might have stolen her virginity against her will.

That’s the power I wish I had. To turn people into something else so I could protect them from hurt and from harm.

Lately people all around me seem to be hurting. They’ve lost their job or can’t get the job they’ve always wanted. Their children are sick, or their marriages are ending. My grandparents are struggling to adjust to losing their independence and having to leave their home. My former neighbor’s son died in a head-on collision a week before his wedding.

It’s difficult to see so many people in pain.

And yet, I wonder. If I could protect them all from anything that would harm them, would that actually be for the best?

Daphne was safe, but she was also stuck as a tree forever. She couldn’t explore the woods anymore or take part in the woodland sports she loved. She couldn’t grow as a person. She couldn’t change her mind about what she wanted from her life.

Was safety worth what she lost to gain it?

What if the trials and the pain are what turns us into the people we’re supposed to be and gets us to the place we need to be?

Blogger and fantasy writer Tameri Etherton recently wrote a beautiful post about how her failed marriage in England and the guy in a band who broke her heart and stole her sunglasses taught her to love unconditionally and made her able to appreciate her now-husband when he finally came along. She ended the post by saying, “Sometimes people ask if I’d like to go back and change anything in my life. I would be afraid to do that. If I changed one thing, then maybe I wouldn’t be where I am right now.”

I’d be afraid too. When I look back on my life and my husband’s life, I can see how each disaster actually brought us one step closer together and made us better people.

I’m more resilient and more hopeful than I was. I’m more merciful. I think I’m also more patient and determined. And I’m doing what I love for a living.

When I look at the challenges we’re still facing and the challenges people we care about are facing, I can’t help but think one day we’ll look back on them, too, and be unwilling to change a thing because of the place they brought us to.

Do you think we get something from enduring trials that we couldn’t get from a perfect life? Would you do back in time and change anything if you could?

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Icarus and My Fear of the Sun

I have an unusual fear, one I don’t normally talk about. I’m terrified of ending up like Icarus.

Icarus’ story is one most of us have heard. Icarus and his father, Daedalus, were imprisoned in a tower by King Minos so that Daedalus couldn’t share information with the public about the Labyrinth he’d built for Minos. Because Minos guarded both land and sea routes, chances of escape seemed slim.

But Daedalus was a talented inventor. To escape, he created wings from feathers and wax for himself and Icarus. He told Icarus not to fly too high, or the sun would melt the wax holding his wings together, and not to fly too low, because the spray from the sea would saturate the feathers and drag him down.

Partway home, Icarus, drunk on the joy of flying and freedom, forgot his father’s warning and soared too high. The scorching sun melted the wax, he lost all his feathers, and he plunged into the sea below. In the end, he drowned.

Like most people, I’m afraid of failure, of getting my feathers wet because I couldn’t figure out how to fly high enough, and simply sinking away into the sea. Forgotten.

But I’m more afraid of success.

It’s why I don’t know how to take a compliment. The first time my flute teacher told me my low notes sounded full and rich, I can remember not wanting to play any more low notes in front of her. What if that success was a fluke and I couldn’t replicate it? It sounds silly, but it’s true.

Every time I succeed, or receive a compliment, like Icarus I want to fly higher, do better next time. I want the joy in that moment to last forever. But I also I don’t want to disappoint anyone who had great hopes for me. I want to live up to all their good opinions and show them their faith in me was justified. Each success takes me higher and means I have farther to drop should I fall.

And with each success comes the fear that I’ve finally gone too high and reached a level I’m not able to maintain. I’ll scorch my feathers in the sun and free fall, disappointing everyone who glued a feather onto my wings.

I think, though, that I might have finally figured out the secret to staying in the air, even if I start to fall. Icarus and his father were alone on their flight, so his father couldn’t warn him in time and, when Icarus fell, his father wasn’t able to save him. One set of wings wasn’t enough to hold up two people.

But two or three sets of wings might have been able to support the additional weight. If we surround ourselves by a loyal group of friends rather than going it alone or only flying with one, we’ll have people who can catch us before it’s too late. We’ll also have extra sets of eyes to warn us if we start to fly too high and take on more than we’re capable of handling. Together, we’ll all be able to reach our goals.

Are you more afraid of success or of failure? Who do you look to when you’re afraid you’re about to fall?

**I owe a huge thank you to my friend and fellow fantasy writer Jessica O’Neal. I originally wrote this post for her, and it appeared on her site earlier this year.  Because my grandparents were in a car accident this past weekend, I asked if she’d allow me to re-post it here today. Prayers appreciated for a speedy recovery and smooth transition as we have to move them closer to the rest of the family so we can care for them.**

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Are You Struggling to Control Your Inner Centaur?

Centaur statue - Greek mythologyI’m afraid I might be part centaur. And it’s not something I’m proud of.

Centaurs in the ancient Greek world were nothing like the stargazers on the grounds of Harry Potter’s Hogwarts or the wise, noble creatures in Narnia.

The most common origin legend says centaurs are descended from King Ixion of the Lapiths and a cloud. After murdering his father-in-law, Ixion went mad, and Zeus invited him to Olympus out of pity. In repayment for Zeus’ kindness, Ixion lusted after Zeus’ wife Hera. Zeus found out about it and created a cloud version of Hera, which Ixion coupled with. The cloud Hera gave birth to Centauros, and Centauros mated with mares, creating centaurs.

With a grandfather like Ixion, it’s no wonder centaurs ended up with little self-control.

They’re one of the baser creatures of Greek mythology. Stories abound of them kidnapping and raping women, getting drunk, fighting, and tramping crops. Some even say they ate raw flesh. Passions ruled. In battle, they wielded rocks and tree branches against their enemies, and Zeus would use them to punish humans who angered him.

Centaurs could be wise and good, as Chiron proved by serving as a tutor to Greek heroes like Jason and Achilles. But he’s known because he’s the exception. When placed next to the other centaurs, he only makes their lack of self-control uglier, sadder.

The centaurs’ dual nature, both man and horse, capable of good but choosing to be selfish, came to represent the struggle in each of us between what we know is right and our carnal desires for gluttony, lust, and violence.

Lately, I’ve been letting my cravings get the best of me too.

Since February of this year, I’ve been trying to lose weight. Somewhere between my honeymoon in 2010 and finally getting out of a very stressful job situation this year, I managed to gain 25 pounds. When you’re 5’2”, putting on that much weight means your back starts to ache and none of your clothes fit anymore.

I know what I need to do to lose the weight. But too often, when faced with the chocolate or cheesecake or Chinese food I want, I give in. Because I want it. I don’t have an excuse.

My lack of self-control is all the more ugly and sad because of all the other places in life where I’ve proven I have the self-control to make the right choice even when I want to make the wrong one. I get up every morning to work out for at least an hour. I set aside leisure activities when I have a deadline. I once had so much self-control that I dropped my weight well below what was healthy.

I can do it. It’s a matter of will. But some days I worry I don’t have enough willpower left.

I don’t want to be a centaur, so I’m fighting—a pound of carrot sticks and half a pound of weight at a time.

Sometimes I think that’s the best we can do, at least at first. When we feel like the centaur inside is winning, throwing rocks and trees at us that are too big to handle, we just have to keep dipping and dodging and ducking and diving and, as long as we don’t give up, we’ll find the self-control we need to defeat it.

What brings out the centaur in you? (Any tips for losing weight in a healthy way are also welcome!)

For those of you who are also trying to eat healthier and lose weight, make sure you check out Ginger Calem’s Writer’s Butt Wednesdays and August McLaughlin’s posts about balanced living.

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Icarus and My Fear of the Sun

I have an unusual fear, one I don’t normally talk about. I’m terrified of ending up like Icarus.

Join me today at Jessica O’Neal’s Sexy Little Nerd blog for my guest post about Icarus and my fear of the sun. And while you’re there, be sure to read some of Jessica’s other posts. Her blog is nerd paradise and one of my favorites 🙂

My Life As A Three-Headed Chimera

Chimera Marcy Kennedy fantasy authorThe Khimaira (Chimera) who snorted raging fire, a beast great and terrible, and strong and swift-footed. Her heads were three: one was that of a glare-eyed lion, one of a goat, and the third of a snake, a powerful drakon ~ Hesiod, Theogony, 319ff (trans. Evelyn White).

For years, I lived life as a chimera with multiple heads, never sure which one I needed to survive. You won’t see them in any pictures, but they were there.

In The Iliad, the earliest written mention of the chimera, Homer describes her as a fire-breathing animal with a front like a lion, a midsection like a black goat, and hindquarters with a tale like a dragon or serpent. Each head grew out of the matching part to create a grotesque animal with no real front or back. 

But what made the chimera so despised wasn’t only the way she terrorized the people of Lycia by scorching their fields and ravaging their herds. What made the chimera so despised was how she wasn’t a lion, or a goat, or a serpent.

What goat has scales like a snake? What lion has cloven hooves like a goat? What snake has a mane like a lion?

In trying to be all three, she failed to be any of them. She became nothing but a monster. Belonging nowhere.

Eventually, Greek hero Bellerophon rode Pegasus to find her and killed her with a block of lead. He shoved it down her throat, and her fiery breath melted it so the metal suffocated her.  

In the medieval era, the term chimera was generalized to mean any creature made up of the body parts of various animals. By the time of Dante’s Inferno, chimerical creatures came to embody deception and hypocrisy.

And, much later, me.

Despite having a happy childhood overall, some of the memories I can’t seem to shake aren’t good ones. Like how, at ten, a mutual friend told me that my cousins, who I thought were my friends and who I had frequent sleepovers with, couldn’t stand me. Like how once we hit high school, another cousin refused to admit we were related. I couldn’t figure out what I’d done wrong.

I so wanted to be loved and accepted that I started to change my personality to fit whoever I was with. You like hockey? Me too! You find math hard? Me too! Didn’t matter if it was true or not.

I kept at it all through high school and into university, and I was suffocating.

I’d sit with my university roommate, wondering why the latest guy had chosen some other girl over me. Hadn’t I proven how much we had in common? Why couldn’t I find someone who liked me for me? I think they could tell I had as many heads as a chimera, and they weren’t any surer of which one was real than I was.

I’d spent so much of my time trying to make everyone like me that I’d never stopped to figure out if I liked playing an instrument or if I only played because all my closest friends in high school were band geeks. Did I really enjoy competing in horse shows or was I still showing because a lot of my friends growing up were horse crazy?

A funny thing happens when you start to ask yourself whether you really like the things you’ve always thought you liked. You find out that, in a lot of cases, the answer is no.

By the time I met my husband, I wasn’t afraid to admit I loved science fiction and fantasy and hated sports. All of them. I wasn’t afraid to tell him I was great at math (even though he wasn’t and hated it).

I didn’t have to try to be everything anymore, and by just being me, I finally found a man who loved me for what I was, not for what I was trying to be.

It’s still a challenge, but now I focus on connecting with people on what we truly have in common. I’ve come to value fewer authentic relationships over more relationships built on smoke and chimeras. And I’m happier for it.

What have you done in the past to try to fit in? How did you finally figure out what was really you and what wasn’t?

If you enjoyed this post, you might also like Who’s Your Unicorn?

 

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