I’m simmering underneath this facade
Of polite, hopeful citizen
I’ve got rage on a low boil
I’m hungry for equality
And an end to the bloodshed
I need to stop stewing
Time to eat or get off the pot
I’m simmering underneath this facade
Of polite, hopeful citizen
I’ve got rage on a low boil
I’m hungry for equality
And an end to the bloodshed
I need to stop stewing
Time to eat or get off the pot
“I prefer to stand,” she said through teeth gritted with barely-contained hostility.
A young man had offered her his seat.
She had just entered middle age.
#shortstory #threesentencestory
She can’t decide
She can’t hear
There’s a cacophony
In her inner ear
What to think
What to do
Which way to be
Which her, or who?
Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Post: cacophony (and Dr. Seuss)
In certain recovery circles, there are different slogan versions of the same general theme: “Let it go.” “Turn it over.” “Let go and let God.”
These are usually said in reference of some condition, person, place or thing that is a source of stress, resentment, anger or some other emotion that is potentially dangerous for the person’s serenity/sanity/sobriety.
I’ve had people listen to my tale of woe, and offer as help something like: “Just let it go.”
I always found this very frustrating.
I mean, OK, sure, yeah, I’d love to “let it go!” Who wants to be obsessed with something? Who doesn’t want to release some shit that has a hold on them. I am all for letting it go! But how in the hell do you do that really?
I mean, I can’t just will it away. Been there, tried that. Doesn’t work.
Pray it away? Nope. That has never worked for me. Works for you – have at it. Good for you. Not my thing.
Best thing I ever heard around all of this, something that really helped me understand how this releasing, this turning it over thing really works (at least for me,) was this.
Someone wise once said to me: in order to let it go, just try to loosen my grip around that particular complaint, problem, issue, person, or thing.
To just see if I could release my grip just a bit…
And you know what? That I could do.
I could just try to loosen my hold on it a bit.
And no, the issue did not just disappear as a result. But sure enough, that loosening allowed something to move a bit, and that, it turns out, became the beginning of a shift.
That little release made space for something else to enter into the picture…
What a difference! I was no longer frustrated whenever I had that suggested to me, because now I knew that they key, the starting place, was to just loosen my grip a bit.
It is urban legend that Quincy Jones apparently said to Micheal Jackson, “If a song needs strings, it will tell you. Get out of the way and leave room so that God can walk in.” He later rephrased this to, “You’ve got to leave space for God to walk through the room.”
I am not religious nor do I use the word God to indicate what I believe in spiritually, but I do love and have come to understand this phenomenon experientially in my life: this consciously leaving some space in a situation for something greater than myself to come through with some help, or some magic, or some beauty. At the every least, some new information! I have experienced it a multitude of times.
So now I have my own version of those slogans:
Let it go?! I don’t know. Leave some space? I say yes!
I dream, I daren’t
I fall into despair
Succumb to the weight
Of a thousand “No’s”
I dream, I don’t
I sink into the known
Sign the agreement
Of “Not for me”
I wake, I rise
I say “No thanks”
Rise and move ahead
Towards my dream
I wonder if there has ever been a successful fraud. I guess we’d never know, because if it is known, it was found out.
I mean, I know some scammers get away with identity theft – the internet has made it all too possible to succeed at that kind of fraud.
But the bigger, individual, public frauds. The kind that fools a nation.
It amazes me that people always think that somehow they will be the one person in history to get away with whatever it is. Despite the plethora of evidence to the contrary – people continually being caught – they decide to do it anyway.
It’s like there’s some blank spot in these people. They are not going to be found out.
Perhaps it is pure hubris.
All I know is that I have too healthy a dose of the reality of consequences to go that route. Or maybe I just don’t feel that lucky.
That’s not to say I am not a fraud.
I am fraudulent in presenting myself as if I know what I am doing on a daily basis. I appear to be a fairly sane, fairly successful, fairly confident person.
Not at all how I feel on the inside most of the time.
So in the spirit of coming clean, to not go down that path that always leads to the revelation of the lie, I hereby admit that I feel like I have no idea what am doing much of the time, feel pretty crazy often and am terrified on a daily basis and usually insecure.
There, now you know.
Most of my life, I have dreaded small talk.
I’ve often felt very judgmental towards it, seeing it as superficial and not understanding why people would want to engage in it.
I usually felt very anxious around it. I’d often feel lonely and empty-feeling during and afterwards. A bit lost.
I believe some of this has to do with my being a heavily-introverted person. Introverts, as it has become widely known as of late, often do not enjoy small talk.
But why this is true for many of us is largely misunderstood.
Here’s an excerpt from a well-written article by Lecia Bushak: Why Introverts Hate Small Talk: The Myths And Misconceptions About Our Quieter Companions.
Introverts Are Exhausted By Small Talk. People who are introverted tend to prefer “heavier” conversations pertaining to philosophy and ideas, rather than small talk. Indeed, introverts can get easily intimidated, bored, or exhausted by small talk. They would much rather be “real” with someone and talk about more weighty things.
For years, I thought I was shy. I was told I was shy as a child, and the way in which it was said/used signaled to me that being shy was not a good thing to be. I grew up hating that about me, even though I wasn’t even really sure what it actually referred to about me.
In my confusion, I put together the theory that I was “shy” meant that I was quiet + I was thoughtful and that these things = that I was defective in some way.
To this day, I bristle when people use the word shy in reference to their children as in: “Don’t be shy, say hello,” and “She/he is shy.” In the former example, the “shy” is usually said with an inherently negative-messenging tone directly to the child. In the latter, it is whispered about the child, usually in their presence, as if it is something to be ashamed of, or apologized for. Why do we do this to our children — label them with such far-reaching labels? (Don’t even get me started on that word!!!)
There is a difference between introversion and shyness. Being shy is about social anxiety. An introvert may not have social anxiety. They may just really not need or enjoy being in groups to socialize. As Bushak says in her article:
Introverts tend to turn inward when solving problems or observing the world around them. They process stimuli better internally, rather than reaching out and socializing with others. Where extroverts become energized from social interactions, introverts regain energy through alone time. After going to a party or spending time forcing themselves to network, introverts often feel drained from the stimulation and must go home to recharge.
They’re more likely, in general, to want to stay home with a good book and a cup of tea, rather than go out and experience the night through partying, loud music, and meeting new people. But just because they gain energy from being alone doesn’t mean they’re shy or socially anxious. Social anxiety and introversion are two different things. “The number-one misconception about introversion is that it’s about shyness,” Dembling told The Huffington Post. “The best distinction I’ve heard comes from a neuroscientist who studies shyness. He said, ‘Shyness is a behavior — it’s being fearful in a social situation. Whereas introversion is a motivation. It’s how much you want and need to be in those interactions.’”
I sometimes do experience shyness and social anxiety. There are parts of me that are very young and are not adept at socializing and so become very anxious around it. It makes total sense to me. When that happens, I tell them to go play and let me take charge of the situation. I take care of those parts because they need taking care of in those situations. That does not make me a shy or anxious person. That means I am a person experiencing shyness or anxiety.
Conversely, there are parts of me (both young and adult parts) who are totally adept at small talk, joke and story-telling and being gregarious, parts who love making people laugh and think.
I tend to be an introvert, so yes, I tend to prefer one-on-one conversation and that it be deep rather than chat about nothing at a party. I do feel drained after social events. I do need to refill my well with alone time.
And I like to meet new people, and if I am in the mood, I am a great listener and converser. If I am in the mood, I love parties. At one time in my life, I was even considered to be a “party animal.” That did not mean I was out-going.
Once I began to really see what was underneath the “shy” label that so affected my early self-perception, I began to explore my introversion and extroversion tendencies and find compassion and appreciation for both. None of them define me as a person. They are simply colors within me.
I no longer judge all small talk as superficial or something that is for people who are afraid to go deeper. Today, I am able to appreciate that sometimes “pleasantries” are a useful bridge or transition in social situations, and have a time and a place as well as the deeper, meatier conversations I prefer.
I do not want to have meaningless conversations that avoid intimacy or risk, certainly. But there are times when there is something in-between. Hence, the phrase “small talk.”
I used to read that to mean “nothing” or “inferior” talk.
Now I get that it can simply be a “brief amount”, an “easy amount”, an amount that does not weigh or cost much.
It’s actually quite a lovely thing and perfectly named. Small talk.
So whether you are an introvert, shy or someone like me and a mix of it all, here is a great article with some helpful ideas for navigating the tricky waters of small talk: Christina Park’s “An Introvert’s Guide To Small Talk: Eight Painless Tips.”
And for more reading, here’s another interesting piece on the subject: Cherie Burbach’s “I Hate Small Talk Why Introverts Can’t Deal With Making Small Talk”
Here’s to those of us who sometimes feel shy, sometimes feel introverted, sometimes feel like stealing the show. It is all a part of being human, and it makes conversations work. Imagine if we were all one way or the other! Either we’d all be listening in silence or we’d all be talking over each other. Thank goodness, there is a need for it all.
She was always fashionably late, and was certainly not going to change stripes this late in the game.
They could all just await her presence. After all, wasn’t this supposed to be her big day?
She poured another sherry, and returned to the debate of veil or no veil. It felt as if her entire future happiness was dependent on this decision.
Her mother felt the veil was gaudy. The seamstress who had created it was understandably biased in its favor.The dresser had an opinion but no one asked it of her.
She gazed at her reflection, and contemplated herself from her own superior taste. The veil felt right, but some adjustment to the angle was needed.
She set her face back into its public expression and unlocked the boudoir door, ready at last to enter into her future.
I felt the tickle of a trickle of sweat run down under my arm as I waited just beyond the corner past his locker. My mouth was dry, my heart pounding.
It was now or never.
I had to have a date for the dance coming up next weekend, and he was the only boy I could think of to ask.
He was a Kicker, not in the Popular league, so more within my reach. (Me definitely not being in the Popular League or anywhere near it.)
We got along okay, I thought. I sat behind him in history and sometimes we exchanged a few words. He at least saw me. I made him laugh once with my impromptu impression of the teacher.
I spotted his cowboy hat and forced myself to call his name, my heart suddenly full of hope. He turned and came over my way. I felt like my whole life was about to change.
My words tripped over my tongue and landed between us with a clumsy thud, but he got the gist.
He paused for what seemed a lifetime. My heart sank in the silence.
“Nope, I have to say no. But don’t feel bad. I wouldn’t say yes to a dance, not even if you was Susie Moore.”
Susie Moore was hands down the most popular girl in school. She was everything I was not: pretty, petite, outgoing, a cheerleader, funny.
I laugh a curt, self-derisive laugh and say “Oh yeah, of course!” a little too brightly, a little too pushed.
I walk away, my hope around my ankles, the taste of recognition of my non-Susie Mooreness bitter in my mouth. I’d known it already, but having it stated to your face is a whole different ball of wax. Especially from the mouth of your major crush.
Never again, I vow silently to myself. Never. Again.
Inspired by The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: popular
I read my writing for the first time in a public forum today. It was amazing to share my words live, and to experience the other writer’s works.
Because I was so involved with that, I thought I’d repost Old Baggage for today’s word prompt, but this came to me instead. 34 years later and I still feel the sting. Isn’t it amazing? How intense our early experiences can be?
I read my writing aloud in public for the first time two weeks ago.
I began this blog a year and a half ago as a way for me to begin to break the silence and shame I felt inside.
You see, I grew up in an environment that encouraged me to suppress my feelings and my true thoughts. In essence, I learned to hide my truth.
Because of things that had happened to me when I was young, I was afraid that to speak my truth would bring pain to others in my family. I needed their love, so I learned very early on to present a version of me that would be pleasing for them and others. It was literally a matter of survival, keeping my truth hidden.
Additionally, problems in our family were not acknowledged verbally for the most part. We pretended to each other they did not exist. If it was something that absolutely could not be hidden, there was a real strong pressure to keep the family problems secret, to keep them inside the home. I was not verbally warned not to seek help. But I knew it was considered dangerous.
So I learned to keep my true self buried deep inside, hidden far away from my family, and from the outside world.
I got so good at it, I lost touch with my own true self. I had hidden it so well, it became hidden from even myself.
I am a performer, so I need to be able to use my truth to reveal the truths of the characters I play. I learned to go deep within, but I found that as much as I loved bringing what I could to my work, there were internal tensions that made it very challenging. And so I began to embark on unraveling those tensions, to see what was underneath, to find more freedom and to expand my capacity to reveal through my work.
It has been an amazing process. I did not set out to, but I have ended up finding my self in the process. I’ve been making a deep excavation within, bringing out the remains into the light.
It has been excruciating at times, terrifying, wondrous, exquisite, mind-blowing, beautiful, sad beyond belief. But most of all, it has been a becoming whole.
In the process of finding me, I discovered that I wanted to be able to own and share my truth without fear or shame. So I started to practice doing so.
First in small, safe ways. To trusted people. Then, I began increasing the risk level, expanding my level of comfort by extending myself into the world in ever-widening circles.
This blog has been a hugely gratifying experience. It has been so important for me share my true internal experience, my real creativity, here. There have been times I have felt so fearful after hitting the publish button…it has felt so risky…what if someone in my family reads it? What will they think of me? If people know this or that, will they see me differently? Will they judge me, label me, only see me this way or that?
I realized that I was so afraid of only being seen for what has happened to me or what I have done, the mistakes I have made, or what I have NOT done or accomplished. I didn’t have a sense of being valuable just as I am, not what I do, did, will do, haven’t done.
The blog and posting has been stretching me in so many great ways. It has also helped me learn to let go of needing to be seen a certain way in order to feel valuable, safe or lovable.
What I did not expect was how amazing it would be to have people read and then reach out to share back. That has been and continues to be such a gift. (So thank you.)
And then, I had the opportunity to submit a piece I adapted from a blog post for an evening of work written by women on what it means to identify as a woman.
When I began writing this blog, I had never, ever intended to read my work anywhere, but there I was, sending it in, in hopes of being chosen, so I could share my work live, in person. (What?!)
When it was selected, I was ecstatic. And terrified.
Every childhood-conditioned muscle in my body was braced for trouble. Every old voice that wanted to keep me silent was working on my psyche: Who was I to think I had something of value to share? What if I upset people? What if someone was unhappy with what I had to say?
In the week before the event, I was questioning my sanity in having chosen to do it.(What was I thinking?! Why was I putting myself through this?!)
The fear and the voices continued right up until showtime and as the first readers read their work.
And then, my name was called. My turn. I gathered together my courage and began the long walk down the aisle, my heart pounding in my chest.
And then three steps from center stage, I suddenly felt something click inside. When I stepped into the light, I just knew in my bones that I was in the right place at the right time. I felt a sense of home inside. I felt warm. I felt safe.
What an amazing experience! It was an experiment, but it turns out I love sharing my words live, and also experiencing the words of the others involved. Who knew?
I am so grateful to whatever healing force inside me has been leading me on this journey to be free. It is a beautiful thing to break free of the shackles of one’s own past and to be able to freely express one’s own self.
*(Written 10/17/17, but I used a draft from Oct. 1 and didn’t realize I needed to change the date before publishing it! So here it remains, looking like I wrote it Oct. 1. But I promise I wrote it 10/17/17.)
Reposted in Response to The Daily Post Daily Word Prompt: risky