November 29, 2010
Three things stand out in my mind as I let today's activities, like dust, settle in my thoughts.
One. I walked away from a conversation today. Three woman (myself included) were chatting and suddenly an opinion just bothered me so much I excused myself mid-sentence and went for a walk. The funny social rules we keep makes behavior like this looked down upon. I am sure the conversation stopped and thoughts of "what is her problem" were voiced.
Being a post-passive, mormon-gal that I am, I am not used to causing drama, but leaving felt like the most mature thing to do. My opinion wasn't going to change and there was no creative-weaving-of-words possible to aid ears that are subordinate to the mouth of this opinion holder.
(What thing could we possibly be talking about? Something political, but the topic matters now less than the scenario).
When J came home from work it was the typical dinner-time scene. I was at the sink, washing, fixing, chopping, and otherwise multi-tasking. Two kids nipped at my heels begging with arpeggio cries for scraps of illegal-before-dinner food. ("CHOCOLATE MILK!!! COOKIES!! FRUIT SNACKS")
Not to break from tradition ,J asked about my day.
"Oh, the usual. L wet her pants at a play date. I cleaned the house. No one wanted to take a nap....." I trailed off realizing I sounded like a little dark rain cloud. I concluded with the good news. "On the bright side, I bet someone will start bringing us dinner."
It was a joke, one that only a Mormon could understand. Mormons believe (though it isn't doctrine) that bringing someone a meal can cure leprosy, inactivity, and offense. For the record: I have never been the recipient of such a meal.
J laughed when I gave him my dramatic re-telling of the scenario and than he took the stairs two at a time to our bedroom to change so that he could go home teaching. (Another Mormon activity to explained at a further date).
The next events happened in quick succession. While trying to slice an orange I almost cut my hand in half. I screamed some non-profanities with such intensity they might as well have been. The startled children stopped crying. (I was crying louder) and my husband, half dressed, took the stairs three at a time to see what was the matter.
I am not known for being very friendly when I am in pain. There may have been some angry yelling. (My husband knows not to take it personal).
The doorbell rang.
My husband took the stairs four at a time to get back to privacy.
I opened the door to find one of the mornings conversationalist with a plate of cookies. (What one brings when a meal might seem over-powering).
Keep in mind that my face was splotched with pain, my eyes tearing, the children wide-eyed, and echos were still reverberating the house from my shouts.
I held a paper towel to my bloody hand. "ohhhh I am fine!" I explained.
"You seemed stressed today."
"Really?" I played dumb. "Nope, today was a regular day." Blood dripped down my arm.
Now, three points within a point. Call them, subpoints, if you will.
A. In all my life I have never been the recipient of "compassion cookies." I was actually quite flattered someone cared enough about me, though I saw it all as an over-reaction. In fact, the whole thing was blown way out of proportion, and all because I just didn't want to obey social rules. Why do we feel like we need to agree with each other to like each other? Why do we feel that we must bend other's opinions in our favor to validate our own?
B. No matter my reassurance that "I was fine" the person left convinced I was going through major trials in my life. (Perhaps the bloody hand and teary face did not contribute properly...) I think I may be suggested to the ward counsel to become a "focus family." Which is fine by me because the ward mission leader is my husband. He can focus on me all he wants. (Wink wink).
C. It stuns me, the about-face, that I have made. In less than two years I have gone from being a passive, peacekeeping, feelings smoother-outer to a straight-forward, direct (ish) :) saavy self. It sounds terribly brazen when in type, but the transition probably hasn't been fully developed or fully noticed. I only point it out because today's scenario wouldn't have ever happened to the missionary-me who thought (because my bad-shoulder-angel tells me I am dumb) I would never be good enough, to the the college-me (same shoulder-angel) who thought people would like me if I kept my eccentric self to myself.
I feel like a snake that has shed its skin. I am still me with most of the same faults, but I have shed the shy, tentative, no-one-will-love-me side and am brandishing a side I really didn't think could cohabitate with the core parts of who I am.
I see the world differently in this new skin.
Point Two. I tried to write today. I failed nanowrimo miserably and it didn't exactly bolster my self-esteem. Sometimes writing what I want to write can only be described (grody, I know) as a mental constipation. There is plenty of substance up there, I just don't know how to get it out.
Point Three. I watched Glee while my husband was home-teaching. ( I am the apostate part of our duo). I really like the "concept" of the show. In other ways it is one bad taco. (If you went to the same John Bytheway talk you will know what I am talking about.) Moving on. I love watching super-talented people burst into song and dance.
OHHHHHHH how I wish that that was socially acceptable, even encouraged in life. Maybe people would say what they really mean if they danced it. (Our bodies don't lie). Maybe people wouldn't fold away their emotions if they could sing it.
Maybe more people than myself feel this way, but I am pretty certain that I have an intense, powerful, moving solo inside me that is waiting for some vehicle (song, dance, written word....) to perfect itself so it come out red carpet style.
4 comments:
Wow Lindsey! Beautifully written post. I loved reading every word. Thanks for sharing! I hope your hand is okay and I hope the cookies were delicious!
i opened The Witch of Blackbird Pond book today, and on the front page among the words written by the teacher who gave it to me over ten years ago was a line "this book is about a girl with a fiery personality, like you." (i haven't really read the book yet, just the first chapter and that was also several years ago, so i can't tell).but what i'm saying is that
there are only few people who would probably call my personality fiery now. i've learned to tame the flame so that most people would see none of it. i keep my opinion and words to myself most of the time. actually, i prefer to keep myself to myself on the whole, saving some peace. NOTHING is perfect in this world, even if you take nature – nothing is the same, and there’s no ideal. all people are different too, opinions, characters vary. social rules aren’t perfect either and i don’t like to obey but yet my rebellions remain internal or written (if somebody wants to hush you he can simply close the book).
Now, that grand-pa is gone i’m slowly learning to stand for myself. it feels so strange to be up for a change.
great post. I should have checked blogs a few days ago, since I am noticeably late in responding. I think we might be switching some personality traits. You're coming out of shyness, and I 'm thinking that shyness looks like a great retreat.
And yes, I too think people should sing and dance. Impulsively. I need to try it more. I'd be happier.
I like the eccentric you. :)
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