(no subject)
Well, it's Maggie Night -- somehow tonight acquired that name, through explaining to people why I couldn't be committed to volunteer for the local foods dinner for the whole night, or explaining to myself that it's not necessary to go to Andrea's birthday party in Ann Arbor, even though I think she's awesome. Last night I went with Anna to a potluck at Willi and Dan's house, and we stayed there instead of going to the show at Magdalena's. It was the perfect size for me-- enough to fill a medium-sized table and part of the kitchen. I leaned against the counter quietly, holding a mug of lentil soup and drinking it without a spoon and just watching people, and settling in and getting acclimated for a little while. One thing I've consciously done lately is allow myself to feel shy -- when I'm in company and I don't feel like talking, I don't go out of my way to find something to talk about (when I can). For me, it's part of being more honest and mindful of the words that come out.
The funny, weird-feeling balance that I'm trying to strike is allowing myself time to be alone, without separating myself dramatically or holding myself at a theatrical distance from people because of fear. The fear of being judged, the fear of being rejected or disregarded...these are powerful. They often hold sway over my behavior and my state of mind in company. Just being. It's not my habit, so it takes a little bit of effort not to go with the flow of making commitments and running from one activity to another, trying to connect with everybody and be perceived as a giving, friendly, loveable person by everybody (and, of course, Everybody's Brother. Let's not forget the Brother!)
Today, I just realized, I had a Pema line running through my head off and on -- "How do we allow things to develop in some kind of natural, spontaneous way?" It's about opening your heart, not hardening it, not groping and grasping for a connection but just...making it. Somehow. Sometimes I feel jealous of other people and put-out, misused, because it doesn't seem to come "naturally" to me, this just hanging out and being together, this comfortable flow from alone-ness into company and back again. I think that they have it together and somehow just understand this dynamic naturally, while I keep fucking it up. That's hilarious.
Heather told me once, "Michigan winter kicks your ass, Meggie." She was talking about Seasonal Affective Disorder, which is a scientifically "precise" way of identifying that shitty feeling some people get when the sun goes away. But I love winter, too. Winter makes you so glad to come home and sit at the kitchen table. It makes going outside an adventure that you need to plan a little for. I love the peaceful, floating, gradual collection of snow in even horizons, brightening up the rooftops and the street, making darks dramatic and mingling the color of the earth and the cloudy sky. Nighttime is purple and pink.
When I think of all the people I haven't talked to in a while, my heart clutches with anxiety -- will they stop loving me? Will they feel bad? Are they thinking about me right now and wondering why I haven't called them? I avoid calling because the silence seems to build and build until nothing I say could break its sheer towering face. Juana, Javier, Alejandro, Joyce, Myra, Tim, Lauren, kernighan, arsenicmercury, lisagbaby (I know you don't necessarily think about things that way -- I'm just describing the inner Clutch), Robyn, Carina, Katie Guitton and the CELTA friends...every name pulls at me and makes me anxious for a second. But I know that each life is going on, full and engaging and painting the universe, and we can intersect when we want to, and come together when we can.
The night that Lauren and I saw Brokeback Mountain last January, we stayed in her friend Anna's room at the North Campus Co-op. Anna had painted on her wall: "I love you and I want to be with you forever." A postcard-sized piece of paper stuck to the wall next to her bed said, "I love you and I want to be with you forever." She had written these words herself, to herself. Or had written them, at least, and they seemed to speak to whomever stayed in that room. I'd never thought of it that way before. Loving yourself, as a mandate, a suggestion for better living, has a ring of cliche about it. But in practice, weirdly, it's more taboo than cliche. I've often looked at loving myself as a stepping-stone to loving other people. "You can't love someone until..." That's the cliche. But what if I sat here in the kitchen while lots of things go on on a Friday night, just loving myself? A little weird...I think we're onto something. :)
The funny, weird-feeling balance that I'm trying to strike is allowing myself time to be alone, without separating myself dramatically or holding myself at a theatrical distance from people because of fear. The fear of being judged, the fear of being rejected or disregarded...these are powerful. They often hold sway over my behavior and my state of mind in company. Just being. It's not my habit, so it takes a little bit of effort not to go with the flow of making commitments and running from one activity to another, trying to connect with everybody and be perceived as a giving, friendly, loveable person by everybody (and, of course, Everybody's Brother. Let's not forget the Brother!)
Today, I just realized, I had a Pema line running through my head off and on -- "How do we allow things to develop in some kind of natural, spontaneous way?" It's about opening your heart, not hardening it, not groping and grasping for a connection but just...making it. Somehow. Sometimes I feel jealous of other people and put-out, misused, because it doesn't seem to come "naturally" to me, this just hanging out and being together, this comfortable flow from alone-ness into company and back again. I think that they have it together and somehow just understand this dynamic naturally, while I keep fucking it up. That's hilarious.
Heather told me once, "Michigan winter kicks your ass, Meggie." She was talking about Seasonal Affective Disorder, which is a scientifically "precise" way of identifying that shitty feeling some people get when the sun goes away. But I love winter, too. Winter makes you so glad to come home and sit at the kitchen table. It makes going outside an adventure that you need to plan a little for. I love the peaceful, floating, gradual collection of snow in even horizons, brightening up the rooftops and the street, making darks dramatic and mingling the color of the earth and the cloudy sky. Nighttime is purple and pink.
When I think of all the people I haven't talked to in a while, my heart clutches with anxiety -- will they stop loving me? Will they feel bad? Are they thinking about me right now and wondering why I haven't called them? I avoid calling because the silence seems to build and build until nothing I say could break its sheer towering face. Juana, Javier, Alejandro, Joyce, Myra, Tim, Lauren, kernighan, arsenicmercury, lisagbaby (I know you don't necessarily think about things that way -- I'm just describing the inner Clutch), Robyn, Carina, Katie Guitton and the CELTA friends...every name pulls at me and makes me anxious for a second. But I know that each life is going on, full and engaging and painting the universe, and we can intersect when we want to, and come together when we can.
The night that Lauren and I saw Brokeback Mountain last January, we stayed in her friend Anna's room at the North Campus Co-op. Anna had painted on her wall: "I love you and I want to be with you forever." A postcard-sized piece of paper stuck to the wall next to her bed said, "I love you and I want to be with you forever." She had written these words herself, to herself. Or had written them, at least, and they seemed to speak to whomever stayed in that room. I'd never thought of it that way before. Loving yourself, as a mandate, a suggestion for better living, has a ring of cliche about it. But in practice, weirdly, it's more taboo than cliche. I've often looked at loving myself as a stepping-stone to loving other people. "You can't love someone until..." That's the cliche. But what if I sat here in the kitchen while lots of things go on on a Friday night, just loving myself? A little weird...I think we're onto something. :)