Raw and Exposed

Last week, I bragged on Kimmm, and this week I’m considering tooting. My own horn, of course, but not until I’ve taken the opportunity to beat myself up a wee bitty beforehand. Evens things out, don’t you see. Oh don’t act so shocked, most of us subscribe to the belief that “we’re a piece of crap that the entire Universe revolves around.”

My philosophy has been, since I’m made out of butt-dust (“We are but dust” Psalms 103:14), I might as well decorate it and call it art. So I’ve gone through life trying to camouflage the stank by throwing glitter, rhinestones, jewelry, flowers and big hair at it.

If my life up ‘til now was a 45 record, with a song on each side, the title of my personal soundtrack would be, Hiding in Plain Sight.

The first song I play over and over, apparently to induce hypnotic boredom, is my basic premise, the source of issue and pain. The music is jazz discordant, played in a minor key, off tune, with a drunken bass player and a whacked out drummer (i.e. no rhythm to speak of).

The lyrics are hideously repetitive: “There is something fundamentally wrong with me and I know you can see it.” Yep, that’s pretty much the whole song. Oh, the words vary slightly with the ever evolving tune, depending on the situation, but you get the gist.

The flip-side of my personal 45 is a sweet, up-tempo melody, with a shake-your-booty gospel choir in parts, a sliver or two of accordion tango drama, and an underlying smokiness of Middle Eastern belly dance. It’s invitational. Inspiring. Uplifting and mysterious.

In my head, the message plays out in a soulful, yet pop starry way: “I am a creative, bright spot in a dark world and I want to share my spark with you. Why can’t you see it?”

Let’s boil it down and make a reduction sauce out of this: “I can dance the Path of Beauty, No, I’m a doody, no, I’m a princess, no I’m Gomer’s pile, no, I’ve got potential, no I’m Winnie’s Pooh.”

Waaaaaaa, somebody make it stop!

I called God’s Minion (I love having her direct line). Sure enough, she was supine again, luxuriating in her fancy bed. (She looooves this bed, remember?) I told her that I had recently become aware of these two messages playing in my head and it was driving me bonkers.

In her slow Southern style, well, actually, in her quick witted Southern charm (sorry, Black Velvet), she unpinned the tail on the donkey and removed my blindfold. “Girl, you got to stop playing those records. It’s like you got a sign on your back. Worse even, you got bleed over.”

Uh-oh, I’ve got bleed over? Sounds bad. Is there a cream or a poultice for that? I often feel like I have tender spots, where things have scabbed over, and then I emotionally pick at them until they bleed again. Like that?

The bleed over, as it turns out, is the obnoxious, annoying place where my two songs collide - that uncomfortable space between stations where static and stray notes rule the airwaves.

“Your job is to fine tune your station to the best song you can and the other, junky one will fade away. When you play the whiney, ‘something’s wrong with me’ track, you draw people who are a match to that low vibrational tune.

“When you flip it over and play your happier song, then livelier people show up who want to hear more, but as they draw near, they encounter your bleed over and static. It’s very confusing. You’re sending mixed messages and offering conflicting energy. The sad, off-tune people don’t want to hear your perky song and people rooted in well-being don’t want to hear your funk.”

Wow.

It was with this mental construct, my two songs blasting in Dolby stereo (okay, I don’t know what that means exactly but it sounds audio-ish, right?), that I said YES to a four day seminar immediately upon our return from Japan. You’re right, I’ve already mentioned this fact, but there’s more to say about it.

New chapter title: Just because I’m paranoid, doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get me.

Ha, prior to my four days of education saturation, I would have phrased it, “Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean they aren’t out to get you,” but I’m learning to take personal responsibility.

I waltzed into the seminar, confident there was something wrong with me and that everybody could see it. This fact did not make me happy. Au contraire, it has been making me Miz-er-a-bull. I was primed for a change.

The tipping point for me was when a woman dared to speak her truth. In a moment I shall never forget, she took the floor and admitted that although her whole life was about empowering women (her work, her education, her passion and interest), whenever she saw a woman that she thought was beautiful, well-dressed, poised and appearing in possession of herself, it made her feel sooooo bad that she would purposely pick and probe until she discovered a weakness and find a way to bring that woman down.

Now, I didn’t think she was speaking about me, but I have spent years cultivating the skill of throwing glamour and fashion on a foundation of dung (yeah baby, it’s called art) and I knew with certainty, her statement held a key for me.

Later, when it was my turn to speak, I admitted my vulnerability and told the room full of people how I believed there was something wrong with me. It was a profound moment. One person raised her hand and said that when I first walked into the room and saw me, she felt like I was so self-assured that I didn’t need anything.

The facilitator addressed the audience and asked how many other people had felt the same way about me. Almost every hand in the place shot up. What?! To condense the experience, the feedback I received was that people perceived no vulnerability and in fact, had felt quite inadequate standing next to me. I was really, really shocked. How could this be? I mean, my flaws are so obvious.

Then the woman who had spoken first came up to me privately and said that I was the person in the room she’d been talking about. I could hardly decipher her words. Her mouth was moving, but how did people’s perception of me conflict so wildly with the belief in my head?

Through this intense seminar, I learned that hiding behind my armor was the thing “wrong with me.” My shield was on auto-pilot and I suited up like a warrior just to go outside. My chilly demeanor immediately triggered other people’s protection and my interactions have often been barrier-to-barrier rather than heart-to-heart. A line in John Mayer’s Say rang true for me, “Walking like a one man army, fightin’ with the shadows in your head…”

Standing in front of the group, I dared to let down my shield. In that instant, so did everyone else. To witness fifty human beings collectively lowering their guards to reveal themselves to me as I stood there emotionally naked was magic. I have never experienced anything like it. I mean, I saw people, humans, maybe for the first time, instead of werewolves.

Like a duck imprinting on its mother, I felt connected to these first humans on planet earth. I was seeing, really seeing them and I couldn’t believe how beautiful they were. It made me a little sad for all the time I’ve spent sequestered in a cocoon of wounds, protective gauze and counterfeit jewels, too afraid to reveal myself and in turn, making other people too afraid to reveal themselves.

Breathing easier, I showed up at the Saturday Market, determined to keep my heart open. Sitting in the booth, I overheard two vendors talking. I wasn’t exactly eavesdropping, but I distinctly heard them say my name.

“What did you guys say?” I asked, sticking my head into their booth.

“I said everybody’s got stuff to deal with, except maybe you. Seems like your stuff is good, that you’ve been working for the last few years to get your mind in a good place, I admire that.”

Okay. I almost fell off my chair into the fountain. The very day I decide to stay open, I receive an unsolicited opinion from a person I had no idea was paying any attention in my direction one way or the other, much less that her perception would be that “I didn’t have stuff.”

After hearing the other people in the seminar group admit how lonely and inadequate they felt, I could let go of my ragged premise, my worn-out song and now I get to work on my new lyrics. I told you I was going to toot. Now, what rhymes with “stupendous?”