I am a sucker for anything anthemic. Soundtracks, epic movies, Shakespeare, "Our Deepest Fear" and Hoosier speeches. I buy into them. I feel moved to move. And then I get home.
I do all of the things I presume, based on predictable movies about sports and women realizing their full potential outside of motherhood. I change my routine, try scary things, get a tattoo, change my hairstyle, drink more water, eat dark chocolate, create manageable lists which create the illusion of an energizing montage. At this point I should have my own film company who's first venture was unexpectedly well received and conveniently bank-rolled by a kind independent older woman I happened to meet at a bar while I was being drunkenly charming and authentic. I do not.
I have moments of inspiration. Moments of pride in what I can do. Moments when I feel I really know how to do what I want and love to do. Here's my obstacle though. It is one of my own making. I will forever put other's dreams, needs, hopes, what have you's ahead of mine. It's not because I'm a good person. It is, ultimately, because I do not believe I have "it."
Mandela says "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." Mr. Mandela, I love your beautiful thoughts, however, I not only fear I am inadequate, I have a full on absolute in my bones faith in my inadequacy. I fight it and fake it because I have an equal full on absolute in my bones love of creativity and the limitless possibilities imagination and collaboration possess. I work hard, prepare, and people please my ass off because I fear discovery of my fraudulence. The discovery that I am, in fact, spectacularly ordinary.
I know there is nothing wrong with that, with being spectacular at being ordinary. I went to High school with the gifted author Kelly Corrigan. She made so clear what I often feel: some of us are the glitter and some are the glue. My struggle is that I long to be the glitter, when, in fact, I am glue. Most of the jobs I get hired to do are the glue jobs: teacher, director, coach. As a mother, I have always chosen glue over glitter, they are the glitter, always. And as a wife, I have cast my husband as glitter.
I understand glue. It is definable and easily applied. It can get gunky at times, and can also wear out and stop working if not used properly. For the most part, though, It is functional, useful, multi-purpose.
Glitter gets everywhere. It sticks to things unapologetically and stubbornly. It does not negotiate and rarely behaves as expected or planned. It catches the eye. It looks like what I believe magic is.
I know no one is just one thing. Our dimensionality is unique and the reason the snowflake metaphor is so popular. I have some glitter properties and have experienced glitter moments, but I am, essentially, a binding agent. And I'm sure all of the people I know to be glitter, do not define themselves thusly. I'm sure they battle what they perceive to be inadequacy. I'm sure they think I have it all figured out the same way I know they do. Which leads me to this: Why does it matter?
I've convinced myself that it matters or will yield peace and illumination for me to know I am this or that. As if quantifiable identification will unlock all mystery and open up prosperity and peace. It has consumed far too much of my time. Maybe if I know, I can figure out how to be historical, how to believe my presence has been worth the space and time. Maybe if I know, I can finally figure out what I should do for a living. Maybe if I know, things would feel clear? Maybe if I know, I'll discover I'm wrong and that I really am glitter. I think this is why I never go to a psychic; I'm pretty sure they're going to tell me that things are pretty much going to keep going the way they're going.
And yet, I still resist who I am. I am Meg, not Jo. I am Louise, not Thelma. I am Ethel, not Lucy. I am Klobuchar not Warren. Who I am is ok. Yet who of us is ever ok with just ok?
Poets, and theologians, biologists, visionaries and minds far greater than mine have puzzled on this far better than I ever could. They would have a conclusion or plan of action or glittery idiom encouraging me to dance like no one's watching, and I would love them for their perceptive insights into my soul, and secretly hate them for the same reason. I know my exploration should return me to where I started, and please T.S. Eliot in my knowing it for the first time. Instead, however, I, in my bones, believed that by the end of this I would discover that I am actually glitter.
I am still glue.
Necessary. Respected. Strong. Dries clear. Tough. Krazy. Super.
See what I did there? I glitterized glue.
Shame on me.
I do all of the things I presume, based on predictable movies about sports and women realizing their full potential outside of motherhood. I change my routine, try scary things, get a tattoo, change my hairstyle, drink more water, eat dark chocolate, create manageable lists which create the illusion of an energizing montage. At this point I should have my own film company who's first venture was unexpectedly well received and conveniently bank-rolled by a kind independent older woman I happened to meet at a bar while I was being drunkenly charming and authentic. I do not.
I have moments of inspiration. Moments of pride in what I can do. Moments when I feel I really know how to do what I want and love to do. Here's my obstacle though. It is one of my own making. I will forever put other's dreams, needs, hopes, what have you's ahead of mine. It's not because I'm a good person. It is, ultimately, because I do not believe I have "it."
Mandela says "Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure." Mr. Mandela, I love your beautiful thoughts, however, I not only fear I am inadequate, I have a full on absolute in my bones faith in my inadequacy. I fight it and fake it because I have an equal full on absolute in my bones love of creativity and the limitless possibilities imagination and collaboration possess. I work hard, prepare, and people please my ass off because I fear discovery of my fraudulence. The discovery that I am, in fact, spectacularly ordinary.
I know there is nothing wrong with that, with being spectacular at being ordinary. I went to High school with the gifted author Kelly Corrigan. She made so clear what I often feel: some of us are the glitter and some are the glue. My struggle is that I long to be the glitter, when, in fact, I am glue. Most of the jobs I get hired to do are the glue jobs: teacher, director, coach. As a mother, I have always chosen glue over glitter, they are the glitter, always. And as a wife, I have cast my husband as glitter.
I understand glue. It is definable and easily applied. It can get gunky at times, and can also wear out and stop working if not used properly. For the most part, though, It is functional, useful, multi-purpose.
Glitter gets everywhere. It sticks to things unapologetically and stubbornly. It does not negotiate and rarely behaves as expected or planned. It catches the eye. It looks like what I believe magic is.
I know no one is just one thing. Our dimensionality is unique and the reason the snowflake metaphor is so popular. I have some glitter properties and have experienced glitter moments, but I am, essentially, a binding agent. And I'm sure all of the people I know to be glitter, do not define themselves thusly. I'm sure they battle what they perceive to be inadequacy. I'm sure they think I have it all figured out the same way I know they do. Which leads me to this: Why does it matter?
I've convinced myself that it matters or will yield peace and illumination for me to know I am this or that. As if quantifiable identification will unlock all mystery and open up prosperity and peace. It has consumed far too much of my time. Maybe if I know, I can figure out how to be historical, how to believe my presence has been worth the space and time. Maybe if I know, I can finally figure out what I should do for a living. Maybe if I know, things would feel clear? Maybe if I know, I'll discover I'm wrong and that I really am glitter. I think this is why I never go to a psychic; I'm pretty sure they're going to tell me that things are pretty much going to keep going the way they're going.
And yet, I still resist who I am. I am Meg, not Jo. I am Louise, not Thelma. I am Ethel, not Lucy. I am Klobuchar not Warren. Who I am is ok. Yet who of us is ever ok with just ok?
Poets, and theologians, biologists, visionaries and minds far greater than mine have puzzled on this far better than I ever could. They would have a conclusion or plan of action or glittery idiom encouraging me to dance like no one's watching, and I would love them for their perceptive insights into my soul, and secretly hate them for the same reason. I know my exploration should return me to where I started, and please T.S. Eliot in my knowing it for the first time. Instead, however, I, in my bones, believed that by the end of this I would discover that I am actually glitter.
I am still glue.
Necessary. Respected. Strong. Dries clear. Tough. Krazy. Super.
See what I did there? I glitterized glue.
Shame on me.
This reminds me of a moment in Drama School. I had tiny role as a hospital orderly in a terrible play about Chernobyl at the Yale Rep. The one redeeming feature of the experience was the camaraderie we students made with the pro actors hired for the major roles. One such actor was Yusef, a Hungarian-American version of Danny deVito. During rehearsal once, he came up to me and said lovingly, "Oh Ben. You're going to have such great career as a character actor." Genuinely confused I replied, "Except . . . I'm a leading man." He looked me dead in the eyes for a moment, then hugged me and said softly "Oh my dear, poor boy . . . "
ReplyDeleteWhile not exactly analogous to "being the glue", I deeply resonate with with the internal battle you describe. Why do we fight our gluey-ness so much? Because we are bombarded by glitter through all the pop culture portals we use. Because we have internalized a value system for our identities as middle-aged parents which is, frankly, bullshit.
In my version, it's between my character-actor shaman and my dad. My dad is sensible, boring, reliable, predictable - exactly what my children need me to be. My shaman wants to say fuck that, let's go eat some mushrooms and create street theatre with hippies. I have had to learn to honor and serve them both. My dad by being the dad - that one's easy, second nature. But I have to carve out space for the shaman. In my case, that means rehearsing and performing with Bright Invention. It means being artistically creative.
What I say to you Mary is that you wrote yourself to the truth. Your glue has glitter in it, just like I am half dad, half shaman. If I don't give myself permission to "dance like no one's watching" (in my case, improvise like a dork) dad becomes surly and mean.
Thanks for this Ben.
ReplyDelete