or
Things I Don't Do
or
Progress
or
Whatever
I have to stop trying so hard. Embrace, fortify, analyze your tactics. I had grown so comfortable with my approach, that it became not second nature, but nature itself.
There is something to be said about revisionism-albeit exactly what is already known: it greatly benefits the party in power.
The thing that most don't see is what happens when you fall from power, and have to watch your re-writing be meticulously deconstructed and analyzed for faults.
Here is the truth: I'm incontravertably drawn to things that assure an outlook of one who is seen by others as the kind of person who will never actually reach maturity.
Here is my truth: I am learning to embrace that fact, despite the world view.
I'm growing. Up, in, out, away, these all have their merits, but the truth remains: I'm growing.
I'm very bad at conversation. My brain moves far faster than my mouth, so when I try to make honest, emotional, pure conversation, I falter. I stammer. I stutter. I realize this. I own this. I remember:
Becky from Scipio. We met at camp. We exchanged notes. We decided in our preteen minds to be a couple. There was a ritual, that each week, on the last night of camp, they would bring out the Speaking Stick. Anyone who held it would share their reflections of the week behind them, of their knowledge and reflection on what they learned. I knew so many people there, had such a unique experience at that place that I always felt more myself than anywhere else.
On the night I finally drew up the courage to hold her hand, I also took the speaking stick in hand.
This is when I learned that I can never give an impromptu speech.
Granted, I said many of the things I meant to, but my mouth was moving so much faster than the thoughts, even the pre-planned ones. I know that within a minute I was in tears. Not crying over my inability, but tears that reflected how honest and powerful that experience was for me; how powerful it always has been.
I idealize 'say what you mean, mean what you say.'
The unfortunate truth though, is that when I say what I'm thinking, it's exactly that. I like to let thoughts cook. I don't form opinions immediately. I try my best to give every person, place, or thing time to germinate and take roots before I reflect on what I mean in my thoughts.
This weekend, for the first time I can remember, I had truly emotionally honest conversation with other people. With friends, though only one of them was able to understand it.
With my mother, who, not unfairly, regards me as very emotionally guarded and distant.
In other words (worlds), I'm doing something I haven't done in a long time: I'm talking. And I've figured out the people who can stomach the constant revisions and retractions to my thought process.
I am, after all, the person who cannot write a first draft. Instead, what I write is what it is. If it's edited, it's solely for grammar, spelling, or punctuation. (Oxford comma)
Summarily, I find it difficult to speak my mind. I don't always say what I mean, and at times it comes out as the exact opposite. The fact that you can't edit conversation has led me to cease conversation all together. That, itself, is a terribly lonely road.
I'm doing my best to get over it. One stammer and awkward pause at a time. I'm not scared of you anymore. At least, not as scared.
My paranoia is waning. Hopefully, when it waxes full again, it will be like viewing the moon through a distant fog. Because it never goes away, but with the right mindset, it doesn't have to cast more than a pale glamour on a nightscape.
I'm growing. Up, in, out, away.
Things I Don't Do
or
Progress
or
Whatever
I have to stop trying so hard. Embrace, fortify, analyze your tactics. I had grown so comfortable with my approach, that it became not second nature, but nature itself.
There is something to be said about revisionism-albeit exactly what is already known: it greatly benefits the party in power.
The thing that most don't see is what happens when you fall from power, and have to watch your re-writing be meticulously deconstructed and analyzed for faults.
Here is the truth: I'm incontravertably drawn to things that assure an outlook of one who is seen by others as the kind of person who will never actually reach maturity.
Here is my truth: I am learning to embrace that fact, despite the world view.
I'm growing. Up, in, out, away, these all have their merits, but the truth remains: I'm growing.
I'm very bad at conversation. My brain moves far faster than my mouth, so when I try to make honest, emotional, pure conversation, I falter. I stammer. I stutter. I realize this. I own this. I remember:
Becky from Scipio. We met at camp. We exchanged notes. We decided in our preteen minds to be a couple. There was a ritual, that each week, on the last night of camp, they would bring out the Speaking Stick. Anyone who held it would share their reflections of the week behind them, of their knowledge and reflection on what they learned. I knew so many people there, had such a unique experience at that place that I always felt more myself than anywhere else.
On the night I finally drew up the courage to hold her hand, I also took the speaking stick in hand.
This is when I learned that I can never give an impromptu speech.
Granted, I said many of the things I meant to, but my mouth was moving so much faster than the thoughts, even the pre-planned ones. I know that within a minute I was in tears. Not crying over my inability, but tears that reflected how honest and powerful that experience was for me; how powerful it always has been.
I idealize 'say what you mean, mean what you say.'
The unfortunate truth though, is that when I say what I'm thinking, it's exactly that. I like to let thoughts cook. I don't form opinions immediately. I try my best to give every person, place, or thing time to germinate and take roots before I reflect on what I mean in my thoughts.
This weekend, for the first time I can remember, I had truly emotionally honest conversation with other people. With friends, though only one of them was able to understand it.
With my mother, who, not unfairly, regards me as very emotionally guarded and distant.
In other words (worlds), I'm doing something I haven't done in a long time: I'm talking. And I've figured out the people who can stomach the constant revisions and retractions to my thought process.
I am, after all, the person who cannot write a first draft. Instead, what I write is what it is. If it's edited, it's solely for grammar, spelling, or punctuation. (Oxford comma)
Summarily, I find it difficult to speak my mind. I don't always say what I mean, and at times it comes out as the exact opposite. The fact that you can't edit conversation has led me to cease conversation all together. That, itself, is a terribly lonely road.
I'm doing my best to get over it. One stammer and awkward pause at a time. I'm not scared of you anymore. At least, not as scared.
My paranoia is waning. Hopefully, when it waxes full again, it will be like viewing the moon through a distant fog. Because it never goes away, but with the right mindset, it doesn't have to cast more than a pale glamour on a nightscape.
I'm growing. Up, in, out, away.
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