Pearls of Wisdom and Foolish Mutterings

The Facade is Cracking

No more sadness, no more anger. Yay! I have a friend who has always said about me that when I feel something, I feel it all the way to my bones. I guess she's right, because that's what it feels like - like my very bones are sad or angry. The thing is that it's a cumulative thing. I keep pushing all those feelings down, down, down instead of dealing with them and eventually my cup runneth over and then I write a bitch-on-wheels blog and boo-hoo all over the place and my carefully bundled bag of emotions spills out all over the place. I HATE it when that happens.

And just why is that, I wonder? Why does it bother me so much for others to know that I have days when I'm weak and weepy and needy? And why do I want to pull the covers over my head and hide after that happens? Honestly, I know I'm not SuperWoman and that I'm not fooling anyone into thinking I don't have regular emotions like everyone else in the world. I know that in my head, but I think my heart still wants the world to believe that nothing gets to me and I'm big and brave and fearless.

I really am brave and fearless (forget it, I'm not going to say 'I'm BIG' - no way!) And I'm okay with everyone else who I see as brave and fearless being vulnerable and having days when they can't save themselves, let alone the whole world. I just can't seem to swallow that pill for myself. It's that whole V-word thing - vulnerable. **shudder**

But I know we are made to be inter-dependent on each other. That's what makes this whole crazy life of ours worth the living. If we never needed anyone else and no one else ever needed us, what a boring world we would live in. We'd all be like robots walking around, never interacting or forming bonds. It's the risk of putting ourselves out there - being vulnerable to another human being that brings the reward. Certainly it doesn't always bring rewards and we do take the chance we'll be hurt or disappointed when we allow ourselves to be vulnerable. It has happened to me, it has happened to all of you at one time or another.

I know, however, that when I have foolishly put up walls and have tried to hide from the world to protect myself from being hurt or disappointed, those are the times when I've been the most miserable. It's like living a half-life. Hiding behind those walls is a drab, colorless existence. We keep ourselves safe from harm, but at what cost?

I've noticed that as I've gotten older (and older, and older, and older...) I've become more willing to take bigger chances. The bigger the chance, the bigger the risk; but also the bigger the reward. For example, I love to sing. When I am in my car, the music is always on and I sing, sing, sing. It makes me happy (or sometimes, I indulge my sad bones and play every sad song I know, sing along with them and it makes me feel good and sad.) For years when I was younger, when I pulled up to a stoplight, I felt self-conscious and would stop singing until the light turned green and I took off again. As my wheels rolled, I started to sing again. Crazy, huh? I finally got old enough that I didn't care who caught me singing in my car, or what they thought about me. I sing my heart out now, whether I'm zooming along or stopped at a light. I don't care if someone thinks I look silly. It makes me happy.

Today, I took it one step further. I am a singer, so I'm very vain about my voice. I know that when I have earphones on and can't hear my own voice as I sing, what I hear in my head is not what comes out of my mouth. On the off chance that someone might hear me and, God forbid, think to themselves, "That girl can't sing worth a hoot," I never allowed myself to sing out loud if I was listening to music with headphones. Well, not today. I was scrubbing floors at the house we're rehabbing, I had my IPod earbuds in and the music at ear-splitting levels and I let 'er rip. I sang my heart out. For hours. And I didn't care who heard me.

My daughter and son-in-law came by with son-in-law's sister in tow. I was in the middle of belting out a Faith Hill song and was scrubbing away. I never heard them as they stood at the door giggling at me, until finally my daughter tapped me on the shoulder. All three of them stood there giggling... and I was okay with that. Then, later in the day, my husband told me, "Honey, I don't know if it's those earplugs or what but ... uh... you don't sound very good when you're singing. It doesn't even sound like you." I just laughed and said, "I know! It's the earplugs - I can't hear myself," and went back to singing. It was great - made the day fly by.

I have decided my next giant step will be to not be afraid of having emotions. Yikes! This is fair warning that there may be more bitch-on-wheels blogs in the future. But I always seem to learn something when my facade cracks and I let it all spill out. I promise to share that part too. Deal?