A Life for the Other.

The happiest times of my life have always been the times I was living for others.

I don’t mean that others were the only things I was living for…there have always been reasons to live even if there wasn’t any real love of life to speak of. What I mean is that I have been happiest when I was wanted and “needed” by others. The times when I knew that certain people would notice if I weren’t there – that they would miss me while I was gone.

I know that people say they miss me. But few show it. I never feel missed unless someone shows it. It is not enough for me – or maybe not for anyone – to say “I miss you.” If you miss someone, do you reach out for them? Invite them back into your life? No? Then you do not really miss them.

Right now I feel as though I am really only living for myself. I am not necessary. When I get money, I spend it on myself. I have no one else to spend it on. When I have time, I spend it for myself. I have no one else to spend time on. Even when I’m with other people, I am not necessary for the party. It would go on if I were not there. I once thought it would be enough to simply be invited out by a friend once in a while. Now I know that is not true – it only hurt to be left out. What is really desired by me is to know that I am wanted by a person for who I am.

I know that I am at least liked by others (if not wanted), but I do not think they know who I am. I know they think they know, but what they know of me is really a shadow of my real self – or a caricature. They fill in for what they do not know. To really know me, someone has to ask about the things that I think and feel and attempt to understand. And who does that? Whether because of habit or the intimidating task of the act, no one I know right now really does.

Does this mean I want romance? I do not know. This one thing is what makes me doubt my intentional avoidance of any relationships. For on the one hand, I know that I feel some acute stress every time I think about dating, and feel disgusted every time I imagine myself dating anyone anymore, but on the other, I know I want to be loved just like anyone else. I don’t want to lie in wait for love to fall on me, as if love is crammed behind a closet door, waiting for someone to open it so it can tumble all over. That’s not the way it works. But I can’t bring myself to care enough to change anything.

What I do know is what I always know – how I feel. And right now I can handle this feeling just fine. It’s unpleasant, like a dull ache that an aspirin can’t cure, but tolerable. But whether by choice, or chance, or the long decay of time I know that will change. And I know that I am stubborn enough to hold to suffering rather than let go of bitterness.

There was a dream that I dreamed, a dream of loving loneliness.

The Technicolor Canvas.

You were a child

Crawling on your knees toward him

Making momma so proud

But your voice is too loud

We like to watch you laughing

Picking insects off of plants

No time to think of consequences

I'm amazed at how people fill in for what they don't know.

Instead of asking questions, most people assume a truth they can deal with. In a lot of cases, the assumption is false or incomplete. For instance, once I stopped talking for a long period of time in a group of people. Instead of asking why I was so quiet, they simple told me I was quiet ("Yup," I said) and exclaimed that I must be tired and continued with their conversation. It blew me away. Although they clearly wanted to know what was "wrong" they didn't do the simple solution of asking (it wasn't a big deal, I actually wasn't talking because the conversation was boring).

It is the same way with getting to know people.

Most people have a way of liking people who don't talk very much, or talk about themselves very much. I am like this. Not because I wouldn't gladly tell someone about myself, but because no one asks. Which has interesting consequences.

There is a lady at work who thinks I'm just like her son. I'm probably nothing like her son, I'm just the same age, and she wants to believe I'm like her son. To her it's true...and she can now mother me like she wants. She adores me, but has no idea who I am. She's never asked.

So it seems to be in a lot of cases. People like me for whoever they want to believe I am. I am all things to all people because I make myself a blank canvas. I can be anyone I wish, because no one in this city knows the truth.

Though, I wish people would ask about me. What I think about the world, what I've found joy in and pain in. Who I really am. But I'm not going to do it without being asked. I don't like when other people spoil conversation by sharing unsolicited, or just talking about themselves incessantly (and thus forcing others to do the same or change the subject). So I'm not about to start, even to fulfill a need. I have to know that other people want to know.

I think I'm an interesting person, just as I think other people are interesting. I like the song Life in Technicolor ii by Coldplay because I think it really captures how I feel about myself. I'm not a blank canvas for other people to fill in, I'm a technicolor canvas. I hope someone out there discovers that someday.

There was a dream that I dreamed, a dream for people to see the true canvas.

The art of listening.

Listening is something everyone thinks they know how to do, but most people don't have a clue.

I've noticed people do one of a couple different things when they talk:

1. They talk to themselves at other people...meaning, they spout out some vaguely on-topic anecdote that is really only designed to posture themselves as not fitting their own insecurities.
2. They just talk about themselves because there are ears around, regardless of whether anyone else in the room might actually have something important to share
3. Get something off their chest, invited or uninvited
4. Interrupt people to be funny/loud/share a good idea first
5. Ask questions, invite discussion, clarify the thoughts of other people, respond to other people, progress the discussion

That 5th point is, I think, what is very, very rare in conversation these days.

I have found that I enjoy and participate in group discussions less and less these days. I think it is simply because I am more aware of how much of those first four are really done, due to my training and experience in counseling. It's aggravating, and I wish to go back to the time when I was blissfully unaware of how much of what people say is only posturing, ego fluffing, and just plain rude.

I suppose some may believe it would be a lot better use of my time to point out to people what's going wrong, but I don't think so. I don't think it would do any good at all. It'd be like trying to kill a hive of bees with a flyswatter. Sure, I might get some people to change, but the sting of making people uncomfortable about a behavior they probably aren't even equipped anymore to change, and then watching them shrink away from making conversation with me because of it would be worse. That alone isn't enough for me to decide not to say anything, but it's knowing I wouldn't even get the whole hive that puts the lid on the coffin. Our culture is the queen bee. We don't teach communication skills as a culture, and we don't learn them. We just get worse. Except me. Except a few other people I've met in life. That's it.

So, when I get frustrated with it all, I stop having anything to say. And when I don't have anything to say, I don't talk. That sets me apart from others. Makes me weird. I'm OK with it.

There was a dream that I dreamed, a dream for good communication.