Eazy E

This morning, I sat on my sofa, watching Milo (finally using a real name here.  'bout time.) cram wooden puzzle pieces and dvd cases into his yap with speed and fervor usually reserved for chasing the cat.  He is a storm of joy and giggles and terrifying diaper changes, a tiny critter that embodies a profound truth:  that even the dirt beneath our feet is worth squishing through our fingers and scarfing down when no one is looking.

That's life:  squish, squish, squish.

Eat it up.

I was writing a handful of letters while on the sofa, something I used to be much better at (the letters, not the lounging, though I used to be better at that, I'd guess), but is still something I love to do.  It helps me keep the far people near, and selfishly, floods the little corners of my soul with sweet things.

This time, I was writing Elaine.  Also a real person.  It's time to be real on the blog.

Elaine is one of my particular favorites in this life.  She is a fierce athlete, loves great coffee (and makes a mean cup),  has fabulous puppy-training skills, is half of a killer side-of-the-river dutch oven cooking team, and far beyond any of her talents or outer qualities, is a beautiful rock of honesty for me.

That last one is where we are going.

This is her letter.  She will still get it, but it rang so true in my heart this morning that I wanted to share the meat of it, because this is a paramount struggle for me: to tell the truth.  Lest you think I am crazy and a compulsive liar, allow me to clarify.  It is one thing to respond honestly when you are asked a question.  Most people have cultivated this ability by age twelve, and are scattered somewhere on the spectrum of none-of-your-business to painfully blunt.  It is entirely another thing to seek the truth and endeavor to live it: what is truthful to your experience and what is the truth that you believe,  and to do this while keeping that path from upturning the lives of the people around you like mole tunnels in the yard.  A dogged battle.

I'm sure this will be a little embarrassing for her, but chillax, Elaine.  It's for the greater good.

When I feel discouraged, or riled up and I'm not sure what to do with my emotions, I think to myself, 'Elaine would totally get this', and it pulls me forward like some invisible string of steel and sunshine.  Your honesty is a bastion for me, to remind me that lying is indeed bad, just like they've always said, but also the truth often feels (and looks) worse, albeit temporarily.  The truth always wins, and is always good, not because it is kind, or necessarily healthy, but because it is by its nature raw and elemental and right.  And this is where we start, and we do not need to be afraid, because though it feels like the end, it is - mercifully - just the beginning of something new.  

This is my reminder:

Do not be afraid.

It is only a beginning.  

squish,

squish,

squish.

_______________
Today's blog soundtrack: Josh Garrels' new album, Home.  Get it:  iTunes   Free Download   CD

The O.S.: The Real Deal

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about honesty and authenticity and genuineness.  Based on my silly, meaningless observations (code for “please don’t take this personally, I’m taking liberties with broad sweeping stereotypes”), different areas of the country can be broken down into varying degrees of genuineness.  

Here in New England, we wear our comparative hearts on our sleeves.  We are who we are, and we don’t care what you think.  Really, we don’t care.  This obviously comes with inherent flaws.  In the Midwest, everyone is nice to everyone.  I can’t tell you how initially disconcerting it was to walk down the streets of Chicago and have a complete stranger draw your eyes to theirs and lock eye contact like some sort of freakish tractor beam, smile at you, then say hello.   It made my skin crawl for a long time.  It seemed like an invasion of my personal space.  Everyone seemed to be attempting this perfect outward projection of him/herself, or rather, what they thought was desirable to their peers, thus who they really were could be dramatically different than their projected persona.  I referred to this as “fake nice”.

I’d put the South in the same family, but as a different animal entirely.  South = nice.  As in, maple syrup on top of chocolate chip pancakes covered with fudge sauce, whipped cream, and a sprinkle of pink sugar for presentation.  Sweet and sticky nice.   However, these good folks are known for such an extreme sense of hospitality that it has to be at least moderately genuine. 

Jea-nnie, who can resist that drawl?  No one.  source

We won’t even get into those West Coasters. Talk about a different culture and set of societal constructs.  How do they feel about this? 

They’re stoked. 

This is all only an introduction to what I want to cover this morning:  Why is it that 100% of the times we are asked how we are, we reply that we’re doing well?   The probability of actually being “good” 10 out of 10 times is not actually, well, good.  Those people closest to me know that “fine” is practically the kiss of death.  You might as well pick up your cell phone, call the state hospital, and have them send men in white coats with a straight jacket to come strap me down, because I’m probably on the verge of a mental breakdown.  I’ve had my days.  Some of you might be laughing while reading this because you’re uncomfortably aware how close to the truth it is.  My goal is to ban “fine” and “ok” from my conversational repertoire.  Don’t get me wrong - there should be laws to regulate sharing appropriately.  There are things I probably don’t want to and should never know about you (underwear color, skin condition, favorite lip gloss).  But while each of us shouldn’t wallow in self-pity or over-share, there is something refreshing about a healthy, honest response to that basic human question:

“How are you?” 

“Fine.  Well, today’s been rough.” 

Why are we quick to share in each other’s joy, but not our pain and struggles.  Friends and family are often referred to as a support system, right?  Well, let them in; let them support you.  Friendships are like everything else in life, an investment - you get out what you put in.  Relationships take work, and sometimes you’re the one being invested in and other times you’re doing all the investing.  Be ok with that.  Even the most seemingly well-adjusted, happy person has things lurking below the surface that keep them up at night.  It takes a bit of a leap of faith to allow one’s self to be vulnerable, but what’s the worst that could happen?  You might get rejected a hug and you’ve managed to tighten the bond with your friends?   Gee, that sounds lousy.   

Do yourself a favor.  Take the risk.