In the last post I said I haven’t had much to say lately. I realized today that isn’t actually true. I’ve had a lot to say, a lot of thoughts have been running loose in my mind. I just haven’t been certain where to put them. More than once in the past few weeks I’ve thought about picking up the phone and calling a friend because I really need to talk about where I am right now. I need to spill some things to a like minded and understanding soul. I need to be heard and maybe even receive a little feedback. I need someone to let me tell the truth. I've needed a phone call like that. I just haven’t picked up the phone and dialed anyone's number. Part of the reason is finding time for a lengthy phone call. Another part of the reason is not knowing exactly how to say what I need to say.
If I did call you, if I picked up the phone right now and dialed your number I would start the conversation with some small talk. I'd need that at first, you know, to break the ice, to give myself time to build confidence and yes, to convince myself that I can talk to someone else about what I've been feeling. I’d ask you how you’ve been. You’d ask me. We’d cover the basic topics that require occasional updates: work, family, motherhood, our creative lives. Then at some point, when the conversation waned and I'd run out of questions to throw at you, I’d take a deep breath then tell you the real reason I called, the real reason I needed to talk. I’d tell you that I’m struggling. I'd admit that what I'm struggling with seems shallow and petty and unimportant in the grand scheme of life and yet it's driving me nuts. I'd tell you I feel a little embarrassed even bringing it up but I really need to toss it around with someone. I’d tell you that this coming Saturday (the 17th) I turn 35 and I didn’t realize how that number would impact me. I’d tell you I never expected it—the way I’m feeling. And when I felt really courageous and comfortable and safe I’d tell you I’m afraid. I’d finally let all this I’ve been holding for the past few weeks, maybe months, all this that has been blocking my writing because it needs to be said and I’m not saying it, spill out from me, hoping when I finally hit that quiet place, that place where spilling isn’t necessary and just drip-dropping between the two of us would suffice, that you’d get it, that even though our situations, our fears, aren’t the same, there would be enough common ground for you to say, “oh honey, me too.”
You’d probably wonder why I didn’t say something sooner, why I’ve been holding it all in, keeping it to myself. You'd remind me that you're available any time. All I have to do is call. And I'd tell you I know that. I'd tell you I haven't called sooner because, well, I feel kinda silly. After all 35 is still young. And it is. But it’s also this caught in between place. This place where I find myself looking back and looking forward, both at the same time. It’s the age when you’re not old but you’re not as young as you used to be. It’s the age you begin realizing all the hot up and coming celebrities and musicians are now younger than you, as well as all the contestants in the Miss American pageant, who happen to be at least a good decade younger,and to your horror you notice you are older than every single woman the current Bachelor had to choose from. It’s that age you know you’re still young but you realize you are in fact aging, and youth, by societies definition, is behind you. It's that age you start to notice your parents are getting old and you even find yourself trying to figure out just how many more years you might have with them (as if that's possible) because time is unraveling faster than you can keep up with. Thirty years suddenly doesn’t seem like much time considering your 20th high school reunion is right around the corner and you remember high school like it was yesterday…or at least last week.
You might also wonder, although you might not say it aloud, why I didn’t blog about this. To you I seem to blog about everything and rarely hold back when something is really eating at me. You've even complimented me on my honesty and courage. I'd have to confess that, believe it or not, I actually don’t blog about everything. There are things I keep to myself. I'd confess there are things I fear posting because I never know who might be reading. I'd admit to editing myself. I think we all do when we put our writing out into this public forum. I'd tell you I'm protecting myself, making certain I don't fall out of anyone's good graces. Yes there are things I'm afraid to say out loud for fear of rejection, afraid that some of what I have to say is so bad it means I'm bad. You'd wonder who else I'm protecting and I'd have to agree that, yes, I am also protecting others, not wanting to hurt anyone I care about who might misunderstand or misinterpret what I write. I can't write about my feelings about my upcoming birthday without touching on the issue of genetics and the idea that women turn into their mothers, who turned into their mothers, who turned into their mothers, etc., that timeless story of crawling out from under our mothers, out of their shadows, to claim ourselves as unique individuals, more than just a product and reflection of our mothers, our families, but a combination of many forces, including an essence that is uniquely ours and like no other. While facts about family are generally neutral feelings about family can be very loaded. I'd tell you there is so much I feel uncomfortable posting, that it often feels like this whole piece of me I'm keeping quiet because I'm afraid to let it out.
We'd talk some about this idea, the idea of untangling ourselves from our families to find our individual selves. I'd tell you how lately I've been looking at my family, especially the women, and seeing what I have to look forward too, that tine honored DNA dance. I'd tell you that in my family the women tend to be overweight and as I slide towards my forties I have become more conscious of that and the fact that with age the metabolism tends to slow. Yes, I've been afraid of getting old, not because I resist being older but because I don't know that I'm looking forward to the changes in my body. I admit it. I'd tell you with more than a little trepidation that I want to be young and beautiful and that I don't like myself for wanting that because it seems so shallow.
When I admit that to you over the phone, you know, if I actually decided to go ahead and dial your number, more than likely you'd insist that I am beautiful, that I need to look at myself a little closer and see just how beautiful I truly am. And I'd tell you I know you're right. But I'd also tell you that I've been having a lot of beauty issues lately, that basically the idea and concept of beauty, or more accurately my beliefs about beauty, have really been doing a number on me lately. That may actually be what is at the core of my fears. At this point in our conversation I would begin spilling again, this time telling you everything I've been thinking about beauty, how it's been haunting me, and the fears I'm having. But, because you know me so well, you'd be able to pick up on the fact that I'm skirting around something I really want to say, that I'm coming at it from every angle and yet not saying it. You'd prod and I'd resist. I might even try to change the subject to ease my discomfort. Or more likely, I'd down play everything I've said and act like none of it really matters, telling you it was nothing really. I'd tell you I can't believe I got myself so worked up about things. I'd tell you I'm fine (that word, fine, a sure sign someone is in fact not fine). Hopefully you wouldn't buy that and you'd gently encourage me to tell the truth, ensuring me you won't judge me and that whatever it is I need to say you can take. And maybe I'd believe you and tell you what I'm afraid to say out loud.
Now if I really did call you we'd talk for hours about all of this, making certain I didn't leave anything unsaid. But because we aren't on the phone and you're having to sit there and read my thoughts I'll give you a break and come back tomorrow with more.
One last thing. If you are reading this and you know I have your number and that I'm not calling you please know I'm still so uncertain of how to say what I need to say. Instead of my calling you, you might need to call me and give me a gentle nudge. You might need to tell me "Okay girl spill it. Tell me what you need to say but aren't saying. Tell me the truth and not some watered down version of the truth. Let's get it out there and talk about it so it doesn't have so much power." I might need that invitation to enter a safe place.
