Askew. That is the word to describe how I’m feeling. The time when words don’t come out of my mouth the way I like and I fumble over my tongue and trip over my lips and people say things like… “you’re not yourself”.
If they only knew.
I’m a loner by nature that loves people. Oxymoronic I know but true nonetheless. There was a time where I was all about performing. Talking to anyone, anytime, anywhere, about anything and not batting a fake eyelash. I call it the “used car salesman years”. Funny but true. I listened for a living and learned how to gauge comfort levels and direct conversations to a spot where people felt at ease. It’s what I was paid well to do. At the time it was genuine and all I knew. I went from introverted geek to extroverted circuit speaker. .
I cared… (still care) about people very much. So much so that it’s gotten me into serious boundary troubles in the past. Per usual we have to bounce off the walls to find the middle pendulum style and I vacillated from all to nothing in a heartbeat… something at which I excelled. Yeah you feel me… I know ya do.
This was before I began writing in earnest. This was before I found my voice. This was before the squib kicks (literally) to the gut and some well placed punches thrown by Prince Charmingless. This was before I wanted to check out of the life hotel. This was before babies and mortgages and (almost) foreclosures and internal bleeding and three abdominal surgeries and self hatred and shame and the relapse that brought me to the brink.
This… was before I was broken.
Words have healed me in a way that I (almost) cannot explain. The norm was constantly talking but saying little of import, an incessantly talking mute with earbuds in to block the noise. Social butterfly-ism. It’s switched so much now that unless I’m at work (in sales which I’m very good at btw) I don’t talk much at all. Picture a pendulum hitting me square in the face. If I don’t know people well I have a tendency to observe from the outskirts – polar opposite of years past. Talking last night with a dear friend (waves at Lynette) we discussed this very thing. She said sometimes people have mistaken quiet observation or nervousness for arrogance.
Today I simply choose my words carefully. And if I’m feeling all katywampus (not a word but should be) inside then I listen. And more often than not when my mouth isn’t working correctly it’s because my fingers are under utilized. A day without writing is horrifying for me. That’s how I know I’m in the right space; how I know that this writing gig is no flash in the pan theorem. And if I write I feel … like me.
I also adore the idea of comfortable silence. The idea that not every moment be filled with talking. The level where you can just “be” with someone else and not have to perform. Performing on command, in my personal life, is not my strong suit anymore. Funny that… coming from a strong Theater and public speaking background to a more quiet isolationistic eccentric poet/writer/blogger.
My boyfriend used to say… “You talk to the internet before you talk to me.” He was right of course. I found my Nietzsche Niche in words and it felt like home so that’s where I’ve chosen to hang my hat. It suits me but I have learned to share verbally with others that I trust. Word of mouth style. Even and ESPECIALLY when I feel stupid or can’t talk ‘right’. I’ve found, more often than not, other’s aren’t judging me. I’m the one who dons the powdered wig and bangs that gavel in my general direction.
Silent lips do not always equal arrogance. Sometimes it equals contemplative observation or comfort in my own skin or practicing listening skills or allowing others (like newcomers in recovery) the chance to be heard. There is great beauty in that.
Silent lips can be golden… or deadly. Your voice needs to be heard somehow. Mine just flows from my fingertips. However you best express… do it. Written, verbal, lyrically, musically, photographically, with finger paints, through movement or facial expressionistic pantomime (but please no face paint. okay maybe just this once but mimes kinda creep me out a little.) To my recovery people, if you’re new and find it hard to speak, write it out and read it to your sponsor. Just get it out… somehow.
Epic (and much needed) ramble over.
http://dictionary.reference.com/browse/catawampus
Read your blog and could related on many levels about the silence and introvertedness. Trying to recover from beer and pot. Seems like I’ve been a life-long alcoholic with a two or three year marijuana addiction. At 52, with two sons 20 & 24, a failing marriage, a house in foreclosure, the bottom is here. Been at the bottom several times, only to return to my disease. My lungs and heart can’t take the pot smoking. My weight can’t bear the beer calories and dysfunction. I am in Celebrate Recovery right now and in their Twelve Step class. Lot’s of crying and relating. Need to move forward and leave the wreckage behind me. I’ll keep looking for your blog and words to relate, lift and inspire me. Keep writing. It helps people like me so much.
You’re so very cool, and I identify with you at so many levels, every time I read your soul. That ability to integrily dance on the keyboard, and in the real world, walk with humility, at least in the seeking of humility. I appreciate all you share. Thanks for the great insight. Thanks for showing me pieces of myself that I have the tendency to shelve. God Bless. Keep writing.
I identify with this a lot. For me there was a little twist; I dispised popularity and tried to flee it. It was the talking that kept landing me in the spotlight. Not being able to escape it for long, I learned to hide there. You know, the social masks, the persona presentations, the role playing…arrrrgh! Like you writing was my salvation. I learned young that in writing I found the one way to just be me. What was authentic (when nothing else was) were the words I shared with my notebook. We really must talk more. See you in June?