I have been anxious all of my life; supposedly it is in my DNA. Although I have gotten better at managing it, it still looms large on social occasions in which I might be judged. For one thing, I am not good at small talk; it is painful to carry the burden of my “end of the deal.” What deal, you might ask? The deal we make when we enter a social conversation. That you and I are “normal” and have “something to say to each other.” I am using quotation marks as a form of irony.
I know so much more than I can ever convey through chit-chat. I think we can all agree to feeling that way. I was born a serious child and have remained a serious adult, despite the fact that I can write comedy. The comedy arises from my understanding the silliness of human behavior, mine included.
The spiritual path and inner work can be more easily understood than the give and take of human relationships. God yanked the rug out from me early; He took my young daughter and said “Deal with it.” Something like that can’t be easily ignored. I hid the evidence of her life, dutifully giving her clothes and toys away, much of them to the Salvation Army. I kept her doll house up until this year, believe it or not. Her father made it for her the year that she died and now he has gone, too. You can’t work that into a conversation.
I put up a brave front, found a spiritual teacher and tried to play the roles I was expected and given to play. But my deepest desire was to know the truth. A good part of knowing the truth is knowing yourself. I knew what I wanted but not how to get it. I wanted the deepest knowledge about life. I knew I was living a fear-based life and therefore, knew that others are, too. Some just suppress it or lie about it.
So here I am now, squarely in my, ahem, golden years, and finally coming to accept who I am. I am a spiritual writer who operates from her intuitive mind. I have given myself over to this, come what may. I now say no to many things to which other people would happily say yes. But for the first time in my life, I am being true to my inner child. She had it right in the first place. She knew she was different, but she tried to fit in. Now I know I am different, but perhaps in a good way. Perhaps in a way that can give me a better quality of life
Not fitting in is sometimes a hallmark of the wise. Good company is always small. I like to think that living a life of truth leads to living a life of goodness. And that is better than a cocktail party any day.
By the way, if anyone wants to donate to the site or order a copy of my book, that would be great. I’ve posted a new series of talks about being with Vernon Howard that I think are worth listening to. I do a lot of hard work here and the occasional donation is greatly appreciated and helpful.
I have been anxious all my life too, Vicki… There are so many contributing factors. Definitely feels like it’s in the DNA. I’m hard wired this way. And no amount of “spiritual practice” seems to change that, except for felt moments of deep stillness in meditation, and then the mind contracts again, and the nervous system is off and running. I was told I was “too serious” as a child as well. And I loved going into the woods to write – connecting with “something else” that I didn’t have a name for. I am much more suited for a contemplative life than a “social life.” So there are other of us swans around who’d rather swim in our own ponds 🙂 Love, Christine
btw – I recently found a blog you might(?) be interested in. It’s called “This Beautiful Wound” about a woman who lost her 16 year old daughter. It’s at: http://mirabaistarr.wordpress.com/
Thank you for the validation, Christine. We are an unheard minority. I will check out the blog and perhaps you will link to my blog. I could use some traffic.
Where are you, the other?/Night is long, the dreams have gone/I lie in this abyss,waiting for a step or whisper/-Not all smiles the happy smiles/-Nor all pats the loving ones/(Innocent he stood, and looked at his own sky /They killed him with forty one shots) /”Soul what a fool you are!”-if you thought /This dark night is the last night/And this cold embrace, the final embrace /For the dawn comes, and comes also the king with His dear companions,/And His treasure is your treasure./Here he says, ‘Child, I have conquered it for you’.