A little wavy rimmed bowl I did in week 2. It's one of my very first pieces, done in a light glaze. There's loads more to come. I'm looking forward to the day when I can make things and not be attached to them. LOL. I suppose a lack of space to store them should do the trick.
As mentioned in yesterday’s post, physical age and emotional age aren’t necessarily close. In fact, sometimes they aren’t even neighbors or even on speaking terms. Physical age is a representation of the number of years you’ve been on this earth. It is not a barometer for what you learned along the way. That’s where emotional age kicks in.
Oprah has a quiz on the topic, but that is mostly poop. This one was a little bit better, but some savvy quiz takers might still be inclined to fill those little dots with an answer that “sounds like the right one” as opposed to what they truly think or do. Go ahead and lie on those answers. Your secret is safe with me. While I try not to ever take myself too seriously, I am still offering my own quick clues to help determine one’s potential lack of emotional maturity. Here are some signs that physical maturity and emotional maturity might not be “cordial.”
- You feel a need to remind/state/joke about your “grownness.” This is a huge pet peeve of mine. When you are grown, you don’t go around announcing it. You don’t need to wear it on a t-shirt. You rarely feel a need to shout it at people that are questioning your judgment. You just are. And you couldn’t give a damn about who believes it.
- You feel like you have to be “doing” something, to feel like anything. Does the lack of a “jumping” social calendar make you feel somehow...not cool? Do you worry at all about being cool? When you’re an emotional adult, cool takes a backseat to true happiness. And if they don’t meet? That’s perfectly alright with you.
- You can’t decide what you want to be when you grow up. This is not the person who has a life shift, and decides to pursue something that they’ve have always wanted to do but feared for a long time. I’m talking about the person who, in a span of five years: a) Has gone to school to be a nail technician, attended clown college, considered becoming an astronaut and has over 20 certifications to do things they now can’t recall b) takes on seven new hobbies with great haste to become a master of none of them c) quickly abandons professed “new passions” once people have stopped paying attention to them d) changes jobs like the wind blows and/or e) say shit like “quality of life” and use big corporate lingo...without knowing what any of that really means
- You think the world owes you something because you are here, alive and express wants. As you emotionally mature you come to realize that everyone has crappy stuff happen to them. Maturity beckons you to keep moving through the darkness without looking for the magic “just because you’re here on planet earth” gift card. By the way, if I am wrong about this and you actually FIND this gift card, PM me. Immediately.
- You have delusions of grandeur. Regularly. Humility? Bah. Considering the needs of someone else, before your own? Pish posh. Why waste time giving any thought to anyone else when you’re so...well, important? Not to be confused with confidence. Confidence is having a general comfort with you. Delusions of grandeur lull you into the belief that your needs and skills are somehow more significant than everyone else’s. If this doesn’t resolve itself in time (and maturity), delusions of grandeur are often followed by crushing bouts of paranoia when you aren’t dubbed the most significant person on the planet. Don’t laugh. It’s a tough fall.
(Disclaimer: This is just how I see it. I by no means consider this some grand law of the universe...so if it offends, don't get your back hair all puffed)
We all are 'filthy' liars.
To a child, a parent, a friend, a lover, a stranger or even to ourselves...we lie. Some of us may try and avoid it more than others. Others do it grandly, proudly and with little provocation. Still others do it because they are scared shitless and know no other way to exist safely with anything located near the truth.
We all lie.
I used to go all psycho beast when I caught someone in the act. Queen of Hearts would sharpen her katana and prepare for a quick, smooth beheading. And I pride myself on being a pretty strong lie detector. But over time, I learned to hone my empathic qualities and at least try to dig a bit deeper when I know someone is thoroughly entrenched in the art of selling me a tale. I learned to react less, close my fury and keep my "AHA!" to myself. Because there really is no point. And frankly, when I look back on all the times I've lied (big and small), it's usually some sort of self defense that falls into the following categories:
1) avoidance of having to explain how I really feel
2) trying to hide some gross inferiority I feel I possess
3) inability to accept a responsibility or consequence for a negative outcome
4) fear of disappointment or rejection
Some of those may be innocent, some a bit selfish and small minded...but that's all a lie really is. Not some huge horrific monster that means you are going to be banished forever to the deepest depths of hell. But isn't that what your parents would have you believe, the first time they catch you in the act? The shame train comes storming in and you believe that your lie has just chased away any hopes of world peace and killed a family of unicorns.
Perhaps it isn't all that disastrous. When I think about the reasons I have lied to others, and others have lied to me, it almost becomes laughable. And it makes perfect sense that as you emotionally mature (notice I said "emotionally" mature and not just age), the need to lie, cover up, conceal and fabricate naturally wanes. It's all about a greater sense of security and peace with yourself...or maybe you're just too tired to give a shit about how someone will perceive your thoughts and actions.
Taking a moment to consider WHY someone might be lying, gives you an opportunity to hone your own empathic nature. And if you can empathize, you can forgive. If you can forgive, you can abandon thoughts of retaliation. If you can abandon thoughts of retaliation, you can perhaps help the other person to drop the defenses. If they can drop the defenses, perhaps you can have an honest conversation. If they can't, at least you can accept that and not hold onto any negative feelings. And if you can release negative feelings, you can let go. And if you can let go, you can turn the page. Eventually, a page becomes a new chapter. I know it's not simple, but it certainly is possible.
And...a note on that emotional maturity versus aging bit. Tomorrow's post will be a quick list of ways to determine if someone's emotional age meets or surpasses their physical age. Expect to be chronically disappointed.
I thank God everyday for two things.
1. A decent shoe budget.
2. Hair gel. Behind that shock of mess is hidden a pony tail that's probably just as out of control.
As yes. I still make that face. Usually at something stupid. I make that face a lot. I see and hear lots of stupid things. A gift? I think not.
Okay so after waiting for the surges of children, crowded theaters, lines and spilled popcorn in my lap, I finally went to see Harry Potter and The Order of The Phoenix. So why the night of fuckery you ask?
Because Potter has always been..."a sibby adventure" which is RPM & Gaberstein lingo for, fuck off world, it's just us right now. So anyone else going with me, feels like a strong violation of sibby code. Something she and I work diligently not to break.
Be that as it may, I had options to go with my friend Steve. The awkward and strained friendship with Steve means going to the movies and potentially arguing about his most recent self-exploration of his failed relationships, and my growing annoyance at his unbelievable self absorption. (After all, there's no room for MY self-absorption) Besides, I've been a bit pissy with him all week. So when R, my pottery instructor and occasional dining buddy, suggested we go instead, I accepted.
Now...R and I are very new friends. Still learning the subtle nuances that make us who we are. She might not, for instance have learned yet that I am fairly private, powerfully opinionated, stubborn in my beliefs and very iron willed. She sees the eager eyed child in pottery class and believes I am malleable and able to be lifted and pulled into any desired form. Nothing could be further from the truth.
I don't yield on anything that doesn't feel 'right.' No matter what source it's coming from. That sometimes means failure, sometimes means success..but it is what it is. R is a little bit older than me, I believe about 6 - 8 years. As girls tend to do...we have talked about our personal lives and experiences in order to get to know more about each other.
I think I said too much.
As we're sitting in the theater, waiting for Potter to start, we're catching up on our week, the happenings and so forth. On the right hand side of the theater, we hear someone talking VERY loudly, as if in argument. The voice draws nearer and around the bend comes a pretty sizable man child with a trough of popcorn, two hot dogs, a lake sized soda and a host of other candy assortments. I see someone pat him on the back and duck out quickly behind him. The sweet soul is mentally challenged, my first assumption is perhaps autism. I know, watching him climb the steps and speak animatedly to no one in particular, precisely where he is going to sit. It will be a in a seat very close to mine. I turn and smile at R who is watching over my shoulder. I tell her immediately, he's going to sit either beside or in front of me. She dismisses it, says something about frontal lobe damage and goes back to chewing on Swedish fish.
As I suspected, this man child sits in the row in front of us, directly in front of me. He is talking very loudly, calling out movie titles on the previews and talking with great animation about the pending Potter story. Bless his heart, but I am paralyzed with anxiety. Not for myself...but for him. He's sitting directly beside a very uncomfortable looking couple, who do the "pretend he's not there" straight face. I understand their distress. Get up and move and seem like uncaring sods with an insensitivity to those a little different than them. Stay there, and potentially ruin your movie experience. R asks me if I want to move, because man child is now looking for someone else to talk to as the nervous couple slowly ease out of their chairs and move a few rows down.
I tell her no. Surely, I fated myself by indicating where he would sit, but all those wholesome years of Catholic school have instilled enough guilt in me to sit on a pipe bomb if it will save the life of the elderly lady crossing the street two miles away. So...man child continues to speak, occasionally waving his hands in the air. I smile, because he's already having more fun then I am.
R turns to me and says randomly, "So...I was talking to my psychic about you the other day."
Ever have a moment when everything around you screeches to an immediate halt and you're sitting there trying to process what's been said? As you may know, I have an absolute inability to hide my reaction. It just slides from my sleeve to my face like well...magic.
"You did wha?"
She proceeds to tell me about this "helpful conversation" she had on my behalf with her personal psychic network. Taking small random slivers of my life that I've shared, and using them to craft a magical tale of my future. Now, you may know me to have a passing interest in all things metaphysical, but I have my limits and jade regarding how I think it works. May not be right, but it works for me. She gives me her friendly and super psychic analysis of my existence, just as the movie comes on and man child begins singing the Potter theme at the top of his buttery coated lungs.
What kind of fuckery is this?
My mind reels. Did I ask her to have some creepy soul shining a light on the nooks and crannies of my energy? Does R think I'm idiotic enough to believe her assessment to be any more than her personal interpretation of my existence and her desire to fix whatever things she feels might be broken in my life? Has this shit in some way infected my karmic energy? And oh my Lord could Ronald Weasley be any cuter with that red hair and silly expression? Am I sick for even saying that? Why is R ruining my entire experience with this odd shit muttered to me just as the movie begins? And what if she's right and I suddenly do not have the capacity to steer my own ship?
I literally shake my head. Enough of that nonsense. I focus on the movie. I listen to man child in front of me, at times both annoyed and warmly amused by his...zeal. I try not to be angry or alarmed at R. After all, I knew from the moment we met that she had some interesting layers, just didn't know they would be revealed so soon.
"Doesn't Professor Snape look like Michael Jackson?" Man child blurts loudly. He turns and looks at me, and I am torn between laughing and rolling my eyes. He says it again, craning his neck forward to see my expression. I smile, he smiles back. I nod in agreement and raise my finger to my lips and give him the international sign for shut it. He nods and turns his head back to the movie. Eerily, he doesn't say anything else during the movie, only waving his hands sporadically to express his excitement. I find myself wanting to hug him.
R and I didn't discuss any more of her psychic analysis of my life, and I thought better of expressing any disdain over it. Instead, we kept the conversation light and very fluffy. And I think, moving forward...I'm going to keep it that way.
That and perhaps start wearing an aluminum helmet to ward off the hoodoo people trying to steal my thoughts and play yahtzee with my life and it's choices. It may look odd...but hey...this is Austin, right?
I find myself sitting on the head of a pin.
I traveled perilously up one side, clawing and clinging for dear life and found a perch that afforded just enough room for me to park myself for a minute to consider how far I've come. I can look behind me and see all the versions of myself, shed like silk strands. I know better than to romanticize history for the sake of hiding from future. I no longer have the desire to run back to those places that used to provide shelter and relief by numbing any feeling I've ever dared to feel.
I don't say this was a willing move on my part. Many layers weren't so much worn away as they were ripped from my hands. I didn't walk proudly into that good, dark night. I sort of tripped. I stumbled and decided to let confusion be my guide. I've emerged from that journey stronger, wiser and tempered for what lies ahead...but I still bear scars. I still wait for them to wear away. Time is the only salve for wounds that are self inflicted, or so I've been told.
So I sit on the head of this pin, knowing I am about to begin a part of the journey that will be decidedly more climatic. The descent always happens way too quickly, the climb far too slow. I keep reminding myself, these are all good things preparing to bloom. I feel deep within me, that they are wonderful things. Dreams answered, doors opened, an evolution and all that it has promised. And so I sit. Eager, but hesitant. Courageous, but afraid. Expectant but jaded. Hoping but remembering all the jagged rocks that cut my hands along the way.
...and wondering if I dream these tides that turn, or if they are in fact a solid representation of a future to which I've so feverishly clung. I falter at least four times a day swinging between giddy confidence and heart wrenching pessimism. My pendulum existence.
Destiny beckons as I sit on the head of this pin. Watching. Waiting. I hold onto a faith that is a wriggling infant coated in oil. Winds rush about me, going from choppy to gentle. I cling, but not too tight. I hold on to learn how to let go.
I know this descent will be as it should be. Only a fool would try and script such eloquence as the ebb and flow of existence. Still, I try to read God's hand as I settle a baby too wild for it's own good.
All on the head of a pin.
Which saying do you believe to be true, but just can't seem to follow?
Submitted by Maxvan.
Taken from my July 5th 100words entry, since it seems to apply.
A watched pot never boils they say. I love and loathe that notion. I know things seem to move along more fluidly without someone like me meddling with the events. I know that most things have a designed outcome beyond our immediate understanding, and our efforts to move it along or thwart it usually wind up making greater messes. Still it seems for me the hardest thing still to do is nothing. Life is a fly in my face these days, buzzing by my ears and lingering too close to my nose. It teases me for my attempts at reverence.
I'll get right to it.
1. Butterflies. Flutterbies. Whatever you choose to call them. They've been fluttering all about for the past few months, all subtle, quiet reminders to me that my transformation is ever happening and ever beautiful. They whisper the promise of good things to come, and the reminder that every moment has it's beauty. See it, before it's gone to make way for another.
2. Friends. I met an online friend on Friday and knew immediately I had another kindred spirit from which to learn and grow. As I purge and clean my "house"...I am learning that I've also learned how to appreciate and spot true beautiful spirits in this world.
3. A sister that is truly a friend. I hear so many tales of dysfunction and woe, some of which might have been written by my own hand. One thing I know I have, is the love and friendship of a sister. Though 11 years apart in age, and miles apart in space, we could be no closer in love. She gives me a reason to laugh every day we're alive.
4. I am grateful for the beauty of words. To teach us, to record lessons for times when we're more inclined to appreciate then. I am grateful for the love of them, as it provides me peace in darkness.
5. Professional freedom. Every job has it's challenges. I have been afforded in every position I've ever held, all of the things I've actively pursued. And at this point in my career, I am grateful that I have professional autonomy, freedom to create my own expectations and the opportunity to begin building my next chapter in life without the stress of a job I hate.
Who is the very first friend you ever had? Are you still in touch?
I met Jameel when I was five years old. He was to turn five shortly thereafter. He and his grandmother moved next door, which...had they not, I'm not sure he would have been just another bright faced brown boy that lived on the block. I wasn't allowed outside to play. Children in the neighborhood seemed more like fictional characters then they did real people.
I was an only child until I was eight, so my only interactions were with cousins I saw from time to time, and the adults my parents had as their social circle. I was more comfortable in a room full of adults discussing politics, race and music then I ever was in a sandbox. I suppose that's why you see so much of my inner kid now. She was severely repressed back when she was to make her original appearance.
Jameel was the exception to my existence. His grandmother was an amazing woman, she became the surrogate babysitter/grandma for when my parents had other obligations. My father's protectiveness with me took a backseat with Jameel, and we were allowed to share our spaces quite a bit. We were fast friends. I was tall and sturdy, he was short, wiry and fiery. I laughed at him constantly. A ferocious spirit contained in a body way too small, he still managed to ward off the bullies with an incredible tenacity. Over time, his size would catch up and he went from boyishly cute to mannishly...whew. (You know I always had a thing for Spartans)
Jameel was my first friend, my first crush, my first unrequited love...but the best kind. The kind that's never disturbed because the friendship means so much more. Thirty years of friendship, he's seen me through every transformation. He's a father, an entrepreneur, a pain in the ass...and always, always, always...my guardian.
We still talk at least once every couple weeks. He still laughs as he did when he was child. He still gets himself into impossible predicaments. He still shakes a defiant fist at the world. He still pulls my hair, and I still hit him much harder then I should. We both still feel each others thoughts, moods and every chapter as it comes to a close. And we still feel a disturbance in the force when the other is in peril.
And he will still kick your ever loving ass if you chase me home from the bus stop. So consider yourself warned, ye bullies of the universe.
Ever have a song you've heard a hundred times before, but on one instance you hear it differently? Perhaps a certain lyric or instrument suddenly makes you realize how talented musicians are? You hear only them playing for a moment and you say,
"DAMN!!!"
Yeah. I had that moment driving to the studio on Sunday morning. Everybody knows I like Incubus, this is no secret. The first release from their last album Light Grenades, "Anna Molly" is heavy in my song rotation still. I play it. A lot. But on this particular morning, I'm riding along a mostly empty Mopac and all I hear is the drums. Nothing else. And from the beginning of this song to the last note, their drummer, Jose Pasillas is working like a beast. Next thing I know, I'm at a light grinning like an idiot feeling this song like it's the first time I heard it.
Jose, you are ridiculous. Sorry I took you for granted for so long.
On a side note...I received a lil something in the mail from my favorite slap target and absolute inner sanctum friend, Barry. A gentle nudge (actually a decent shove) towards getting my novel done, and pursuing my writing with greater zeal.
Duly noted, my friend. Duly noted.
