It’s late at night, and my brain fell out of my back pocket quite some time ago. This is one of those times. The quiet is noisy, because my head is rattling on the inside. Dave’s standard question earlier on — “What are you thinking?” — produced the answer, “The same few things, over and over again.” Morbid worries, constant hypotheticals, an overburdening impetus to mentally practice the social skills so hard come by in my not particularly long or well-experienced life.
I am, in fact, a flighty, uncertain and somewhat silly creature, though I have trouble showing it most of the time. If I didn’t, I’d be a total ass. You know the type, with no sense of their own asshattery. Instead, the agonizing social lacks happen on the inside, buried beneath polite smiles, considered words and expected reactions. It’s much preferable to keep the world’s respect where possible. But sometimes, I need to take the mask off.
Thing is, I’m sitting here looking around Scienda and thinking, this is where I used to do that. That’s why I started it. To give myself the right to be angry when it’s not acceptable, happy when showing it would provoke disapproval or jealousy, opinionated when silence is demanded of me. This is my place of freedom.
Lately, with so many truly cool new connections, I’ve obtusely pulled back.
Cultural commentaries and even literary experiments are just words. They’re a great way of filtering my heart for only the things that can be made lovely and piquant. I can write that stuff and be dying inside. Which sounds whiny and unappreciative of those who read and share here, I know. It’s not anyone on the reading end of things. I’m a great hider, is all. Heaven forbid I show the real me.
The more people come near, the more I’m afraid of losing them or disappointing them, the more I hide. We have a saying at our house referring to “the Catbert magic,” which basically means I’m usually able to put people at ease, including (or especially) unlikely ones. I’m usually able to read people’s approach to life and integrate with it.
The magic’s a sham. It really is. I don’t know where it came from. People are terrifying, which causes me to be clumsy, foolish, emotion-racked. That’s the truth. If there’s anything good happening in my relationships, it’s all of God.
That terrifies me. It’s quite something to live up to, doing relationships. And the freakish things keep happening, all relational-like, and then I’ve got to figure out what to do. I have no particular fear, just a nebulous one that goes far back into childhood, a fear that I’ll screw up shamefully and alienate the people who matter to me. That I’ll lose relationship. God is unconditional; life isn’t.
Of course, we all know I could blather on and on about how important relationships are to me. Sometimes I think I must sound like one of those inspiring fakes. But the simple fact is, I’ve wrecked every connection that mattered to me, at one time or another, at least it seemed like it was me at the time. I’ve gotten them back twice over, and life just keeps getting better…but that’s the thing. I don’t want to go through the cycle again, even in a small way. And yet it seems inevitable that I will.
And it’ll be because of the real me.
Mercy, I think, can be earned, but not grace. The people I know are those who overflow with grace, because I really don’t have the collateral to earn mercy from those who operate that way. I need grace-based people. I drive everyone else off due to my unpredictable performance issues in relationships. That’s the real me. If you want to know whether you’re any good at living in grace, come on over here. Dave’s the best I’ve ever met, and I drive him nuts. I’m doing it right now, in fact, sitting up late and trying to cleanse the crud from between my ears and under my ribs. He had things he wanted to do in the daylight hours, wanted to do them together.
That’s the real me. I suck at accounting for the people in my immediate vicinity. I generally mistreat and neglect them, and then I die a little at the distance between me and them. Top skill: making my own bed of nails.
Well, you’ve been warned. The real me is a curmudgeonly, single-minded, atrocious fabricator of literary blinds and interpersonal flimflammery. The magic’s a sham.
That’s the truth. If there’s anything good happening in my relationships, it’s all of God.
Thank God, and thank God for writing. Because I have to work these problems on the page — I can’t do mental soul arithmetic. But this one thing I know: whereas I was blind, now I see.
From Him and through Him and to Him are all things; to Him be the glory forever.
Oh, hun, don’t hide! We love you, curmudgeonliness and all. Quite possibly because we all wear shades of curmudgeon some or all of the time
It truly warms my heart to read of yours.
As for grace-based people…yeah, baby. My Dad gave me a name, and I’m still figuring out what it means. My magic’s an illusion too, or should I say a miracle: a gift bestowed, undeserved, unearned by anyone, least of all me.
Your dad gave you the perfect name, and it shows more all the time. Here’s to miracles, and not having to work them ourselves.
Yeah, I prefer to stick with grace-based people myself. I need lots. And I totally identify with this (of course.
)
Heather, that is what I love about our friendship, is the same differentness…
There’s a whole lot going on here, so I’ll try to keep it to a minimum. First, let’s say this: I know plenty of EGRs, and you’re not one of them. (For those of you not familiar with Rick Warren, that’s Extra Grace* Required
*EGR has no relation to the lovely Grace Bridges!
So, in my view, if I may be presumptuous, you’re one of those rare folk who will admit publically what really goes on in those recesses of the human heart and mind that are hidden, usually, from the outside world. What you’ve described is no less than the sin nature, I’d say. No wonder TDM resonated with you! There’s a reason the Bible says that our best deeds are as dirty rags: this is it. There’s a reason we say, as Peter did when confronted with the glory of the holy Christ, “Depart from me, for I am a sinner!”
That’s the bad news, as well as the fact that everyone who ever reads this, and every single person who doesn’t read it, has the same problem. There’s no getting around or away from it: the heart is deceitful above all things. Who can trust it?
But…
“That’s the truth.”
No, it’s not. It’s a half-truth. You may be (your words not mine) a “curmudgeonly, single-minded, atrocious fabricator of literary blinds and interpersonal flimflammery,” among other things, as we all are in our own ways, I might add.
However, as every one who hangs out here will no doubt agree, that’s not all the truth. You’re also a caring individual who puts others first. No doubt all good comes from God, but this type of goodness is worked synergistically between a person and God, as all but the hyper-calvinists and Pelagians will agree.
I’ll admit to all you’ve written above and worse at a moment’s notice. Not trying to compare scars here, just sayin’ that you’re not alone…That’s the way I see it, at any rate, but regardless, I applaud you for having the guts to call it like it is. Oh yeah…isn’t honesty also a virtue?
“But this one thing I know: whereas I was blind, now I see.”
Exactly…and what would it mean if you could not see these things in yourself? That you’d still be blind, perhaps? And the more we see of this, not as only trees walking, but clearly, it means the closer we have drawn into the light that we can now see.
Fantastic post, CD. I only hope I didn’t say too much in reply
But this one fired me up. It’s the very thing I’m teaching on tomorrow, FWIW…
Mr Quixote Sir:
Dear old charognard. Your words are all of them welcome here, you know that.
“No wonder TDM resonated with you!”
{chuckle} You say this as if it’s a new discovery to you…of course that’s why. I understand Charles’s deepest wish very well. It’s mine too.
Jer. 17:9 is one of those keystones, though, isn’t it? If that Scripture is Scripture, then living my life as I see it is hopeless. Which means I have to cast myself into the arms of Christ. Funny how even something so evil as the heart’s deceitfulness is caused to work for good in His purposes.
“and what would it mean if you could not see these things in yourself? That you’d still be blind, perhaps?”
Right, and you’re going to remember that yourself, aren’t you, Papa Bear…and of course I’ll be around to help you do so. Not to compare scars, but your transformation is one of the most complete and striking I’ve ever encountered.
“If I say, Surely the darkness shall cover me; even the night shall be light about me. Yea, the darkness hideth not from thee; but the night shineth as the day: the darkness and the light are both alike to thee.”
~Ps 139:11-12
Ahhh, Cat … beautiful post. I’m right there, too …
Stopping to comment at paragraph #3:
It’s interesting the effect that this blogging gig has on you as your audience grows and changes. It’s hard to keep that same immediate, spontaneous vibe that makes it fun. It’s hard to be yourself in a crowd. It’s like the difference between entertaining someone new in your living room and addressing a crowd in the street. This happens to me all the time. I have in mind an-off-the-cuff idea, and when I’m halfway done writing it suddenly sounds like a formal magazine article.
The trick is that the “just being yourself” is probably what initially drew people to your writing, but it gets increasingly hard to be yourself in front of dozens or even hundreds of strangers.
If someone objects to an article I’ve written, we can debate the particulars and have an interesting conversation. If someone does so over some personal musings, then it feels like a personal rejection. And as your audience grows the number of objectors will increase.
So it seems like you reach an equilibrium at some point: “This is as much of me as I can show to an audience this size.”
Well, at the risk of sounding trite, I think I know how you feel. I’m feeling that way right now. Ask Paul. His t-shirt has mascara on it from me crying over being afraid – of people – of going through it all again – opening the wrong door and spending five years in the wrong room before I figure it out and end up right back here again crying, “Jesus, which door are you behind?”
Shannon, I hear you, m’dear.
Shamus, thanks. Your much greater experience validates the process I’m trying to think through here. Though it’s not so much rejection, but with the personal articles, I feel infringement on my right to say what I want to say if those take debate. Which makes me curmudgeonly…however, Quixote’s been housetraining this pup on that one for the last year or so.
Laurie, yep, and you are not the only one. That’s the one connection I can’t bear to wreck — the one with God. Every time life changes up on me, it feels like I might be losing my footing. I keep finding out He’s there to catch me, though. I get scared of when He’ll get tired of it and decide this kid needs a spanking instead. But then, He knows that.