Sunday, April 23, 2006

You Are My Sunshine

There's a magic thing that happens when people get together. I mean really get together. I've been hanging around all kinds of people in all kinds of places for many years and remained very alone.
Suppose I was protecting myself. In some cases I was protecting others from me. Over time, more so recently, I've been letting the armor fall away bit by bit. It certainly is a vulnerable thing. I scare others. Especially when I myself am scared. Which I am when I strip away the things I have relied upon for protection.
I am intense. My mind moves very fast. Way way way ahead of my mouth. My mouth tries to keep up. Frustration. Don't yell, keep talking. It will come out. This will take practice. People tell me that though they trust I won't be violent, they feel as if they're in danger of being hit.
For many years I did exactly that - lashed out verbally and physically. Worse yet, I ran away or rejected. I was often like an animal.
Raw. Intense. Unpredictable.
It drew people to me. It scared them away. It excited people. It hurt people.
Though I keep my hands to myself and my voice moderate more often than not, this thing is still present.
This came up with a friend yesterday morning. I tried to own my behavior while acknowleding the progress I've made.
Last night one of my students said this to me, "You're our teacher. We look up to you for your wisdom and your experience. We don't understand that you might suffer from any self-doubt or inadequacy when we put ourselves in your hands. I've seen you struggle. I've wondered if we were on the same side at times. But I've trusted and we've always come through in ways that have been intensely rewarding and exciting."
I asked him if it that type of intensity is not present in any project that's worthwhile.
He simply said, "No, not really."
That really went to my core. I refrained from judging the merits of the many projects on his resume. Something I would have done in the past to protect myself. Instead I accepted what he said almost as simply as he said "No, not really."
"You remember when you said to me, and you were joking, but as with all jests there's truth in it - This thing is going to go a lot better if you can read my mind." I recall saying it in an attempt to make light of the tendency I have to get ahead of myself. To assume others are with me. Or even ahead of me. I don't give myself credit. I'm waiting for someone to call me an idiot at every turn. I feel like I'm playing catch up. Getting left behind. I rush to keep pace, leaving others in my wake. In trying to catch up, I pass them by.
This kind of stuff is tough to admit. Tough to face. It would be nice to ignore it. To excuse my intensity as an artist's temperament. To point fingers. To avoid. To go to extremes. Rash judgments. Move to Mexico.
Speaking of the land so far from God and so close to the United States: I ran into an an old friend last night. He told me the letter I sent to him from Mexico in 1995 broke his heart. I didn't remember the letter. He said, "You don't remember. Do you remember living in Mexico?" Of course I remember living in Mexico. What do you think? That I'm some kind of idiot? (Oh, by the way - Here we go again.) Apparently the letter I wrote informed him I wasn't coming back, that I was going in a new direction. That I wished him the best in finding a new mentor. "It ripped my heart out. You had the light in you and you turned it out."
You know, the turn I took in Mexico was very selfish. Extremely so. Me, me, me. Yo, yo, yo.
I'm coming around to the light. I am showing up in places where I meet my old friend Mark. People who knew me when. I'm listening when H reminds me to allow others into my process. To be gentle. I'm listening when D tells me my authoritative presence is overwhelming. That I've changed but I'm not in the clear.
There's no place to run. No place to hide.
Might as well come out into the sunshine.

Grazie,
Signore Direttore

3 comments:

STAG said...

This post for some reason reminds me of the guy who walks into a bar and tells the bar tender "My wife doesn't understand me". The bartender says, "Oh, whadda ya mean?"

Signore Direttore said...

Stag

Maybe that's why I don't go to bars.

Cheers,

STAG said...

Grin!