Tag Archives: Question

Jun 12 2012

Ass-squared [assuming assumptions are true].

Assumption:
The act of taking for granted or supposing.
The act of taking to or upon oneself.
The act of taking possession of something: the assumption of power.
Arrogance; presumption.

Today I’m frustrated with the misunderstandings created by making assumptions. Before I move on I want to say that I also get caught up in making them on occasion.  I work against the urge though as it doesn’t allow for any genuine intimacy [in-to-me-I-see].

Yesterday I received a message from my sister that read, “Ok, what do I have to do?” Her assumption is that I have an expectation of her that she is not meeting because I’ve chosen to step away from the relationship for the time being. I’ve told her that I’m not sure what it is that I’m struggling with, I just don’t feel comfortable engaging in relationship with her at this time. Which is the truth.  In the past, if she asked me to give her a reason, I would have made something up so neither of us would have to feel the discomfort of the truth. The problem is she would then do whatever it is I asked of her, then have the expectation that all would be well because she did. Then I would have to lie and say that it is, even if it isn’t.

Recently I called a woman I know to ask her for the time of a particular meeting I was to speak at. I really just wanted to know the time the meeting began so I would know when to arrive.  She however assumed I was asking her if she would come and support me while I spoke. Immediately she began to scheme out loud as to how she could change her plans for the evening, so she could show up to support me, which she did.  When she arrived she sat down in the chair next to me which made me feel like a child, which made me feel a bit angry, which made me feel a little guilty. I thanked her for being there for me, which made me feel resentful toward her. Why didn’t I tell her I didn’t want or need her to be there for me? I didn’t want her to think I was an asshole. I was afraid if I told her the truth she wouldn’t like me.

My experiences have taught me that more times than not, after someone shows up for you in this way, they have an expectation that you will then be glad they did. If you aren’t and you let them know this by say, not responding in the way they hope you will, they’re uncomfortable and many times get angry. Which usually manifests with them backing way off. Making an assumption that you don’t need, want, or deserve support because you didn’t receive what they offered you, in the way they offered it. They rarely, if ever, ask what it is that you want or need, then do that. Perhaps they assume I will ask for more than they can or are willing to give, and most likely, I will.

Last week I asked a group of women that were in the habit of telling me they love me, not to. They are not family and I would not call most of them close friends. They are a group of good people who have a common interest and goal, but for me, being in love with each other, has nothing to do with the desired outcome we are all hoping for.  For me love is an action. Hard work much of the time.  At the very least, the action I’m looking for is to respect who I am, whether you agree or not. And when I use the word respect, I’m referring to refraining from intruding upon or interfering with my life. To accept me for who and what I am. The people I asked not to say I love you to me are people I felt were patronizing me by telling me they loved me. These women are assuming it’s what I want and need. Assuming that when I say it’s not what I want or need, I don’t know what’s best for me. They seem to assume that by saying “I love you” they are in some way doing something for me. They also expect me to respond accordingly, which most times I can’t, in good conscience  anyway.

I’ve come to realize that other people’s assumptions about what they think I want and need, what they think I “should” want and need, has been a problem for me for most of my life. I get really confused about it. Don’t want to make people uncomfortable, or to be cast off as someone who is too much of a problem. This I believe may be the root of it for me. I can’t count the times I have been in a situation like the ones above, not done what I was supposed to do according to whatever assumption someone was making, and was therefore rejected as someone who is much to difficult to get along with. It’s true, I’m impossible to get along with, if you’re hoping to have a relationship with me based on assumptions about what’s ‘normal,’ and therefore what I want or need.

My husband and I have been married for twelve plus years. He was 43 when we married and had no intention of ever getting married. He’s a handsome, capable, sexy fun guy who had lots of girlfriends along the way. When I asked him why he married me, why he stays with me, [other than I'm wonderful, wink],  he says he saved the best for last.  He also says that having a relationship with me is like climbing Mount Everest. Not everyone can or wants to do it. But if it’s your thing, and you’re fit to make the climb, the reward, the view from the top is amazing.

Apr 2 2012

The Awards of Writing

I spent last Saturday at a NH University participating in a writers day event.  These things are always interesting for me. Events like this can quickly become lots of people talking about writing, many of them, when truth gets told, rarely write.  Or worse, you can also end up talking about everything but writing, which drives me absolutely nuts. Showing up to these events is my way of saying to the universe that I’m serious about my work as a writer. I am happy to report that this method is working. I have grown. And so has my body of work.

I am no longer self-absorbed and self-conscious at these events. I used to try to get to know everyone. Be polite. Ask questions that I didn’t care to know the answers to. Basically going through the motions. This self-conscious behavior found me editing myself for consumption ninety percent of the time. I found I was saying what I thought others wanted to hear; not saying what I thought might blow some imaginary opportunity. I also created connections with people who I wasn’t interested in; that were not sincerely interested in me.

This year I didn’t do that. I was there for three workshops I was excited to take. I listened to the keynote speaker with my mind open. I didn’t bring home one email address or otherwise from any other participant. I did however see writers I have seen in years past and that felt wonderful. It was enough just to know they were there. This year the day felt like I was where I was supposed to be, for the reason I was supposed to be there.

I once believed that showing up to places where writers were, saying I was a writer, was enough. I also believed that being published was the final frontier for a writer. I guess the best way to describe it is that I couldn’t tell the difference between Schlitz and a finely brewed micro beer. If it got me drunk that was enough. My Voice drowned out, [even to me], by the drunken garble of the crowd.

A couple of days before this workshop I was nominated for the Sunshine Award by another blogger. This is the second blogger award I have been nominated for since I manifested on the scene three months ago. Both times my reaction to the award was, NO, this is not what I want. Still, my first impulse was to edit my honest feeling out. To be grateful, happy, humble, and do what the award asked of me to do. To play along. The requests were simple, answer a few personal questions, nothing to deep, just for fun. Problem number one. Answers for me are more times than not, more questions.  The second request was that I nominate ten or so bloggers that I thought deserved the Sunshine Award. Problem number two. And problem number three, the name of the damn award, The Sunshine Award.

I set out to following instruction. I copied and pasted the bright orange Gerbera daisy in a new post box. Answered the boring questions and gathered together my list of bloggers. This made me uncomfortable. What if they, like me, didn’t want to be troubled by the sunny award.

To thine own self be true, above all things, has been an essential ingredient to my development as a writer. In the case of this award, I don’t want it. I don’t want my blog to be thought of as sunny. I don’t want to take the time to respond to comments about the award. I don’t want to be on what to me feels like the award circuit. Hell, when I published my first work I didn’t even want to show up to the release party. I want to write. And if I receive any awards I want them to be because of my writing. What is the Sunshine Award for anyway? My writing is not what you would call Gerbera Daisy sunny. Nor do I want it to be. Another thing that entered my strangely paranoid and wonderful mind is that I received the nomination because my blog is not sunny. Some sort of we support you and your sad story award. If that is the case, the arrogance in the assumption that I need or am looking for that, is highly offensive. I could be wrong here and if I am I apologize if this hurts anyones feelings. It is not my intention to do so.

Of course I don’t want to offend those who nominated me, [to late for that]. Just like I didn’t want to offend the woman sitting with me at Writers Day, who writes once a month about her cat who eats peanut butter, and wanted to pitch her book to me. She also wanted to exchange email addresses. Which I did. Then promptly threw hers away.

We all have our rightful wonderful place.  I am the most successful when I remember what mine is. It took a long time for me to recognize that in my writing work I am like an archeologist of the mind and heart. Interested in digging around in memories and experience. Brave enough to make a big mess of things if needed. An artist who understands that for me, the riches are found in the shards of broken things. That those pieces become colors;  my palette of experience. I cannot get caught up in pleasing others, or myself,  by vying for or basking in attention. Solitude is my classroom. Where I spend my time learning to mix different shades, glue together shards, and paint pictures that speak sharp sentences.