Note to Self: There is nothing wrong with showing your parts.
Let it be known that while I am not getting naked with any individuals per say, I am allowing myself to be in a perpetual state of nakedness.
As an aside:
Have any of you stopped to consider the implications of the statement, “Maybe I am the only one but…” This is not what I intended to talk about but since I brought it up… Why do we say that? “Maybe I am the only one but…(insert delusional originality translated into obvious and trite observation, commonplace way of thinking or methodology, in an effort to either exude false modesty or project elitist state of being). I guess I answered my own question, with salt added.
Back to naked. Of course I mean this in the metaphoric sense. And someday if I’m lucky it might manifest itself to me in the literal. But for now, everyone put on your metaphor hat, come one…use your hands…there, good. I feel like I have achieved a new level of consciousness. One step higher on the infinite ladder that reaches into thy true self. I say infinite because if we are made in the likeness of God and God is infinite, I am going to assume that there are aspects of ourselves that likewise, are infinite. Yea, I am talking about the spirit man. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it. Tobaccoless tobacco only. That infinite part is the part we get to experience later, after we get eaten by worms. Moving on.
29 years old and grasping the concept of how to truly be real. Let’s look at one example in my life. Ironically, this concept of “being real” seems to be the mantra of anyone who considers themselves to be somewhat self aware or has any dignity with regard to their projection of self. In other words, who the heck wants to come off as fake? We’d all like to think of ourselves as sincere and honest. I’m sure most of you are, all the time, everyday. Maybe I’m the only one but after all the years of striving to be real and honest I’ve concluded that in the striving I lost many aspects of who I truly was. Trying to perform the ideal real, sadly, yielded a confused and insecure imposter. Maybe this is why during all those years I most closely identified myself with a non-pubescent Cambodian boy. I was severely confused…and obviously geographically disoriented.
I would like to award myself at least 1 point for the sincerity in which I attempted this “real”. I took 9 points off for failure to achieve it. I was generous. For the most part I think I’ve always been a pretty honest, straightforward person. I’ve never really been a follower so I had that going for me. No, I can recall being touted as a trendsetter, in my glory days. Glory days that ultimately sent me to rehabilitation. How glorious they actually weren’t but man, ignorance and delusions of grandeur sure are blissful. Truthfully, while many aspects of my true self were regularly and generously displayed for the whole world to see, little did I know I was denying them the very essence of who I truly was. But hey, no one was missing out. How can you miss out on what you’ve never had? The only person missing out was me. I was being snuffed out. And yet, the longing never went away.
It seems funny to me now but for whatever reason I took the path of badassness. I seemed to measure success in terms of battle wounds and my ability to be unfazed by things that would otherwise cause the tender heart to be moved. Love was cheesy, romantic comedies were stupid and the worst thing that could possibly happen would be for a man to demonstrate any chivalrous act. I’ll get my own door thank you very much. Looking back I realize how utterly ridiculous it must have looked when I would order dinner for my date then myself. I loved playing the man; the man always got to be the badass.
When I was around 8 years old I was watching E.T. with my father. In the last scene of the movie, Drew Barrymore who plays Gerdy, races to get to E.T.’s spaceship before he leaves in order to present him with these potted flowers he was seemingly connected to. As his physical health while on earth would wax and wane, the flowers would too. Anyhow, Gerdy understands this and wants to give E.T. the flowers to take with him. I remember the scene was so intense – I felt a tear stream down my face. When Elliot, the main character, finally has his moment to say goodbye this is when things turn for the worst, for me at least. E.T. takes his finger and points to his heart and says, “Ouch” and Elliot does the same. There was no stopping the accumulation of tears. But what ended it all was when that goofy little alien puts his finger to Elliot’s face and says, “I’ll be right here” and suddenly the tip of his finger turns into a light. Cue an epic crescendo of musical genius and I am an 8 year old blubbering mess all because of a Recess Pieces eating alien. I could have dealt with all that if not for the events that immediately followed the emotional spectacle. My father noticed me crying and began to laugh. I immediately felt embarrassed as he poked fun at the fact that I was crying over a movie and what’s worse, a movie about aliens. What made all of this horrible was the fact that Neil Diamonds, Turn on Your Heart Light, was playing in the background while the credits were rolling. That was the day that I learned it was not okay to show your sensitivity to anything. Nothing could faze me after that. Not even baby sea otters.
For the years that followed I pushed down the deepest longings of my heart – the soft and tender sides of me. So in my efforts to be real, real hard that is, I denied myself the ability to show any emotion that labeled me sensitive. You see, I did that once, and I was made fun of, with Neil Diamond present. It had to be hidden. Sheathed if you will. Sheathed but not in the loin cloth sense. Just in the regular sheathed sense. In the sheathing, I was not only hiding away the tenderness, but I was hiding the lover, the romantic, and the poet. How sad.
It wasn’t until the last several years that I realized what I had done to myself. What had been stifled due to the sick weed of insecurity sprung from a seed planted when I was 8 years old. This weed needed to be pulled. Unfortunately, some weeds have roots that go too deep to be pulled. Those kinds of weeds need to be dowsed with chemicals and poisoned to death. I know what you are thinking. No, the answer is not to drink yourself into a stupor whilst embarking on a drug induced damning of the man tirade. NO. You poison it by allowing yourself to be what it tried to choke out of you. I unsheathed myself. I got naked. I finally let people see my parts, the good ones.
So now, with 30 approaching, I can proudly say that yes, aliens do make me cry. I write poems. Pride and Prejudice is my favorite movie because deep down I am desperately waiting for my Mr. Darcy. I would love for a man to open a door for me and order my food at a restaurant. I might even let you call me your Lady. After all, “my lady”, sounds a heck of a lot better than, “my non-pubescent Cambodian boy”.
Be naked people. Show your parts. Don’t rob others of the goods you have sheathed. Unless of course the goods that you are unsheathing could potentially earn you a citation for pubic indecency. And for the sake of God and aliens, turn on your heart light…