But if I am to be honest, my stories do not simply ask potent questions--in the hope that answers will be revealed-- but they also reflect fear about my direction as well. I try to keep it pretty contained I think. My stories offer a brave front, and often conclude with what appear to be the answers I was looking for. To be fair I do find answers when I write, but there is an underlying fear that I am reluctant to write about and put out there.
What is the fear? Well, the beauty of it is I think I have captured it in a nutshell: Unworthiness. And though it seems concise to have found the core issue that stands in my way--one unified theme--anyone identifying with this theme will know instantly that it is a tricky theme because it permeates every aspect of life. (But that is only true I think when it remains buried, or hidden. I think when we look Unworthiness right in the eye, it is impossible for it to act as a saboteur. This may be true of all fears, once visited they cease to become omnipotent don't they?)
This morning I was talking to one of my closest friend and furiously jotting notes, because she so often inspires my stories, and the title, Inviting Unworthiness to Tea popped right into my head. At once I knew that it wasn't enough to just admit to myself my big block to the answers I have been seeking: Unworthiness, but I had to actually meet her and have a conversation with her. So I decided to invite her to tea.
I wanted to record the exact conversation here but it was a little lengthy (and truth be told, some of the exchange made me feel too vulnerable.) So, instead I will paraphrase what was said.
The gist of what Unworthiness shared with me is, I need to stop being afraid of what others think. When pressed about how to go about this, she told me it was simple, that I just need to be myself at all times. Indeed this sounds simple, enticing even, but what immediately came to mind were those awkward and incoherent moments, where, when I am talking to someone, and trying to explain my vivid experience, it feels as if I am sharing my views through the lens of a dragonfly's eye.
Because I experience everything on a multifaceted level, and find it hard to articulate the layers of information I receive in one conglomeration to others, I feel unworthy--an outlier, unable to express myself adequately to be part of the group. I've learned it's best to filter. Best, because otherwise I might be labeled too intense, or irrational, or portray one of the less acceptable emotions, anger, sadness, fear...
To my credit, I have tried to be honest with those closest to me. And luckily, I've located some amazing people along the way who seem to understand, relate even. And yet, some of the people I have felt closest to have been harsh with my authenticity. It may be my feeling of unworthiness stems from sharing my most weighty truths with someone I trusted, and valued deeply, only to have them use this against me in some way later.
It's not that I want to blame others, maybe my perceptions are off, but I have learned I have to trust myself first; without self trust, we can trust no one, really.
So where did I leave things with Unworthiness before our tea ended? I think we learned we have a mutual respect for one another. She's definitely a straight-shooter and taught me some things, like Unworthiness visits everyone even though they don't talk about it. I would like to think I taught her something too, if just that it is courageous to be vulnerable, even when you do so awkwardly.
Maybe then, I will incorporate into my journey both what she has taught me, and what I know in my heart to be true: sometimes life is discordant, sometimes when we try to tidy it up it only gets more unruly, but if we have a friend in our self, we will always have a partner to muddle through with---and this makes it all worth it.