Some people “get” you and some people don’t – and, sometimes, the do get-ers turn into don’t get-ers and don’t get-ers turn into do get-ers, and the lesson is to take those who do-get and be happy.
Look, I’m not always terribly good at listening to the universe. I suppose that ought to be capital “U” but I am firmly, determinedly, increasingly agnostic and so don’t do the higher power holy absolute being divine force providential whatever thing anymore.
But whatever is speaking, might once have spoken – from holy omnipotent other to synchronicity or coincidence – the message has rarely gotten through to me.
I’m trying, now, to hear better. Which involves speaking less. More quiet. You have to have quiet so you can hear those who do-get when they speak. This weekend I was privileged to have a visit with two of my A’s who brought me New York swag from their recent Broadway trek. After that luncheon, I was able to walk – nay, strut unto floating – down the street wearing a shirt with horizontal stripes, jauntily swinging a Barneys New York shopping bag, wearing round my neck the luxe Italian scarf that had been in a box in that bag, arranged with an Anna Wintour-ish flourish, and I was feeling all FABULOUS and GOTTEN.
And I loved it. And it was a choice. And the two A’s are a choice. And they are get-ers. They are plot details I have chosen to keep.
In the past few years I made a sincere effort to edit my life, pare it down to its core, my core, my center of what I took to calling Light and Love. Once that revising and re-writing and redacting had begun, it spun out of control.
“Out of control” meaning – and it is in the attempt to explain this that I have failed so miserably in the past few weeks and have thus posted very little, because this is a difficult few sentences – I do NOT mean to attribute any of my life circumstances, choices, or conundrums to anyone but myself.
But, others were there. Or, also, others were NOT there. And that’s a much harder story and in lots of ways, not mine to tell. I can write about the two A’s because – they are here in a happy plotline – but I can’t and don’t want to write about the characters who weren’t there. Because … well … listen:
In my “editing” of myself into a leaner, cleaner, clearer shape, I had to let go of some habits of being – and being there – upon which others had come to depend; I could not continue to be the shape or to perform the functions they identified as “Charlie” and so, there was loss; the word betrayal was thrown down, a gauntlet, on many sides (there were more than two, more than many, even – whatever that means) and there was much hurt, much spin, and I do not here – or anywhere, ever – attempt to tell that story. I don’t tell it because it has a very different shape and the truth is personal – for everyone who lives any story – and I have found – the long and the hard way – that to argue with or dispute ANYONE’s truth, only confuses, confounds, and causes more pain.
I know my truth. I have a right to it. If I wish to enjoy and exercise the right to my truth, then I must not try to disabuse others of theirs – even if I believe it to be blatantly “un-true.”
Not my business.
That’s a sort of freedom I have never had before. I have become okay with being a villain in someone’s story. In fact, I have even come to embrace it – because, I have come to discover – not without some pain – that some people I loved (and or love) very much require of me villainy so that they can be heroes, so that they can justify their lives and loves, so that their story works for them. I have enough Light and Love to be wrong in their stories without trying to argue it.
If that’s what they need, then, okay. When I CHOSE to love, when I CHOOSE to love, that’s the risk. Sometimes the story will not follow my wished for plot-line – hell, such disagreements on actions and interpretations happen when I am writing my own novels between me and the characters I have made up – why wouldn’t it happen in the collaboration of so-called “real-life” – where – if we are “truthful” (that pesky word again) we must admit, we make up many of the people around us almost to the point of their being unrecognizable.
So, you take the Barneys New York bags and the getting gotten when they happen. And you think, then, “Wow, maybe I should be in New York.” And no sooner do you think that then the next day you see two people who “get” you and they say, “Oh, you disappeared so completely, we just assumed you were living in New York now. In fact, someone told us you were.”
Hmm. Is it the universe speaking? Or, the Universe? Or … just a plotline best left unexplored?
Whatever it is, you listen by spending a lot of time in silence, walking alone, sometimes it’s foggy and frightening, but, you know, there it is. The cost of truth – and listening and hearing – is understanding that everyone has their own truth and their own way of listening and hearing – and you have to learn to be okay with that, which equals, I am afraid, much loneliness.
So, yes, at the moment, despite all the wonderful loves I have who are get-ers, I am a little lonely.
I miss some people; some gone because they have moved on to another plane and some gone because they have moved on to another play and some gone because they have moved on to another place and some gone because … I am inconvenient except as villain in their truth.
So, I am wearing my Barneys New York scarf, listening to my Andrew Lippa CD, FINALLY finishing this REAL BLOG ENTRY, and getting ready to head to a few hours at the gym.
Life goes on. Until it doesn’t. And some people are there. Or, here. And some people are not. And that, as I have said and am happy to have learned to say, is not my story to tell right now.