Ramblings
There are so many types of people in the world. I usually despise it when people tend to lump each other into categories and neat little columns. Everyone is unique. There are some of us that have likes and dislikes that are the same as others, but very often those qualities we have in common unite only once in a while. There are traits you seek out in others and then call those others ‘likeminded’ because they are the same traits you yourself possess and enjoy. People come in the shapes of happy and sad and somewhere in the middle, talented in one thing but not so much so in another. But the truth is none fits neatly anywhere. You can make a blanket statement like ‘so and so is a Type A personality’ and in general that might be true, but you can’t know them completely – ever. You don’t walk in their shoes.
Even in a place like Mizahar where you have a collection of likeminded folks who all fall under the blanket of RPG enthusiasts and writers, there are vast differences. There are those that others gravitate towards because they are open, friendly and tend to include new folks and unknown faces in the conversation. That’s always nice. It gives the new folks warm fuzzies and makes them feel welcome so they stick around and suddenly become BFFs. And the friendly people feel better, like they are somehow doing their duty to the world by being nice.
Nice is a good quality. It falls under patient and friendly and happy. Everyone likes nice. It works on Mizahar, but often in the real world it gets you stepped on. And that’s unfortunate. We should be more accepting of nice so long as nice comes from a good place and not a place where it gets you something you crave – like popularity or a mini following. There are those that try to super hard and those that don’t have too. We have a great liaison that’s naturally nice. I don’t think he has to work for it very hard. Maybe he does. Someday we’ll give him an award of some sort and interview him then I’ll find out the truth for certain. Don’t worry... I’ll pass it on when I find out. But this blog isn’t about him. Not really.
Me, on the other hand, finds it hard. I have to work extra hard to be nice. It’s not that I’m mean by nature. I’m not. I’m just not used to people who need extra gentleness. Some people call me blunt and that’s fine. But I think its more old fashioned plain speaking – the type your grandparents would use. There’s a reason there’s all sorts of products in the world in ‘normal strength’ and ‘extra gentle for the sensitive’. Nice is like extra gentle or that laundry detergent that has no scent or coloring to bother those prone to allergies. People are like that too. I didn’t use to know that. I used to chuckle at the thought of folks buying that ‘for sensitive skin’ versions. But that’s my world and my frame of reference. I’m a ‘buy the extra strength tide that smells good and get your clothing clean!”. Then again, I have fifth wheel grease, horse shit, and all sorts of oddities to wash out of them on a regular basis. The fragrance free dye free stuff probably wouldn’t work worth a shit. Of course, I don’t really know for sure. I’ve never tried it. I probably won’t ever either. I love the smell of clean laundry – all scented and the like. They make that stuff for people like me.
I don’t have allergies (other than to coconut) so I don’t know what its like. I’m not particularly sensitive either. I have really thick skin. I think it comes from a lifetime of getting kicked in the head and coming out smiling. Most people don’t smile. I do. I revel in a good debate, a great fight, or someone snipping and whining about something that doesn’t really exist in my mind. A few questions later, I usually have them shut up or moving on desperately sad they brought the whole thing up.
Its not that I’m not a whiner because I definitely am one or can be. I can whine like the best of them. I have a whole host of reoccurring whines that never seem to get solved and crop up repeatedly enough that I vent to others. In fact, I’m probably whining to someone right now in another window. Aren’t you glad, those of you who are too afraid to befriend me, that I’m not your friend? Yea. You’d get an earful all the time. However, I’ve digressed from what this blog is about.
But back to nice and being all worried about offending or impressing someone else etc. That’s really what I wanted to blog about. I don’t know why its taken me so long to get to the point.
Anyhow. I’m sorry about that naturally not niceness really. I work on nice all the time. You guys give me daily opportunities. Thanks for that. I appreciate it. But, truthfully, I wish people would relax a little. They don’t though. And I think I know why.
I think in a lot of respects it’s because we are all in pain and that pain causes anxiety and worry that we won’t somehow measure up. Some of us can pinpoint it to childhood abuse. Some of us aren’t working the job we want to be working. Some of us aren’t as smart, pretty, fascinating, or downright as gifted as we think we should be or see in others. We don’t have the things others do. We don’t have the money. We don’t live in the best place. We don’t date the right person or at all. We are too fat or two thin. It hurts us. Often it’s our own selves that do the most damage. It’s not the people that stand around us or over us telling us we aren’t good enough, smart enough, pretty enough, etc. It’s that little vicious inner voice that simply wants to seemingly hurt us all the time constantly. People talk about it all the time. They write about it. They even go to great lengths to either listen to it or avoid it. And when those voices come in multiples and crowd into our heads we are rightfully declared sick. I think we’re sick really if we have a particularly loud or vicious inner voice.
Mine isn’t. My little demon voice inside has a lot of reason and spunk. She’ll tell me to put down the chocolate donut in one minute and punch someone in the face the next. I have to pick and choose on her advice. Sometimes its stellar and sometimes well… it would land me in jail. But she never tells me OMG YOU CANT DO THIS. I’ve beaten that out of her. Seriously, I have. I’ve told her to STFU so many times she doesn’t bother to yack her jaw when she knows I’m just going to give her hell for it. Instead she does things like ‘Jen, you could do this a little faster. Jen, this could look a whole lot prettier (remember the gingerbread cookies?’. She was kind about them. I would have shown her my wrath if she hadn’t been. But she’s honestly not that nice. She’s the one that makes me order something for my husband out of the LLBean catalog when I find something in there I want too. She makes me share. She makes me not run over Swift Drivers at my work. So it’s a give and take relationship. She gives good advice and I take it. She gives bad advice and I give her shit and she takes it.
That’s how it should be right? If it’s not, something’s wrong. If your inner voices and personas make you shy or wary, then you need to really have a serious talk with them. In the long run, it holds you back tremendously. It also keeps you from seeing potential. That’s part of what a major part of our inner voice is about; seeing potential.
I’ve always been one to be delighted with a blank canvas of any kinds be it a sidewalk without chalk drawings, a freshly jessed piece of coldpress that demands paint, or a wall in my home that could be recolored. I don’t fear nothingness because it gives me a chance to fill it with something. I never worry about what that something is. I admire beauty when I create it and laugh when what I come up with borderlines on the ridiculous. It’s okay. I’m brave and I’m not afraid of making a mistake. I’ve made hundreds of them. Perhaps that’s why I’m so good at making them; practice. So mistakes and I are old friends and comfortable around each other. Do-over’s happen a great deal in my life and always will. I once painted my art studio three times in one day because the pale blush color I started with wasn’t just right, nor was the medium color really rich enough. I like richness, depth, color. I’m not afraid of it.
I was once standing in line at Home Depot waiting for my turn to get paint tinted and the lady who walked up beside me looked down at my samples and made a soft noise in the back of her throat. I automatically turned to her, raised an eyebrow, and demanded she reveal the thought she just had.
I still don’t know if she was being polite but she smiled and simply said – in the fashion of a seer reading tarot – as she looked at my color choices in cardstock. “I can tell, young lady, that you are not afraid of color. It’s refreshing to see such things.” I then took note of her colors. They were as bold as mine. I had a salmon pink, a bright blue, a deep red called merlot that most people would label burgundy, and a deep green called jungle. The burgundy and jungle were for my bedroom. I wanted to paint the walls mainly green with one merlot accent wall to go with my décor choice.
The lady on the other side of us had a muted selection of beige's. I wrinkled my nose at them. She read my thoughts perhaps after overhearing my conversation with the lady on my other side and simply said ‘I’m selling the house. These are colors everyone will like.” No. Not really. I hate grey and beige both. They don’t inspire me. They are about as inspirational as an all white room… which instantly makes me want to vomit just to add some color to the décor. No. That wasn’t a joke. I was serious.
So… why am I talking about being nice verses creativity verses color?
Well… I think its just different philosophy. Something happened last night that really bothered me. I shouldn’t let it bother me, but I’m going to pull away from the situation anyhow because I don’t want to continue to keep adding to the problem. Others can handle it that aren’t so intimidating. I just can’t help my enthusiasm though. I can’t help probably coming at a problem from a totally different perspective. In fact the perspective is so vastly different I don’t think the blank canvas is being seen as such but rather a huge OMG problem. It’s not. Blank things are fun. Potential is exciting. See it! Love it. If you can’t see the amazingness of what-if, I don’t know if I can relate. There won’t be enough links between us. There won’t be enough common ground to stand on. If you stand on fear, I can’t touch that place because I’ve banished it from my existence. I say that with absolute conviction. I can’t build a bridge to your island. I absolutely refuse too. I’ve been there. It’s not a happy place. It’s not a place where living things thrive. I want to thrive.
I hope you understand.
But bridges can be built both ways. If one manages to manifest, please step over. The other side is amazing and pain free. No one fails. There are just opportunities in abundance. There is no happiness buried in fear. There is only fear. And there are lots of people waiting for you when you do decide to cross over. Trust me on that one. And we all have our sidewalk chalks out and have laid claim on a huge driveway all for our sketching pleasure. You should join us. |
by Alice on November 26th, 2010, 8:27 pm 
