Yes, a real chicken - the kind that lays eggs or fries up so neatly. Essentially, what few of us realize and all of us experience is that curious moment, in the coop, when the cannibalistic nature of the species comes to light. And while you have been happily wandering about in the belief that everyone you encounter is honest and without agenda, with your rose coloured glasses - you fail to see that you are leaking blood from every orifice, and the natives are restless.
There used to be ( and perhaps still is - I'm not up on my chicken facts ) a large market for 'Rose Coloured Glasses' for chickens. This is real.
It's a real photo. It's a wooden chicken. But yes- they are quite "hot" items for collectors of the 'oddities' of farm equipment. But, most importantly - it keeps the chickens from devouring themselves, and each other. Because they are cannibals, and the sight of blood sends them into a frenzy, and the rose tint removes the 'red' contrast.
It's not so easy on the internet. While it is a wonderful tool, and can connect you with people from all over - it also can, and does, create a wonderful sense of 'remove'. Those who ascribe to the theory that the person behind the words you read is little more than a cardboard cutout, with little value and lesser emotions than the displays at the liquor store you find hurt feelings, improper impressions, and callous words.
See - this is not my first ride on the merry go round of blogging. Those of you who read back see that I have blogged before - both in a similar venue to this and ( be prepared to be shocked here ) at a sex site. No - I wasn't offering hints and tips on what position or technique will help you 'keep the excitement' - I was writing what felt right at the moment. What amused, intrigued, angered or even needed to be said. And there is feedback there - lots of feedback. Which makes it addictive, because at heart I like the attention. We all do when we sit down to write.
And I entered the fray being over confident in my ability to sort out the 'fakes' and 'trolls' from the legitimate people. Those people who were looking for another outlet or venue where the F-word was not taboo...
Fortunately, after many stops and starts I found that key group - those people who you just know that were you to sit down for coffee the conversation and discussion could last for hours.
But what few talk about honestly is those people who are there for a single reason, and since it is integrally tied to their ego and view of their place in this world, everything, literally everything is wrapped up in your walking lock step with them, affirming their every move ( even the horrendous ones ) and for this writer the worst offense: making thoughtless comments that neither relate to what has been written or add a damn thing to the conversation.
What we often fail to realize as readers is that while it does feel like a conversation with the writer, we are not privy to those oh so intimate tells that we have in real life, tone, facial expression, body language, even whether or not someone will meet your eyes. While the words may bring you to tears at the horror of the scene, you don't know if the intention was simply to retell a story OR to create a sense of sympathetic openness in the readers one is cultivating. Because in the mind of some, any attention is positive - keep them patting me on the head and I can continue to behave abominably because 'I've had it rough'. I don't want to sound harsh or even dismissive of the natural and real ( and in my mind GOOD ) stirrings of empathy and perhaps pity and even admiration.
And yes - there is a point...
We all, those who blog; imagine, dream and fancy ourselves as facile and competent with our manipulations of the written word. We read, see, relive and even imagine scenarios and scenes in our daily lives with a mental note ( or perhaps a jotting with a real pen to real paper ) "I must develop that idea". And sometimes we do it extraordinarily well. Exhibiting skills to rival Shakespeare in his facility with setting tone, scene and emotion. Bringing you in, and making you see as we do. Other times it's a near miss, and still others litter the floor with crumpled bits and half formed ideas.
I'm just expanding to spend more energy in this exercise called writing in spaces where the coop isn't so crowded and the chickens don't require the rose tints.
This post has been 'brewing' for a couple of weeks. And recent events where I live brought it all into a focus that I hadn't had previously.
A seven year old girl was abducted, raped and bludgeoned to death after being snatched between her apartment's playground and the apartment in which she lived. A playground that is, mind you, in full and complete view of at least 50 residents. A playground. Full of children. Most without supervision. Because really, you expect that your child, of school age, is going to be safe a few steps from your door. With other children present.
As is the norm in Georgia - the first instinct is to persecute the parents. What prior history of abuse or neglect, was this child alone frequently, did anyone notice the parents who may or may not have failed to 'watch' their children. And you know what? It's all not important. Not in this situation - because there were 5 or 6 girls of the same age at that playground the moment that child disappeared. The predator just took one. A random one. And whether or not the parents were watching, or cavalier in their attitude is not and should not be the concern. You do not, as a parent, expect that an hour on the swings is dropping your child into the shark tank. Yes, we all know that bad things happen, and can happen. But none of us should be preventing our children from socialization and fun and play because of 'what could' happen.
I say none of us. Which brings up the next piece of this set of thoughts. The reality is that some of us, because we were never protected in the smallest ways as children do always have that moment of pause, where the imagery and memories of being alone, being vulnerable, being 'hung out to dry' with no one to protect or cherish us; what can go wrong is the first thought.
How do you overcome the blows to your psyche when those who should have protected you, should have kept the bogeyman away were the bogeyman. Or at least complicit by leaving you there to be damaged, alone and unprotected? How do you learn that everyone isn't that way? And, more importantly, how do you recover.
See - I know what it is to not be protected. To not matter enough to those who should care, should have some concern where your well being and safety are endangered. One turned a blind eye, one played the bogeyman for years.
While the bogeyman went all maudlin and tried to 'apologize', the continued demeaning manner and dismissive approach, including abusive language and threatening gestures were far more representative of the 'real' reasons. It is said that everyone has their 'come to Jesus' moment as the end is near, and when that end is not so palpable - it is situation normal. Or whatever the 'new normal' in that mass of dysfunction has deteriorated to become.
Yet, the one who failed to protect - has yet to even acknowledge a complicity in the mess that I was to become. And, in some ways still am. I don't believe in the 'apology' - for it won't rewrite history and years of ignoring, retaliatory acts or even the words spoken in anger. But - it would be nice to see that they at least made the attempt to see where they were wrong.
And I won't hold my breath.
See - I realized that the only person in all of that family dynamic I can count on is myself. I cannot necessarily overcome the pile of garbage that smashes down my esteem. I can revel in the good things that are said and that I accomplish. And I can learn. Learn to control that tiger that is buried within, who can fiercely protect hers. And the "hers" is really not important to list - because like a cat, I have made a marking, a claiming on things that strike a chord with me. Things that are important to me. And I shall, will and do defend it.
Sometimes that defense is all on me. It's my feelings of impending loss or readjustment to the way I see things, the feeling that something is 'missing' and the desperate struggle to regain that which I thought I lost. What I most often realize is that I never lost it in the first place - I just failed to see that things were changing. And one day I woke up. And panicked. Thus started the scramble. And the obsession with my role, my part in the change. And you know what? That sort of stuff is what sticks with you, and can colour the 'having' from that point forward. Even when things are lost there is something that I learned. I think. I hope.
Other times, I am just a tiger. There is no thought involved, everything is running on pure instinct and reacting to all of the piles of stuff in the backroom of my life. The pieces that most days I leave unexamined and sorted neatly into the piles it took years to create. Reacting not being proactive. Defensive and scared, backed into a corner and lashing out and forward. Forgetting my boundaries, both physical and mental, and trying to take back something that may not have really been lost in the first place...just in case.
It used to be the 'usual' reaction to all things. Not even remotely attractive, and as I look back, I see just how much it hampered my life. Then, I learned about measured risk, and boundaries. I learned that defensive and offensive are nothing more than saloon doors that allow all the good to slip out when you are otherwise occupied.
And I haven't yet been able to totally control that tiger. Some call it ego and superego and self esteem all roiling together for control. Control of reactions, actions and moods. Mine is now far more a paper tiger that is full of sparkly bits and dark shadows, not yet balanced but not so scary. And, funnily enough, even less important to the who I am now, and the who I have yet to become than I ever thought possible.
Is it because I acknowledge it that it has become less scary, less shameful to have and struggle with? Or, has my growth and time spent sorting that backroom of psyche and 'what came before' into manageable piles of 'dealt with' and 'yet to touch' made my control much better? I don't think I have an answer for that yet. And maybe never. Because that's how the gods work. It's not important that you know the why, but that you can manage the what, and function in ever improving ways each day.
In reading the comments to the last post on labels, I learned several interesting things. Apparently, as a general rule: people don't want to be labeled. I don't see them as a bad thing, not until you are tasked to create one for yourself, or if that is the ONLY measure by which you quantify and define the people you meet.
For me, the labels are simply a shorthand. It's not perfect, never was meant to be. But just as some surnames come as a result of professions of forefathers ( Cooper, Baker, Smith ), sometimes a label can carry something positive forward.
I think that we tend to rail most against the 'idea' of being labeled, as if that simple word or set of words will then define who we are and confine our possibilities to a little box. That in some way, a label will haunt you, or discourage you from exploring options. And, when one is given a particularly heinous label, it can ( and often does ) make you rethink your approach. Or it does for me.
Lately, what amuses me is the "troublemaker" addendum that has been added to references about me by different groups. See, you get those sorts of additions when you either refuse to play the reindeer games, or are questioning an opinion that someone holds so clearly as a spoon fed belief that their little brains explode from the contradictions. And the fact that I, as most sentient beings should do, am able to and open to reevaluating my position and ideas about any one thing am not above saying "I was wrong" or "I never saw it that way" is somehow an anathema to their views on the world, so much so that my admission of my mistakes is a personal and direct attack that somehow will send their world spinning into oblivion.
It's amazing to be so powerful and omnipotent. I assume dictators get that same rush. Then I realize, I'm really NOT that important. I am someone who simply enjoys learning and evaluation and discussion. And I like people who enjoy the same things. I understand that ideas simply are - and that there are no crimes committed when people discuss ideas and options. But, things do break down and go all pear shaped when people start to dissemble and deny, or start to judge and limit ideas, behaviours and people simply because they can't engage in a similar manner. Oh - and when they can't remember what they did or said a week, a month or a year ago ... and how it directly conflicts with what they are saying now. And get angry when that simple issue is pointed out.
See - labels, to me aren't the issue. It's the people who are all too involved with or concerned with stuffing me into that little box covered with their determinations and labels. I don't think that you can neatly package anyone, tick off all the boxes that is them, in a single adjective.
And, somewhere in there - if you are all to concerned with rebelling against being labeled rather than seeing if those labels can somehow, in some small way, effect the way you do things or approach people ....maybe they could be seen as something helpful?
It's how I'm trying to see them.
I've been dancing with this idea for a few days ... lots of people have had different ideas and questions. But really - it all comes to labeling someone or something. See - I think that we have a need in our lives to have some neat little package that explains just what something is. We have a word that both describes and others are able to understand for things: when I use the word 'table', everyone has an idea of what a table is.
But then we get into people. And the labels become more like a loaded die, there are many connotations and emotions tied into words that describe what a person is. See - I can use mother, woman, lover, blonde, caucasian, short-ish, slim-ish .. the list goes on. But, just what those words mean to everyone else - what you get as a 'mind image' and your reaction to that image are all going to be different.
Then we can talk about that famous phase in our lives where we used things to express our 'individuality': the teen years. How some cloaked themselves in long bangs or black, donned 'shocking' ( to our parents ) clothing and accessories, maybe even wore our underwear on the outside. And if you looked around - you would find at least one, and usually several other of your peers expressing themselves and their individuality in exactly the same way.
So, if there isn't something that truly just defines WHO you are - how is it that we are all often far too comfortable and content to try to fit the labels others give, or strive to emulate the ones that we find are most comfortable for us to adopt as some sort of personal mantra? We've all seen the people who seek to convince us of their superiority and good fit to a label .. those who are constantly and consistently telling us how wonderful, sexy, smart, enlightened, researched, open minded, whatever positive you find. And we have seen people who truly are those things, and they are far more content to just exist quietly - letting their actions and selves just BE the word.
It all sprung from a set of posts from the Urban Dictionary - put your name in, and see what comes up. But, mine - wasn't there. Oh sure - sound the same but spelled differently .. and about seven million entries for Ashley and all of it's spelling variants - but none for mine. So a suggestion was posed - that I write my own. And you know what - it's damnably difficult to do. Because it means either completely expounding on every word so the connotations are removed, or accepting labels as they come - with connotations. And then - what about the pieces that aren't so wonderful - those pieces of me that I am still trying to organize and either change or decide how their outwardly negative feel ( to me ) can actually be something of use and value?
And - overcoming my initial knee jerk reaction to being labeled in the first place.
I know they are handy. I know that we all have this internal shorthand that puts people we encounter into little outlines - that we sort them into 'not interested' to 'has potential' to 'impressed' and all of those other little spaces that keep our need for having some sort of communal language to define one person to another. It's my table theorem. That someone can say of me ____ -- and immediately everyone understands. Or at least is close to the same idea.
And, it's far easier to admit that while I don't like being labeled - I want to have one that is so accurate and feels so right that everyone who hears it has a similar idea.
And then - it dawned on me. I had one of those. A few simple words that said it all.
I am human.
