Chewy On the Inside

Hard Candy Shell

“And still, after all this time, the Sun has never said to the Earth,
"You owe me."
Look what happens with love like that.
It lights up the sky."
~Rumi

I get very reflective from my birthday to New Years.  This is also in line with the time of year—I just haven’t felt the pull to hibernate as strongly as I am currently feeling it, gazing at the pristine snow on the ground, the naked trees and inhaling the clear, crisp air.  I’ve spent the past five years in the of land glitz and glamor, smog and mirrors, traffic and plastic; where the relentless sun never allows for cozy days by the fire, beef stew and flannel jammies. 

I forgot how much I love the seasons: the trees lighting up, their final grand finale before a windy descent; the geese passing over, honking reminders to clean out the gutters and put up the storm windows; the skunks stumbling across the road, drunk on fermented rotting apples, fallen to the ground.  The passage of time is much more tangible.  In LA, you lay by the pool, sipping mojitos, talking shop and when you look up—it’s ten years later.  I spend far too much time on my reflection in the mirror than the reflection of my soul.

At the moment I am in a living situation with quite a few people after many years of living virtually alone.  Nothing reveals your state of being quite like other people.  I’m not used to this.  I prefer to exist in solitude and observe the world from the outside (or from inside my bubble, depending on how you look at it), dabbling in conversations and social situations when I choose to dabble—not every moment of every day.  Too much chatter.  Not enough writing.  Not necessarily good for quasi-recluse like me.

However, forced communal living has actually been fantastic—because nothing reflects your blind spots, your weaknesses, your character defects and your buttons quite like other people.  Peeing in the woods, gathering food and building fires aren’t the only facets of the human experience I realize I’ve become quite detached from due to years of self-centered city living and hiding behind the veil of a cyber-persona.  I’ve become detached from society, too.  That’s not to say people in cities don’t create and partake in community.  I have plenty of friends who belong to synagogues, clubs, organizations and scenes where they work together and interact with other humans on a regular basis.  Outside of the families I work for, yoga clients and body workers, I just don’t make any effort to reach out and create a sustainable “community”.  That word always struck a nerve…perhaps my age-old “New Girl” Syndrome?  Community always sounded like a hippy, PC word for clique, neither of which I wanted any part in.  I had to be forced onto the commune.  Internally kicking and screaming.

The “me against the world” mentality really crept up on me.  My Lone Wolf badge of pride, my propensity to quote Rilke’s advice to become one with your solitude or embracing the Eminem philosophy of life whole-heartedly have ultimately not served me well.  I am not an island unto myself, although sometimes I may feel that way.  Stranded by my judgments, prejudices and opinions.  Surrounded by a sea of insecurity, hurt and fear. 

It seems my social anxiety is not just online.  Sure, I can walk into a room and know everyone by the time I leave.  But extend that time, deepen the relationship, put me under the same roof with a group of strangers and force us to interact, share meals, compostable toilets and a porcelain tub in the middle of the woods when we are vulnerable, hormonal and going through life changes—and I freeze like a Mule deer in the headlights.  Intimacy.  It makes me want to crawl out of my skin or back into my shell.

Slowly, steadily, I have been coaxed out by the love, warmth and support a community can offer.  I want to take this moment to thank my friends and family for the opportunity to share, for allowing me to learn the art of receiving and for loving me unconditionally.  Not just in real time—but online as well.  As I have mentioned, my sister recommended I put a “donate” button on Phetasy.  I didn’t think much would come of it and figured it would be yet another exercise in facing rejection as a writer.  But I was wrong.  I have been blown away by the donations.  It’s less about the money (although the money does make it entirely possible for me to take today off what should be work and devote it to writing without feeling stressed about finances—so thank you for giving me that gift—it’s absolutely priceless) and more about the concrete demonstration of encouragement from the Phetasy community. 

It made me realize I’m not just writing this for me—screaming into a hollow, cyber optic cavern of 1’s and 0’s—I’m interacting with my fellow humans, creating bonds, sharing my experience, for better or worse, with the world.  And some of you, despite my ups and downs, goods and bads, broken promises and botched goals…some of you still believe in me.

So no matter what tough girl image I like to project, that hard candy shell is really just a façade.  I’m just a big softy inside and all this, this entire website and everything else I put into the universe, is just another attempt to connect to something deeper, something we all share globally, our primal struggle for survival, our insatiable search for love and meaning, our feelings of inadequacy, sorrow and joy, a place where we are all interconnected and one…the world wide web of humanity.