20/20

Inspired by my gal and fellow blogger Toia, here are 20 random facts about me, myself, and yes, I.

1. My disdain for Anne Hathaway knows no bounds. Don’t ask me why. But it’s the first thing I thought of.
2. My love for music much older than me is intense and everlasting.
3. I intentionally misspelled a word during my 8th grade spelling bee so I could get back to class and watch “The Diary of Anne Frank.”
4. I know every tv theme song. Seriously.
5. I have a debilitating fear of water. And heights. And mold. And critters. And heights.
6. I don’t know how to ride a bike. There. I said it.
7. The Three Stooges. Enough said.
8. I could write a dissertation on unrequited love.
9. I’m a carnivore. For real.
10. Love, love, LOVE traveling!
11. I want to move to San Diego. Like yesterday.
12. I met Michael Bublé and he saved me from falling to my death in his tour bus. True story.
13. Clowns.terrify.me.
14. I’m secretly a major optimist, but pessimism is far more compelling, right? Right?
15. My joints pop. Loudly.
16. I take my role as an older sister kind of seriously. I worry about those nuts like I’m their mom or something.
17. The arts. Are my life. Film, music, theater, art, writing–all of it.
18. Sometimes I take naps in the bathroom at work. What? I’m tired.
19. I’d pretty much do anything to avoid dealing with Math.
20. The scent of cake baking in the oven? Heaven. Pure heaven.

That’s all, folks!

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because i’m blue #3.

Jim Croce’s narrator’s girlfriend is cheating on him, and he sings his pain to a nameless telephone operator. You’re welcome.

me.

As much as I talk about myself on this here blog, I never really reveal anything. Sure, my love of all things Paul Newman, Europe, writing, traveling, etc., have been discussed at length. And sure, my loathing of all things rainy, cloudy, snowy (I won’t even comment on how loathing and weather seem to be related with me), etc., have been discussed time and time again.

But I barely talk about me.

The Actual Me, the fears, the hopes, the past, the pain, the truest sense of myself. There are several reasons why I have refrained from doing so. A few: 

1) I believe there should still be a level of privacy when it comes to anything online and the life you lead offline. I know nothing is ever really hidden–somewhere, my terrible, hastily deleted email about my former boss probably still exists, likely in the Matrix–but I just don’t think anyone needs to know what city I live in or the name of the company I work for (well, that information is available on FB, which might invalidate this entire reasoning, but only my friends can access that. I think. I’m in trouble.) Those things can be found, yes. But the info will not be coming from me.

2) For some reason, I imagine serial murderers waiting in the darkness, waiting for the kill, having found me or family/friends by way of an address or a telephone number. I don’t want that. So I use no proper nouns or locations.

3) It’s just weird, revealing the many vulnerabilities of yourself online. Like, do I really want to talk about what those horrible kids did to me in the 6th grade? Not really. I’d rather just nervous breakdown about it one day and somehow get a therapist for free. (Free being the most important part. We’re in a recession, right?)

The point of it all? I don’t just hold back here on Kitten Heel Marvel. I hold back in my life. But I’m lately recognizing that my adult, 16 days as a 33 year-old self can’t keep holding back anymore. For the purposes of closure, of letting it out, of attaining a sense of emotional balance, it may be time to loosen the ropes I’ve tied around my life.

“Me,” by Paula Cole. I think her song inherently describes the battle between repression and revelation, and eventually, choosing the latter. Lyrics follow the audio.

i am not the person who is singing
i am the silent one inside
i am not the one who laughs at people’s jokes
i just pacify their egos
i am not my house or my car or my songs
they are only just stops along my way
i am like winter
i’m a dark cold female
with a golden ring of wisdom in my cave

CHORUS:
and it is me who is my enemy
me who beats me up
me who makes the monsters
me who strips my confidence

i am carrying my voice
i am carrying my heart
i am carrying my rhythm
i am carrying my prayers
but you can’t kill my spirit
it’s soaring and it’s strong
like a mountain
i go on and on
but when my wings are folded
the brightly colored moth
blends into the dirt into the ground

chorus

and it’s me who’s too weak
and it’s me who’s too shy
to ask for the thing i love
and it’s me who’s too weak
and it’s me who’s too shy
to ask for the thing i love
that i love

i am walking on the bridge
i am over the water
and i’m scared as h***
but i know there’s something better
yes i know there’s something
yes i know, i know, yes i know

that i love (5 times overlapping chorus)

but it’s me
and it’s me
but it’s me

defining a moment.

I want to watch you shave in the morning. I want us to take early evening walks in the neighborhood, moments before the setting of the sun. I want to make you laugh. I want you to make me laugh. I want you to listen to me. I want to listen to you. I want you to mow the lawn and take out the trash. I’ll wash the dishes, attempt to cook, and clean the house. Oh, and I’ll kill all the spidies and creepy crawlies that manage to sneak into the house here and there, because I’m pretty good at that. I want to sing at the top of my lungs in front of you. I want to show you my silly dances. I want to lose a little bit of my breath when you walk into the room. I want to like your friends. I want you to like my friends. I want to gaze at many, many foreign horizons with you by my side. I want you to understand that I will fall asleep anywhere.  Anywhere. I want to stay up and wait for you to get home if you’re ever running late (but I’ll likely fall asleep waiting for you on the couch). I want to be quiet with you (and there will be many quiet moments), reflective with you, loud with you. I want you to think you can excel where others have failed in getting me to 1) swim; 2) roller skate; 3) ice skate; 4) get on a roller coaster; and being ok with the fact that no, I will not do any of those things. (Well, maybe I’ll learn how to swim. Maybe.) I want you to understand that I really should have been born in a different generation, and I embrace that. I want you to introduce me to people; artists; music that I’ve never heard of. I want to be open with you.

So, just what is all of that above? My attempt to reconcile some feelings I’ve been having and my attempt to define a recent moment that affected me in quite a way. The short end of it: there’s just something about being utterly and completely myself. No silly facades, no fakery, not wanting to infinitely please the people around me, just me. All the components, all the facets, all the goofballery, all the seriousness, all of it.

(When a little girl grows up with no true, real appreciation for herself, and has everything about herself dictated by the opinions and judgments of others, she grows up with both a desire for validation and a desire to please everyone.) 

Now, related to the freedom that comes from being singularly myself, I spent some time in the company of a new friend some weeks ago. It should be stated what when I’m around, uh, certain new friends, I feel like a contestant for Miss America. “Yes, I want to save the children, I can cook, and I’m very smart.” I feel like I’m auditioning for the future. It wasn’t like that this time. For one thing, it was entirely and sweetly platonic. No pressure. But, all the same, I never felt the desire to assume a different facade. I never felt like thinking of the next, witty thing to say. It was an amazing evening of feeling self-honest and feeling solidly engaged in meeting a new friend and totally enjoying it. And it got me thinking about the future, which led to the italics provided above. Going a bit deeper, though, it surpasses things like the future or who I intend to spend eternity with. 

It is the blueprint for now. For everything and everyone.