Sunday, January 18, 2004

Here's something I've been having a question about.
When you tell people about yourself, how much do you share?

I mean, we walk around wearing masks pretty much all the time. We play roles with everyone we know, everyone we meet. Maybe sometimes we decide who we're gonna be, say in our heads, "I'm going to be a rockstar," or "I don't want to be noticed." But maybe sometimes, we aren't even aware that we are wearing a mask, we're so used to wearing it.

It's comfortable and safe behind that mask. You only let out the parts of you you're sure about. You only let in the parts that aren't going to hurt you. Armor. A shield. And frankly, if you only ever show people these little parts of yourself, then they can never really judge you and find you lacking or wrong. Even if they do think not so highly of you, you know that really, they don't know who you really are, so who the hell cares? Minimizing risk, that's what it is.

I have a friend who, when we went to a party, could always tell which guy I liked, because I stayed as far away from him as the limits of the room would let me. She would watch me circle closer and closer over the course of the night until maybe, maybe I could say a few words or start a conversation. I never even had to tell her, she could always tell who I wanted because I stayed away from him.

I think it's terribly frightening to actually declare to people what it is that you want. Really want. Specifically want. Not abstractly, as in "someday I want to fall in love with a great guy and get a novel published," but naming names and dates and all.

I'd rather talk intellectually about what it means to love, than say how confused I got today when this bar customer who flirts outrageously with me, and whom I flirt back with, came into the restaurant with a girl. A beautiful girl who I've met in the neighborhood and is really cool. I mean, why? Why her and not me? What exactly is it that makes someone choose one person over or another?

And honestly, that's not to say that he didn't come up to me and chat me up, playing the game I suppose, seeing "what if?", keeping me on the line. I don't even know if I WANT that guy, but, you know what? I wouldn't mind the chance to find out.

I wonder about this girl with that guy. Does she know how to play the game better? Was it just chance? Did she open up where I closed down and retreated to my mask, in effect, saying "no"? I've been known to do that.

As for the games, I don't want to play. The kind of love I want is the kind where I and whomever don't wear those masks. Where we are real and authentic, and accept each other for who we are, rotten teeth and all. Not only that, but the kind of love in which we are INSPIRED and FIRED by what is behind those masks-- by the real, pulsating humanity of who we are for ourselves and for eachother. I want to be the kind of person who says "yes," to life.

But you know what that means? That means I have to be around the kind of people who are going to get it. Who aren't going to play games, or manipulate, or use, or disrespect. Because I've chosen to believe in life, and the existence of true love, yes I have. But I am not a fool, and there are people out there who will take advantage of people who say "yes" to life, who don't know how or when to say "no." Or who don't know how or when to tell people to back the fuck off because they're pushing boundaries they have no right to push.

It feels like some delicate balancing act-- drop the masks but keep the barriers. Say "yes" and "back off." And then trying to find out who people really are, getting to know them without scaring them off or boring them or being bored and/or scared-- everybody in their own balancing act-- mask, reveal, extend, push away, mask, reveal. Love me, fuck me, go away, come close.

We should set it all to music. An intricate extravaganza of people trying to find love, trying to find connection, trying to be safe, trying to belong somewhere.

Picture in your head that this is what's happening at a party, or in a bar or cafe or Barnes and Noble. Imagine all these people in this dance. It's like all of New York is the Cirque du Soleil. Cirque du Amor. (I don't speak French and am probably screwing it up) Imagine the fabulous costumes, the high wire acts, the contortionists, the lion tamers-- this is so close to real life that it's hardly even a metaphor. Love is a circus. Uh huh.

Raise your hand if you've noticed that I'm playing the dance my self.

Intellectualize it, turn it into poetry, and you don't have to reveal that when that guy with the smile and the eyes that lit up when he looked into yours, did NOT stop by to see you at the bar, though he said he would, twice, even when you thought you were making the effort, showing your interest, even when you looked hot and he kissed you goodbye on your cheek.

Stop.

Not "you." I. Me. My. This is my confusion. My fears. My desires.

Sorry to say, dear reader, but this whole thing is all about me. I hope you enjoy it, get something out of it, become inspired or enlightened, but mainly I'm trying to figure out this thing called me. This thing called my life.

So back to it. Reveal. Share. Understand. Drop the mask and stand naked. (Ignore the hairless chihuahua you find huddling there, "yii! yii! yii!", wanting to run away)

If I want love. If I want intimacy. If I want true connection, then I have to stop hiding.

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