The Weight of Words.

So last night I put my foot in my mouth and said something I immediately regretted. It was the kind of phrase that you want to take back after each word is expelled but the drive to form a complete sentence urges you to continue and before you know it the thought is out and offers no hope of retraction.
Listen here-- I am no stranger to this feeling. I have tossed words around my whole life, like pizza dough or salad or crumpled up pages of bad poetry. I've flung some slings and arrows in my time, like anyone with a fickle tongue on the defensive and a desire to impress. I've chucked my verbal deuces up and turned peace signs into peace-out lines that really zinged (or so I hoped). And as a general rule, I've been really impressed with myself about all that. Those casual stabs and jabs got me through middle-school taunting. Survival mechanisms, baby.

But the past 9 months or so have been a toughie. Trying to reconcile my protectionist instincts with the desire for authenticity and vulnerability, I have become increasingly aware of the weight of words.

At the Seattle Science Center, there is a giant lever with a huge steel weight attached to one end and a rope on the other. When you pull the rope to the far end of the lever, away from the weight, you can lift the 2,500 lb. mass on the other end with relative ease. For little kids/me, its like having super strength for 5 seconds. Pull this rope, move a ton. Done.

Then things get a little more complicated. As you move the rope closer to the weight, it becomes increasingly difficult to gain any leverage. This is the point where kids/me start piling onto the rope like squirming rock crystals in attempt to shift the defiant mass on the other side. Pull this rope, be reminded of how much my arms resemble spaghetti al dente. Done.

I've found the same concept of leverage applies to words. When my heart is far away from relationships/people for whatever reason (be it time, injury, apathy, annoyance or as a protective measure),  I can flick around words that should be weighty as if they were dried goobers. "I love you", "I hate ____", "You're great", "You're my favorite", "You're mean", "I trust you". I've said all these things at some point, probably even today. Drat that!

Inversely, I find that the closer I get to someone, the more those words mean. The heavier they become. They can't be spoken as easily, and they are taken a lot more seriously. I couldn't even tell my parents that I love them until late in my teen years, yet I could readily profess a love for Spike by season 2 of Buffy.

The harsh truth is that precious few of us are prepared to take on the responsibility of stewarding our words. We yearn for closeness and a tangible sense of reality, but not if there is the possibility of getting hurt in the process. We love our security, and we love our pride. No one wants to pull the rope and look like weak sauce in the middle of the Science Center. Its downright embarrassing.

Yet I've learned from personal experience that after a time, hanging around the fringes of vulnerability to preserve the upper hand stops being impressive and starts being strangely isolating. It didn't take long for the 5 year olds ooing and ahhing my superwoman antics to get bored and move onto other exhibits. Especially when they realized they could do the same thing.

But I digress. Something always has to give. Last night, I made a snarky comment towards a close friend that carried more weight than I wanted to take responsibility for. I pulled the lever from the outer edges and those words shifted without effort and without thought and without impressing anyone, really. Including me.

"With the right leverage and the proper application of strength, the door will come free." So true, Will Turner. But it's up to us how we use that leverage--that strength. Because there are some doors we don't want to open, and there are doors that we do want to open but are too afraid to because they represent vulnerability in a relationship, and some doors that should stay closed, and not all doors are holding Jack Sparrow captive, and criminy I am horrible at extended metaphors.

Regardless, taking responsibility for the weight of your words requires a strong element of humility. Sometimes it means saying, "Yes, I do have noodles for arms. Will you help me carry this?" I am fortunate enough to have a few wonderful individuals that are willing to share the weight. Every once in a while (sic last night) I slip up and get a little too cocky, but like so many unimpressed 5 year olds, my antics are quickly called out. Thank you.

So here I am learning the weight of words. It isn't glamorous and it isn't easy and I still put far too much stock in my defense mechanisms, but in learning weight, I am learning how to hold what is real. I am learning self-respect and other-respect and what it means to be truly vulnerable. And within this vulnerability, I am learning what it means to love and be loved.

Tiring? Yes.

But a shared tired. And so incredibly worth it.

To a promise made long ago

I will learn how to miss you the way I promised.

Everyone tells me I am stubborn as hell but
if it takes a spotless mind to love you best,
I will relinquish these memories
one
by
one

re-direct my neurons to other names
stop thinking that
synaptic do-overs
could keep you near

and obsession could hold you close.

I am learning to let you be an absence that no other can fill,
and I promise that on that day when our voices meet again
my heart will leap for joy from the weight of what it holds
and my mind will re-remember that


Yes.


I have missed you well

open your hands of it

Father 

Oh Father,

I trust You

with 

my 

loves

the weather has caught up to my leg hair.

Spring love is wonderful. I find myself gazing into the eyes of birds and even that one crow who always tries to shit on me can't take the skip/trip out of my step. I look out my window at night and am torn between a love of leaves and lament that they block the stars. In spring, Scandi Seattlites get back of the neck burned at 68°. She got her first kiss last night on a dock with meteors in the sky, which I love for her. There are flowing skirts and cutoff shorts with prickly winter legs and floppy hats and sometimes shirtless lawn mowing or fully clothed weed-wacking in our case. Our darling neighbor planted flowers in our dandelion patch when he thought no one was home. I finished the best Steinbeck/book I have ever read, and I know now that I have a choice. I am loosely pursuing the harmonica and drinking beer on the porch, both of which are learning me how to pucker my lips, which are starting to regain feeling 3 or 4 years post jaw-saw. I told my bedmate that I wanted a musical outlet, and she thought that was funny. "You're the best whistler i know, and you sing and drum and stuff. What more do you need?" She's probably right, but this season just brings out the creator in me and I want to perform and create and maybe even procreate (shock value!) because hanging out with a baby and a 4 year old every week makes me so. So. Happy. To be in love with spring.

Now Put Some Voodoo On It!

My good friend Kjersti showed me this video a while back and it is one of the best things I have seen/heard in a long time. This world needs more soul. 

This isn't a music forum or anything, but get your soul on today. 

some slide guitar, some motown, some voices that dare to go above a raspy whisper and singers who aren't afraid to look ridiculously affected by the tones they belt. (*See Galen Dissten of Pickwick waggling his fingers out of control to hit those juicy notes). We don't need to play it cool anymore. 

You can't tell me you don't feel like groovin when Marvin "Heard It Through The Grapevine" Gaye comes on.

That your frugal sensibilities aren't swayed by the smooth pleas of Aloe "I Need A Dollar" Blacc

That Jamie "A Little Bit More" Lidell doesn't put a bounce in your steps

Just try and convince me that Janelle "Tightrope" Monae doesn't make you want to shake off the bad mojo and move on. 

There's a reason its called soul. Its good for ya. 

the me in your mind

How about this: we introduce our shadows of each other and wish them a happy ever after. Then maybe You and I can sit and drink tea in peace. That would be so lovely nice. 

boosh.

Questions I am currently contemplating:

Do deaf people think that people who are yawning are screaming?

How do blind people dream?

What if there was a carnivore amidst the Land Before Time gang?

Where do rogue socks end up during the laundry process?
What if Rosa Parks had had a car?
Can primordial soup ease the common cold?
Why is it that we are sickest before the symptoms kick in?
How do you throw away a garbage can?
Why isn't phonetic spelled the way it sounds?
Are there any other words for synonym?
Why does a 24/7 convenience store need locks on the doors?
How does the snow-plower get to work in the morning?
Who comes to the rescue when the tow truck breaks down?
What if a surgeon had a heart attack while performing a surgery?
Why do vegans like things shaped/textured/colored like meat?
If there was an earthquake right now, would I really trust the door frames to protect me?

Questions I can't answer and am frustrated by:

Why don't Seattlites greet each other in passing?
What is the balance between grace and accountability?
How is Denzel Washington always so attractive?
What purpose did my bedroom serve 100 years ago?
Did our house originally have a fireplace?
Why do the things I make an effort to ignore crop up so often?
How come people don't sing to each other anymore?
Why is it that I always make eye-contact with creeps?
How many things do I claim to not like but, given a second try, would actually love?
If I were to repeat my same life looking just 10 degrees in a different direction in every instance, what would I see? Who would I be?
What is my favorite season?
Why does my hair take so long to grow?
Why do things cost money?

Questions I know the answer to but cant/wont say:

Why am I frustrated right now?
Who ate all the m&m's in maddy's trailmix?
Why does my heart race when I smell honeysuckle or cigarettes?
How awesome is the 4th of July?
Where does the restlessness come from?
What makes him so inescapably wonderful?
Where is home?
Will I always be so stubborn?
What if I had said something sooner?
How did I stand to listen to the Destiny's Child's first album every day for months?
Why did I ever think it was a good idea to buzz cut my head?
Why do I ignore my instincts?

What happens to a dream deferred?

What am i going to eat for dinner?