Monday, April 21, 2014

The Shards of Being the Overly Expressive Girl



“Better to be slapped with the truth than be kissed by a lie.”
“An entirely open soul is just as inappropriate as an open fly.”

I once heard two contradicting Russian proverbs and liked both equally. The first one states that in life it is better to be taken back and be in a temporary state of shell shock by news that is nonetheless honest than be told things that remind you of a sweet, spring kiss that you find out later never truly existed; when you open your eyes you see that the moment was all in your head; the kiss, the feeling, simply never was.

The second quote draws attention to being discreet and using self-restraint when wanting to orchestrate a proverbial parade titled, “This is how I really feel.” It urges you not to. Don’t be fully honest and express exactly how you feel. Rather, keep them guessing, leave things up to their imagination. Do not divulge everything.

Yes, it is these two quotes that float through my head when I am in situation where I want to be the U.S., the person(s) facing me the people of Vietnam and I want to drop truth bombs like its 1968. In other words, when I have an abundant need to express exactly how I feel; expected gasps, possible tears, hurt feelings and all. I wish I could say I usually prescribe to the latter quote but that would be a lie because the truth is, I have a somewhat abnormal need to tell people exactly what I think and feel at all costs (gasps, possible tears and hurt feelings be damned). Before you start applauding and praising me for being the small percentage of people who lets it all come out, let me stop you and tell you that this is not particularly a character gift; still not sure if it’s something I was born with or developed throughout the years. My need to be overly expressive has burned more bridges than it has built, has caused more break-ups than hook-ups and have made me hear, “Whoa man, this is unexpected”, more times than I can count. Sometimes I feel like I am a truth fountain, realness pouring out of me but nobody is thirsty that day. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I am the overly expressive girl. Ready to dish it out and take it anytime of the day, morning or night, library or house party, tired or on a full night’s rest, dontcha worry, I just paused to catch my breath, there is always a comeback coming your way. Yup, I’m ready to tell it exactly how I think it is, whenever the urge arises.

As much as I think my longing to say what’s on my mind and in my heart is a refreshing change to the tight-lipped, smile in your face but wish you the worst when you leave percentage of people that dominate this planet, I have always been made to feel that this trait is a hindrance, a personality flaw if you feel. My own personal lethal weapon of mass destruction that has ravaged neighbourhoods and created truth floods of destruction. A chip in the motherboard that needs to be reprogrammed STAT. “For the love of God, remove the overly expressive chip and replace it with something more user friendly”, I could just hear some people say. 

The way I see it, a “truth sit-down”, as I like to call it, can be like one of those magic carpet rides. Yes, at times nauseating, unpredictable, will probably have you regretting you agreed to this once it starts up and even plain scary if you are a first time rider but at the end, like every horrifying roller coaster I dreaded going on as a child at Canada’s Wonderland, after its done chances are you will be relieved you had the guts to go through with it.

Why am I like this you ask? Why do I have a need to tell people how I feel and “hash things out” till I and they have nothing more to say? Do I think something physically horrible will happen if I keep things inside (there's actually a good amount of research that shows that there is a direct correlation between people who don't express themselves and weak immune systems but that's another post altogether)? Yes. Do I have too much time on my hands? Sometimes. Do I fear having friendships and relationships that are saturated in so much self-resentment from years of both people not expressing how they feel that they now have almost zero chance of ever surviving and ultimately will be categorized as just people I see and party with occasionally (the lack of honesty has turned it superficial)? You betcha. That’s really why I have such an abundant need to self-express, because I have seen too many friendships and relationships end because both people weren’t honest enough and eventually it got to the point where sweeping things under the rug became such a normal response to disregarding tension that when it finally became unbearable to walk on and the rug was lifted, the garbage underneath was just too much and both people walked away altogether. From years of not expressing how you felt there was just too much filth and dirt underneath to ever restore the rug. If you think the moral of the story is to buy a rug big enough to store (see: hide) all your crap, it's not. Rather, what distinguishes genuine friendships, friendships that have metaphorical rugs that are stained and are looking a bit tattered from years of wear and tear but nevertheless have nothing underneath them, from the type of friendships that look picture perfect from the outside but underneath have piles and piles of unresolved shit, is the amount of honesty and transparency that exists between two people.

And so I ask you, who should I continue to be? The overly expressive girl who can’t fathom having anything swept under the rug or do I join the large and increasing by the minute percentage of people who smile, nod, never lose their temper, always save face but very seldom express how they really feel. Maybe its not a myth, maybe some people are just that easy going. Or maybe they just don’t care anymore about anything or anybody. Or maybe they think life is too short to "hash things out" and perhaps they are right but isn't it also too short to hold things in?

And so lies my final question, why do we advocate for truth when deep inside we only want to be presented with our version of the truth? All those parents who wonder why teenagers lie about being sexually active, well, maybe if an admission of such didn’t follow a lecture and punishment, then the need to lie would also be avoided. Maybe if partners in a romantic relationship felt heard (and accepted) by each other there wouldn’t be such a need to hide fetish porn. Maybe then we would not live in a society where so much garbage has been stashed under the rug that we can no longer walk straight. Of course lifting up the carpet and going through the trash actually takes work, time and a really, really big garbage bag but so what? What’s a little manual labour if it means being able to walk straight or look people in the eye and know that you said things you’ve wanted to for a very long time. Besides, why should we tailor (see: compromise and curb) ourselves and our need to express to fit the comfort levels of others? You are respecting their need to not want to listen but are they respecting your need to express?

The irony of being somebody who is overly expressive is that though you are told that you need to change, the same people will still say that they prefer the honest and unfiltered truth over lies. It’s fitting though because who in their right mind would actually admit that they do not want the truth? In my experience however, people only want the truth if it fits their own particular comfort level. In other words, if it’s in line with their preconceived notions of the self, the world and the person bringing them this so-called truth. If it fits their version of the “truth”. If its not, well then I have full right to disregard everything you have said, label it as false/lies and jump back on the dismissive train. And while I’m at it I’m also going label you as confrontational and disregard your metaphor for the clean rug as new-age gibberish. That way, my ego remains intact, I don’t need to deal with anything and all is well in my world. Ah, what a life...

Even though that last line was sarcasm, I still sometimes think it would so much easier (emotionally, time wise, etc.) if I would just wake up tomorrow and started going through life brushing everything aside, disregarding the little voice in my that says, “Hey, this is not cool, say something so this doesn’t happen again” and pretending there is no metaphorical rug altogether. Fortunately (or unfortunately) though, I know better. People do need to be called out when they (repeatedly) screw up, individuals need to express how they see their side of the story and compare it to others and get resolution, and we need to stop living in a society where the need to express is labelled as confrontational. Lets stop walking on wobbly rugs and pretending the surface is flat when you know deep inside it’s not.

Or maybe the secret is really giving people self-expression in increments. Perhaps there is a reason that even die-hard steak lovers prefer a 10 ounce versus a 22 ounce portion. Maybe I need to change my self-proclamation from the “overly expressive girl” to the “overly(ish)" or "somewhat expressive girl”? Or maybe I should just stay the way I am and only welcome people who appreciate my need for “nothing swept under the rug” analogies, friendships and relationships.

Wednesday, April 9, 2014


Growing up with a little brother meant three things: on any given Saturday morning there was always someone to watch X-Men with, places my friends and I would go to as teenagers depended on whether or not they allowed children and lastly, I grew up being exposed to the glitz, glamour and hot pants that defined the World Wrestling Federation (I never did get used to calling it the WWE). Though I expressed my disdain for having to take my kid brother to, “another Monday Night Raw”, secretly, I loved it. The oiled up bodies of muscle men, the hot girls in latex, and above all, the squeals of die-hard fans (young and old) that filled the ACC could still rival any sold out show at the Opera House. That was how it felt seeing a WWF show in person; exciting, climatic and just plain fun. Never mind that my kid brother was asking me to go get him popcorn during the main match between Chris Jericho and Jeff Hardy and Rob van Dam and Rhyno; I still usually came home giddy. 

Though I considered myself a "closet WWF fan", much like proud fans I too was affected when I'd hear that someone from the mystical world of wrestling was going through something in their life. The way I saw it, I kinda grew up with these men and women and so I'd care if one of them sustained an injury or something unpleasant like that. Such was yesterday, which marked the death of one of the most iconic sportsmen in the history of the WWF, James Brian Hellwig, also known by his stage name, The Ultimate Warrior. This piece can be about his legacy, the millions of (grown up) men and women who continue to see him as a hero or the fact that he was the only wrestler in the history of the company to hold both the WWF Championship and the Intercontinental Championship at the same time, but it's not going to be. I’ll leave that for Wikipedia and the thousands of others who are just about to post (and rightfully so) their version of, “Top 50 Things I Loved and Will Miss About the Ultimate Warrior”. To me personally, his death is a metaphor for how truly valuable all human life is. Not to sound like a cliché new-ager, but his death reminds me once again how insanely grateful I am to be alive; to just simply be alive.

This is not a new thought for me but rather with every passing birthday I become more conscious that living (just living) is pleasure in itself. 20 year-old me got upset by the little things and though I continue to be a self-proclaimed detail oriented perfectionist, there is this increasing appreciation for life that comes with age that unfortunately you just do not have at 20 or even 25. That feeling was accentuated yesterday morning (without me even knowing about the passing of the Ultimate Warrior) when I was in a cab running late for work and the man (annoyed by the passing rain) said to me, “This weather eh, can you believe it?” and I replied with, “Honestly, I’m just happy to be alive. Bad weather and all.” And that’s where I am nowadays. Not entirely 100% (are any of us ever are?) but just happy to still be here; living, breathing, writing my next blog post and planning my next concert outing/adventure.   

If you are mourning the Ultimate Warrior or anybody else who was close to you, I say, mourn, give yourself time to process that you wont be able to see them in the physical form for a while but do not let your sadness overshadow what you could be doing. That is, celebrating them, their life and the fact that they were here with you at one moment in time. Try to overcome the resentment you want to deflect back into the universe while asking, “He is gone at 54? How is that fair?!”, but rather accept that some people are just meant to move on to the next phase of their life earlier than others. Am I sounding like one of those annoying new-age kids yet? Hope not.

And to those who are analyzing the events leading up to his death (his truce with Hulk Hogan and his induction into the WWE Hall of Fame) and in the process asking themselves, “Did he know he was about to go?”, my reply is, perhaps. Maybe he felt it. There is a theory about past lives that seems very logical when you think about and so maybe his "past self" was telling him, "We start the cycle all over again at 54, that’s just our destiny." Maybe that’s why there was such a hunger to achieve so much in such a short amount of time. To leave such a footprint, to inspire such joy when they were here and such sadness when they leave. At the end of the day, isn’t that what it’s all about: inspiring others, investing in people and relationships and doing amazing, outside of the box things with your life? It is for me.

R.I.P. Warrior, Till You Slay Again…


Sunday, April 6, 2014

To You, Whoever You Are…


To you…whoever you are…
Sometimes the longing for you is deep, semi-unbearable and
so strong that, “I can feel it in my bones” (ever listen to Metric?). 

My self-talk in regards to you is so sure (no doubt that one day I will meet you). 
But somewhere (really, really) deep inside I fear that I will not. 
Why would I? 
Do I deserve to? 
To think, maybe I will never read you this... 
I fear that my real life (happy ending) Romeo will never come. 
I will never look into your eyes and say, “Wow”.

This fear is very real but don’t make it my reality, beloved and dear stranger. 
Do not let me live a life where I do not meet you; where our paths do not cross; where I make it for a bus I was meant to be late for.
Do not let me live a life without butterflies, skipped heart beats and mornings and nights of lying in bed and feeling so utterly alive.
But above all so grateful that we are together (finally). 
Because the truth is, it’s not the physical.

I need your guidance.
I need your touch.
I need you to fix me (put the pieces back together).
I need your embrace.
I bet some days I will wanna hide in your arms (the world is too cold, can I stay in them forever?)
Hidden, safe, reclusive. 
“The world can't hurt me anymore!”, I’ll say and it will be true.

I need to laugh with you.
Secret world of inside jokes galore that are always on repeat.
Population: 2
I need your warmth (sometimes it feels like its always winter or maybe it truly is?)

Do not let me live here without you. 
Population: 7.15 billion.
I do not want to but above all, I do not think I can.
Live without you, my beloved, and dear stranger. 
Whoever you are…

Wednesday, April 2, 2014

Missed Connections and Other Bittersweet Actions I Will Never Understand

 
Whenever I looked for sold out concert tickets on Craigslist I almost always took some time and checked out their “Missed Connections” section. If you are unfamiliar with the feature, Wikipedia defines it as a “type of personal advertisement which arises after two people meet but are too shy or otherwise unable to exchange contact details.” I browsed through it from time to time and not because I was somewhere and somebody caught my eye and I wanted to know if I caught theirs too but rather I wanted to see for myself how many adults in my city lacked initiative or the more vulgar description, “the balls” to go talk to a stranger. If you know me in my personal life you know that I don’t get shy easily and not because I don’t have insecurities or never feel intimidated by certain men and women, but rather I know that the stranger (no matter how attractive) I want to talk to across the bar is just another human being and chances are would probably want to talk to me too. Why would he/she want to talk to me? Why wouldn’t he/she want to talk to me? These are the questions I ask myself when the overwhelming anxiety of talking to a stranger starts taking over and a little voice starts saying things like, "Don't move, stay exactly where you are, in the space of familiarity and that oh so warm comfort zone." Often times I silence that voice and when I don't I almost always seem to regret it.

As romantic as many of Toronto's “Missed Connections” stories are, most are bittersweet because how is “the girl in the vintage red skirt with the amazing green eyes and beautiful smile” ever supposed to find her shy admirer? More so when he describes himself as the “tall guy in the grey sweatshirt who was sitting a few seats away from you.”

I also can’t help but think that a lot of the men and women who write these ads are individuals who are so thirsty for that special person that they look for connections and sparks in strangers they see on trains and buses (Why is it usually on buses by the way? Is it because were often times going places we do not care to go to and need a distraction on route?), grocery stores and other places frequented by thousands of people per day. Is the need to find “that person” that big of a priority and a lack thereof such a painful void that we delude ourselves into thinking it was indeed “the girl in the vintage red skirt with the amazing green eyes and beautiful smile” who could have changed everything? If only you actually spoke to her. Are people so disconnected and disillusioned with their real life relationships that they see attractive strangers and fantasize about all the perfect things we would say to them and they to us if only both people actually talked to one another?

See, I do believe that there is such a thing as destiny but it’s only fulfilled when coupled with your actions. It cannot be realized just by itself. It sets the time, place, atmosphere and tone but it is you who must realize when those special moments happen and when people who can shape your future enter into buses, grocery stores and other random places.

Next time you are somewhere and your gut says, “Talk to them”, please, think of me and actually listen to it. What’s the worst that will happen? A five second feeling of rejection and a slight shock to your ego? That doesn’t sound so bad; nothing you won't be able to live through. You know what’s worse? That feeling of the unknown/what could have been, the constant wondering associated with the unfilled action, the self-loathing that can arise when you know you missed an opportunity and let somebody pass you by and the very real memory of a face and the lingering question of, “Why didn't I just talk to her?”