Getting older has its perks. I am now comfortable enough in my skin to answer questions I used to find incredibly invasive, though I am mature enough to know when NOT to answer them, as well.
I no longer feel the need to justify or explain away aspects of myself in mixed company. I am not an unkind, nasty or evil person, so I know that facets of me that seem quirky or odd are fairly easily explained away by unresolved childhood trauma. I'm still working on stupid stuff/reactions that characterized my life before 30, really, and know that this life is about evolution, not perfection, so whew!
There are occasions, though, when maybe I'm a little too comfortable, that maybe I just feel that sharing something under cross examination is for the best. Or maybe I just don't hyper examine every single thought that escapes my face via my lips....
Case in point? Recently a fellow student, someone with whom I have been equally distant (by instinct - there is just something about her that I do not trust) and moderately friendly (no need to make enemies, but the fact is we will never, for about 757 reasons that come immediately to mind, be friends as in 'hey, let's go grab lunch or a drink or go shopping or hang out' kinds of friends.)
The topic was parents. The conversation got really weird, really fast, when she observed, 'You seem like a very grounded person. I'll bet you have awesome parents.' At first blush this seemed fine, but then she went on to add, 'If you'd grown up like I grew up - with dysfunction, lots of artistic talent but emotional disasters at every turn, you'd be a little more...less forthcoming, less confident, less..you know, you..'
Obviously comparing dysfunction gets nowhere, but I immediately thought of the background of craziness (figuratively - being the child of highly creative people can be interesting, to say the least; literally - depression, bipolarity, raging alcoholism) that colored my upbringing, and decided to say nothing. But when this other student went on to expound about how much of a mixed blessing it is to be the progeny of artists, I had to agree. And then of course she had to pry, because that is just how it goes, I guess.
After enough more of this chat, the inevitable, 'So, do you get to spend time with your parents now? Are they awesome grandparents?' question arose, to which I responded, 'Well, not really. My Mom lives far away now, and we rarely see her. She left under the pretense of needing to be somewhere cooler during menopause, and has opted for over two decades to remain far far away. Turns out while fleeing the emotional morass of her mom and sisters, she missed out on the opportunity to know my children, which is a tragedy, really, for everyone involved. My Dad, well, he passed away, so unless I have really great dreams in which he appears, which hasn't happened for far too long now, I don't get to see him either.'
And then the inevitable, 'Oh, I'm so sorry! When did he die? And what happened?' Great concern on her face, compassion, awkwardness, etc...
'He died from acute alcoholism, at the age of 58, in fact he committed suicide by alcohol after he remarried into an impossible, dark, terrible relationship from which he simply could not envision an honorable exit. I miss him to this day, and have only recently begun to deal with the suicide piece of his demise. I've buried that for a long time in the overall grief of losing my father, but recent events have prompted me to look at this aspect of his death and begin to process that...for emotional well being, and, hopefully, some peace at some point.'
Sound of crickets.
I'm guessing we might have just had our last 'intimate' conversation. Which, as it turns out, is ok with me.
I no longer feel the need to justify or explain away aspects of myself in mixed company. I am not an unkind, nasty or evil person, so I know that facets of me that seem quirky or odd are fairly easily explained away by unresolved childhood trauma. I'm still working on stupid stuff/reactions that characterized my life before 30, really, and know that this life is about evolution, not perfection, so whew!
There are occasions, though, when maybe I'm a little too comfortable, that maybe I just feel that sharing something under cross examination is for the best. Or maybe I just don't hyper examine every single thought that escapes my face via my lips....
Case in point? Recently a fellow student, someone with whom I have been equally distant (by instinct - there is just something about her that I do not trust) and moderately friendly (no need to make enemies, but the fact is we will never, for about 757 reasons that come immediately to mind, be friends as in 'hey, let's go grab lunch or a drink or go shopping or hang out' kinds of friends.)
The topic was parents. The conversation got really weird, really fast, when she observed, 'You seem like a very grounded person. I'll bet you have awesome parents.' At first blush this seemed fine, but then she went on to add, 'If you'd grown up like I grew up - with dysfunction, lots of artistic talent but emotional disasters at every turn, you'd be a little more...less forthcoming, less confident, less..you know, you..'
Obviously comparing dysfunction gets nowhere, but I immediately thought of the background of craziness (figuratively - being the child of highly creative people can be interesting, to say the least; literally - depression, bipolarity, raging alcoholism) that colored my upbringing, and decided to say nothing. But when this other student went on to expound about how much of a mixed blessing it is to be the progeny of artists, I had to agree. And then of course she had to pry, because that is just how it goes, I guess.
After enough more of this chat, the inevitable, 'So, do you get to spend time with your parents now? Are they awesome grandparents?' question arose, to which I responded, 'Well, not really. My Mom lives far away now, and we rarely see her. She left under the pretense of needing to be somewhere cooler during menopause, and has opted for over two decades to remain far far away. Turns out while fleeing the emotional morass of her mom and sisters, she missed out on the opportunity to know my children, which is a tragedy, really, for everyone involved. My Dad, well, he passed away, so unless I have really great dreams in which he appears, which hasn't happened for far too long now, I don't get to see him either.'
And then the inevitable, 'Oh, I'm so sorry! When did he die? And what happened?' Great concern on her face, compassion, awkwardness, etc...
'He died from acute alcoholism, at the age of 58, in fact he committed suicide by alcohol after he remarried into an impossible, dark, terrible relationship from which he simply could not envision an honorable exit. I miss him to this day, and have only recently begun to deal with the suicide piece of his demise. I've buried that for a long time in the overall grief of losing my father, but recent events have prompted me to look at this aspect of his death and begin to process that...for emotional well being, and, hopefully, some peace at some point.'
Sound of crickets.
I'm guessing we might have just had our last 'intimate' conversation. Which, as it turns out, is ok with me.
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