I’m listening, trust me
I don’t think I’ve ever been a very good listener, particularly with new people. My brain always has one ear turned to how it can latch on to some detail and then noodle it in a thousand ways, waiting for that inevitable pause into which I can thrust my own related (hopefully) thoughts. I doubt anybody I’ve met at a social gathering has walked away thinking, now that Kelly, she’s a really good listener. But I’m pretty sure more people than I (and they) care to recall have walked away knowing useless bits of my history like the time I waited on Judd Nelson, or the time the entire wait staff stampeded one another in the mad rush to get outside to pick Kate Hepburn up off of the sidewalk. Or that Fire Stix Jolly Ranchers and Mountain Dew were my favorite foods when I was 12. And that I was in labor with child the first for a month week.
I think I’m sick of myself. I wonder how people reinvent themselves? Do they start with something on the outside? Because I’m thinking that could be kind of fun. Would my thus far unsatisfied fascination with knit skirts and Frye boots be a step in the right direction?
Maybe if I feel absolutely confident in my body and convinced of myself I can learn how to be with people in a more genuine and present way. People like you. And you. And yes, definitely you. To learn how to not rush into connections in a bluster of me, to not just puncture a vein and spurt the story all over you in a river of images and feelings with no reference, no history. Hi, I’m Kelly and I’m a talkaholic. Maybe I can worry less that while you’re talking to me, my facial expressions are running away with themselves and revealing my inner insecure me. Is it weird that I want to discover the earnest listener inside of me? The one who hears all of the little details and instead of constructing her own story out of those pieces, stores them away as the pixels that redraw you in blooming color in her mind’s eye when you’re no longer there. I want to be the one who sits easy in her chair with soft arms and hands, eyebrows low and relaxed, mouth soft, not waiting or wanting for anything. Just being with you. Being easy with you.
But here…this is her counterpart, with arms crossed tensely across her belly. She’s not angry or holding or trying to block you out, she’s just trying to hide that protuberant tummy so her eyes don’t stray to it every five seconds. She hasn’t felt comfortable in her own skin for a bunch of years and she knows that fact creates a wall that not much passes through, not all the way. Maybe she worries there’s not enough room in there for you both. Even still, yes, she is listening—and no, not only so she can tell you what your storytelling has triggered inside of her own speeding mind. Though, as I think we’ve established…there is that.
When I first started blogging at Baggage Carousel back in 1998, it was for the love of stories—to be part of this burgeoning world of words and pictures, slices of past, present and future that people were sharing. I can’t believe it’s even true, but I feel like I’ve run out of stories, or have come up against the wall that has that sign on it that says: Do Not Enter. Or maybe it says: Enter At Your Own Risk. But there’s no disclaimer to indicate just what the risk might be and I don’t do well with that kind of uncertainty. All I know for certain is that I feel frustrated because I’m not expressing myself the way I want to anymore.
I love garden blogging and writing about food and my misadventures in the kitchen and in the soil. I don’t want to write much about the kids anymore because it just doesn’t feel like my story to tell and there are only so many ways I can be self-referential while recounting their escapades. And these things are only a part of me, not the whole of me and dammit all, it was a very long winter with no gardening whatsoever. I got in a serious rut with my cooking (pizza, pasta, beef stew, pizza, chicken soup, stir-fry, curry, grilled cheese, pizza, pasta, chicken soup, pizza). Hell, we even had frozen fish sticks one night. Yuck. I’m also in a rut with my writing—not just on the blog, but all across the spectrum. I guess I’m just burned out and so I’m looking at ways I can shake things up without walking away because I don’t want to not blog. I just want to find my way back to the stories.
I’m thinking about the reason I titled my blog Her Able Hands in the first place — because I was buried in my novel (no, I haven’t touched it in the last year) that I had given a working title Able Hands and because I was doing a lot of cooking and handwork and raising kids and noticing that my hands were always working on something and how good that felt. I was looking for a new outlet online because I was so tired of the baggage that went along with the first blog. Now here I am again with old stories looking for a new framework, knowing that I don’t want to go changing the whole damblam thing again. So stay tuned, I’m cooking up a little project that I’ll announce in another day or two, as soon as I can get a decent photo to go with it, and I sincerely hope you’ll all participate. That’s right…you. And you. And yes, you too.
"In summer we live out of doors, and have only impulses and feelings, which are all for action, and must wait commonly for the stillness and longer nights of autumn and winter before any thought will subside; we are sensible that behind the rustling leaves, and the stacks of grain, and the bare clusters of the grape, there is the field of a wholly new life, which no man has lived; that even this earth was made for more mysterious and nobler inhabitants than men and women. In the hues of October sunsets, we see the portals to other mansions than those which we occupy."
~Henry David Thoreau
March 4th, 2008 at 9:22 pm
You must be rolling your eyes at my last email! Just want to point out that I do not experience you as you experience yourself at all (though isn’t that always the case…).
March 4th, 2008 at 11:23 pm
Hey–you won’t like me for this–but it sounds like the M word. Menopause. It can start in small degrees of unsureness and throw you off your feet the next day–then you are giddy and happy 3 days later before it all starts over. It’s called moving from one stage in life to another. When you are premenopause—you just plow through life and even though you aren’t sure what you are doing is right for you, you still do it anyway. When menopause starts—doubt turns to fear and grips you. You have to learn to handle it, eat right, get more exercise–and most important—-relax. Don’t listen to the fears cause it’s just hormones or lack there of.
Kids reaching teen years can do it too. Mine hit when my kids went off to college. Such a sudden change in life roles threw me into a giant whirl. I wanted the spinning to stop.
The spinning hasn’t stopped but I’m getting use to being dizzy. lol You will be OK. You will learn to grasp this stage in your life and actually set yourself free from it. It will liberate you if you let it. Why? Cause you can’t do nothing about it. Giving up and being who you and what makes you happy is the key. If you don’t feel like doing anything for months–that’s OK. I took a whole year off and basically read. I showed up for life but there was no meaning to it. I was grumpy–but so what—lots of people are grumpy. So let go and just be. I like talkers–so talk. Have you ever been in a room full of quiet people—it’s unnerving for even the quiet people.
March 5th, 2008 at 6:35 am
No, Becca! But I did laugh when I read it…I feel your pain. And thanks…
March 5th, 2008 at 8:38 am
Hey, Anna! Thanks so much for chiming in…and no, I don’t NOT like you for sharing your thoughts… remember? I’m listening…
I do think I’m entering a perimenopausal phase, will be 41 in May and have a much harder time bouncing back from any overdoing. I am working on changing my diet–the carbs and dairy overload seem to be the two things that slow me way down and make me very uh…puffy. Also exercising more, but do need to ramp that up some. Thank goodness the weather will begin to shift soon so I can get back to taking long walks (people don’t clean their sidewalks off very well around here and I’ve slipped and fallen too many times). Don’t want to break a hip or anything. ; )
so thanks for the input and the reminder… it’s surely not all in my head.
March 5th, 2008 at 8:48 am
Well, I experience you as a both a wonderful listener and talker! It’s the same for all of us, I think—the self-consciousness when we’re not quite relaxed into ourselves. Good to notice where we are. Look forward to whatever you do next but very happy just to hear you reflect on where you are. Can’t beat writing from the heart. So much to think about. Thank you!
March 5th, 2008 at 9:26 am
Thank you mdddf, Cathy. I think that’s what I’m missing most…writing from the heart. I’ve been too focused on writing about external processes and the flow is all jammed up. xoxoxoxoxoxoxo.
March 5th, 2008 at 9:36 am
This post definitely strikes all kinds of chords. It’s excellent and thought provoking. I find you to be a great listener and very open to idea and other points of view which is a very good thing to have.
I’m a terrible listener at times bit I’ve found that I have an uncanny ability to read between the lines. My habit is to interview people. When they talk I have a thousand questions, some maybe not my business to ask but I can’t help myself since I always want to know how people tick.
I’m really looking forward to the announcement!
March 5th, 2008 at 9:40 am
At the risk of sounding like I’m proselytizing it sounds like 15 minutes at the beginning of your day spent focusing on your breath might be helpful.
“Is it weird that I want to discover the earnest listener inside of me?”
I don’t think it’s weird at all and can identify with so much of what you say. I’ve found listening to myself and my mind, when I meditate, and then letting it go helps me befriend and be kinder to myself instead of getting caught up in my story about myself (which usually involves beating up on myself or my life in some way!). If that makes sense.
I don’t know if you’d be into it, but I’ve found Pema Chodron to be helpful in this, there are two books in particular “Comfortable with Uncertainty” and “The Wisdom of No Escape and the Path of Loving-Kindness.” One of the best things about them is that they are broken up into very short readings perfect for people like me who find focusing for longer difficult:-)
Anyway, not trying to make you feel there is something you *should* be doing, just sharing something that sometimes helps me!
March 5th, 2008 at 10:11 am
Hey, farmer’s wife!! I have a friend who is so very good at drawing people out with awesome questions. she and I are working on a collaboration venture right now involving my cupcakes and her conversation… and it’s so cool knowing someone who can do that so easily. I’ve learned a lot from hanging back and watching that in action. I’d like to get to where I feel comfortable doing the same, but I’ve always just kind of frozen and stuttered my way along…even when I’m talking about myself. I’m a big stammerer.
Thank you for the encouragement, it means so much.
March 5th, 2008 at 10:14 am
Jeanne, not at all! Thank you for sharing your thoughts, I cherish the conversation that happens here. It’s funny, I was thinking that getting back to early morning meditation would probably help so much…rather than trying to force the exercise in the morning thing, which never works out as planned because Lila wakes up and can’t stand to be alone in the morning…but doing some yoga and sitting with breath work would probably serve me very well…so thank you for the suggestion.
I’ll also have to check out the books you recommend. I could use something new to counterbalance the heavy-duty reading I’ve been doing (Derrick Jensen).
Isn’t it amazing how loud that inner dialog can be? The beating ourselves up? Wow.
May 18th, 2008 at 8:17 am
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