Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Leave this heart of clay

Rejection and loss. Two sad sack, Snuffleupagus, Schleprock emotions that are stalking me. I hate them as I learn from them. I mostly hate them. I want to eat a bag of chips to devour and swallow them.

I dare to find the soul who welcomes rejection, who just can't get enough. Most want to be the caramel goodness or prize floating in the Cracker Jack, not the up-popped kernel. Rejection feels like you’re simply not good enough just as you are.

"You're a bit too beefy", my Dad said to 9-year-old me as I attempted a frog stand in the living room. One of the first impressions a girl has of herself is the one reflected back from her father. I wanted to be cute and perky. I was "beefy". I carried not being picked by kick ball captains on the playground and being overlooked by the cute boys in high school into adult hood. Regardless of the degree earned in pennies and nickels, the house bought with one signature (my own), the lovely friends or career others envy, it’s sometimes easier to believe I’m still the girl who can't do a proper frog stand.

I believe in fate, serendipity and happily-ever-after. That at the end of the screenplay the knock on the door won’t be the UPS man, but him. He’s not coming. I wanted him to cherish me as much as I cherish him. The silence speaks volumes. So I look for more, another, but allow it to float away or make excuses until interest wanes. I struggle to connect. I don’t know how. I don’t know if I want to. I think I need to.

Loss is the flip side of the rejection coin. Most loss can’t be controlled or anticipated, but we believe we can pursue it, run after it and get it back out of hope and the fear of change. Loss can bring a family together; it can also pull the remnants of one apart. Loss can put you in the bed of someone whose bed you shouldn’t be in. Loss drinks until it forgets. Loss halts you like the bright red hand in the stop walk.

When I cry, I cry in the shower, just me. I release the fear and pain and shame in a stream of water so it washes away any evidence. When I step out, I’m still the perfect image of me. I hope my heart will grow back bigger. I want to rock the frog stand.

1 comment:

Miz UV said...

There's not much worse than feeling that you're disappointing your parents. I try always to compliment my daughters' looks, though goddammit I wish they'd keep their rooms neater! (I'm sure they'll have to go to therapy cuz I called them slobs.)

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