A Dialogue in Self-Talk
Here I am, having just spilled my guts, seeking validation, assurance, some sort of affirmation that my thoughts and the related events are not out of place. I used to get great feedback, sometimes a little pet talk. I know, this is not fair. They love me, consider me their daughter. Do I exploit them, take advantage of their goodwill? Am I that insecure that I need them to assure me my own thoughts and actions? That is crazy.
Then came the answer: “Dear, I think you did the right thing. Good for you to stand up for something, for standing up for yourself.” True words out of a mother’s mouth. Shall I be elated or be ashamed of myself?
Women and Three Generations
My mother used to tell me to be truthful to myself, to set goals for myself, to plan for myself, and to adjust if needed. To be flexible. But never to lower my standards for myself. Especially not at the whim or wish of others. It was only later in my life, much, much later that I became astutely aware of people’s perceptions of themselves, and of each other. Trapped in time and place, I learned of perceived differences in gender, sex, appearance, demeanor, and that these differences are judged in society. As I got older and traveled, I noticed consistent perceptions mingled with expectations; cultural differences, defined by place and time. As I traveled the world, lived in six countries on three continents, and crossed time zones multiple times repeatedly, the world intertwined and became entangled. This happened not only to me. Globalization made it happen to us all. No, no, it
is the internet. But… But then it is only on the screen, a reel, a snippet of seconds caught in the act of self-expression. Reality can still hit hard. I do believe in my mother. “She was ahead of her time”, I spoke aloud after her death in the presence of my daughter. I thought I mumbled only audible to myself as I realized I had just experienced an eureka moment. My daughter’s response was, “You think?”
The Not So Lucid One
My memories relate to a Southern gentleman inside and out. Always dressed well from head to toe. Shoes polished. Clean shaven, with well and manly manicured fingernails. Ready for a friendly tease, a heartfelt chuckle, social, the center of entertainment. Making people feel welcome, their presence wholeheartedly noted. It does not matter if they are expected guests or any visitor who randomly checks in. They all gather and stay.
A smile is part of his attire. Calm, attentive, friendly eyes, an open face. That was and is his standard welcome. Ready for a hug, inviting the guests to sit down and join the conversation.
Pleasantries are exchanged. Comments, always kind and positive in nature, are made. Drinks, generously poured, shared with laughter, topped off as wanted.
With loosened tongues, reflections kick in, pass the lips, become audible. A shift of the conversation occurs, just slight, yet noticeable.
Pleasant conversation transforms into serious subjects. Yet, even in this exchange of thoughts, backed by findings, personal revelations, experience is exchanged in a community of trust and no judgment. Thoughts might be shared, strong opinions openly expressed.
Silence might fall in between, letting those who released their sorrow, fear, anger, raw emotions, recompose themselves, finding their bearings. In such moments he turns quiet, his face becoming pensive. Silence surrounding him, spreading around, ending in filling the room for a moment or two.
When the quietness becomes almost unbearable, he softly starts talking about the past. Some memories and events are thoughtfully brought up. A soft calm spreads around the room, engulfs everyone, changes the atmosphere.
Here he is, in this new environment he does not seem to notice much. A Southern gentleman from head to toe. Sitting in front of me, smiling, listening to my news during this visit, my visit to him. He still asks questions, is attentive to my presence. He is well dressed, clean shaven, with well and manly manicured fingernails, ready for a friendly tease. Still has a heartfelt chuckle, is very social.
Sometimes these questions are repeated, more than once. Again, and again. I don’t mind. I am remembering the old times.
