COMMUNICATION RESERVE

This is going to be one of those 'punch drunk' posts that I will likely later regret writing.  I've gotten very little sleep over the past three nights for a variety of reasons and have additionally been juggling balls of internal stress like a circus performer on psychotropic drugs; alternating tosses between denial and dismay with the occasional high throw of raw anxiety just to keep the show compelling.

And while this state of compromised functioning is not entirely foreign to me, it isn't very enticing or necessarily comfortable and it leads me down all sorts of roads that are not all fit for travel; at least not in the manner I prefer, which is without much preparation and only a small satchel of what I've discovered are usually all the wrong questions.

But it is what it is and being that this is an exploratory journey replete with candid opinions and often embarrassing  revelations, I see no other choice but to proceed with the public execution and let my fate rest on the conscience of integrity and intention, as I know my heart is innocent of any conscious or intentional wrongdoing.

After many hours wrestling the dark and to the detriment of my need for sleep, I've found there to be present in me a disquieting and superficially adverse actuality:  I don't know how to BE in this world.

What I mean is that I know what is expected of me, and I think I know what I am supposed to do or how to react and respond in most given situations, but that knowledge is far from natural and obvious and comes only after focused effort, conscious probing and much agonizing.  In other words, it takes a whole lot of intentional work and mental and emotional exertion to navigate the most mundane, routine and pedestrian avenues of daily life.

Part of the reason, I don't doubt,  has been systematically spawned from social failure, as it has existed  throughout all the years of my life.  You read somebody wrong enough times and you are bound to come out appearing somewhat socially retarded, if not downright stupid; and if it happens frequently enough, you begin to double-check your thoughts, words and actions with paranoid intensity in fear of repeatedly landing on your face with your foot squarely lodged between your teeth.

Of course, taking the time to do all that preliminary estimating and calculating gives an air of latency to your social skills; an immediate impression of cluelessness that then supersedes all subsequent reevaluations.  It's like being typecast as an actor.  No matter how divergent your current role, people will always see you as Superman or Mary Poppins and will forever picture you with a talking umbrella and bottomless carpetbag of delights or flying through the air in red leotards and dodging bars of Kryptonite.

But being typecast or misunderstood is really not the issue or the problem.  Of course, it can be a sore point, especially when you want to be taken seriously and you are met with the same regard given a jar of Marshmallow Fluff; but it is something everyone contends with by at least some of the people some of the time.  We are all guilty of prejudging and premature assessments at one time or another.  It is much easier that way because digging and paying attention require time, patience and interest, none of which come easily or in abundance these days.  Perhaps they never have.

And you can't really do much about the Other, but you can do a lot about yourself, which is where I find my thoughts right now; ferreting out the bottom line with the impatient constraint of an over-taxed C.E.O in a board meeting an hour before his flight leaves for his vacation week in Dubai.

I am anxious to figure it out, to get it right, and to find a solution before my time on earth is up.

 So, I look around and observe people interacting with one another without any hesitation or self-consciousness or second thoughts, and I am amazed.  I am often envious, too, knowing the amount of internal suffering and emotional flagellation I endure in the face of even the most casual exchange, and I wonder how do they do it?  How do they get out of their own ways and just BE?

For me, an ordinary conversation with someone has the psychological complexity equal to what it must take to execute a lunar landing in space.  I actually get nervous if I'm in a situation where I have to provide small talk.  I don't do small talk.  I can't do small talk!

Well, of course, I can but I suck at it.  I find myself so terror-stricken and preoccupied with concern over what I am supposed to say next or how should my facial expression be or do I have the right inflection in my voice or  whether I should make eye contact and demonstrate my sincerity or look casual and turn away or maybe just shut up and actually go away- that it makes my stomach tense, and I feel just as I did as a kid standing on that diving block ready to terrorize myself into winning another medal in freestyle.

And then there is the other side of my inability to BE, which is my fear that I won't understand; the unnatural terror that I am not computing properly and am misunderstanding or misreading the other person's words or signals, as so frequently occurs in spite of all my efforts.

Somewhere in the back left compartment of my brain is a group of frantic little neurons awkwardly colliding with one another in a desperate, bumbling attempt to transmit the proper protocols for human interaction and communication down to those waiting axons; and I can only assume that they are either improperly programmed to pull off the job or that whatever axons I have available are broken or seriously misaligned because, obviously, the instructions are not reaching me.

And as if these deficits in my inability to both cogently express and properly interpret information were not enough, there is the added but equally trying and exceedingly exasperating trait that has developed over the years as a means of rectification for the ineptitude of the others and that is simply the glaringly apparent problem of my excessive loquaciousness when pressed to converse one to one.

Seriously.  Unable to provide small talk, I will get on a subject that fascinates me but has little or no value to the other person and I ramble on like an automatic dryer spinning only an old pair of tennis shoes with maybe some loose change circumnavigating for additional volume and annoyance.

Though not being a complete human malfunction, eventually I do become painfully aware when that glazed, mesmerized, deadly bored look comes over whatever poor slob got caught up in the rinse cycle an hour before and just wants those damn shoes to dry so they can get the hell out of there and go back to the mall or the grocery store where the real people are.  But by that point, I'm unsure how to graciously shut myself down without seeming even more of a geek, so I just keep going!

The only real signal I am able to recognize as an alert that it is time to stop comes when I begin repeating myself....a lot.  By that point, I'm not only becoming thoroughly bored with myself, but also physically exhausted; so I can only imagine the debilitated state of the other person.  It must be like being rammed repeatedly by one of those little toy cars that hits the wall then backs up and hits it again and again and again until the batteries finally run out; only instead of the car and the wall, it is my words on the delicate inside chamber of someone else's brain!  I feel so guilty!

Perhaps I should work on not 'feeling' my way through every interaction.  My tendency is to invest my heart into the exchange first; to put it up as collateral against the possibility that something will go wrong.   I suppose I just want to make sure my emotional stock and intentions are public so I won't be accused of foul play or deception if communication breaks down.

Unfortunately, I've learned from experience that it really doesn't matter because if someone wants you to be at fault, they will find a way of making you seem so no matter how open or vulnerable you've allowed yourself to be; and all it ultimately ends up doing is threatening to bring your own heart to a point that feels much like bankruptcy.

Of course, no one can take from you something you don't want to give and nothing can deplete the limitless resource of love, so although it may feel like you have nothing more to give, it is only temporary.  Love is like fiat currency and your heart is the Federal Reserve.  If you find yourself a little low on funds, you just manufacture more only without the negative ramifications or penalties leveed at tax time.

Loving is always a win-win option in spite of the fact it doesn't always feel that way.

Communication, on the other hand, requires a little finesse and a great deal of trust.  With my tendency to lead with the heart and muck up the rest through pure, self-conscious terror and mental hysteria, there is a good chance I will continue to fail at relationships and that my awkwardness will be perceived as disingenuous or backward.

If this is the case, then I will assume that being among people in the traditional sense is not something I should be focused on because, possibly, I can be of more value and far more effective taking advantage of all this time I have alone, which is becoming increasingly plentiful.  I am comfortable here in this room communicating through my laptop and my artwork; with my dogs and all my books.  It isn't at all stressful and the dogs think everything I say to them is pure genius.

Most people earn their rich life lessons bartering with the currency of spoken language.
I store up a wealth of wisdom then distribute it through creative works and written words.

Sometimes it is lonely.  But the more I think about it, perhaps this is right where I am supposed to BE.