Archive for April, 2010

The Convivial Asshole

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Over the weekend, I took my son to get his hair cut and got to talking with a man who was waiting to do the same with his two kids. He was a fit man with salt and pepper hair, stylishly dressed in khaki shorts and sandals, possibly in his late thirties.

Our young ones began coloring together, so Fit Dad and I chatted about raising boys and girls. He mentioned how he’d noticed an immediate difference when his daughter was born, how she set the tone for that gender distinction. Referring to their nature, he put it simply,

“Boys have physical needs and girls emotional ones.”

DING! I heard a light bulb go off in my head. Ain’t that the truth? Boys have the need for rough play, sports, action movies, sound effects and (shhh) S-E-X while girls need to talk, relate, connect, be made to feel special, protected, and especially need to be heard. Hello! Raising my hand here. It’s a must.

At one point in the conversation, one of the hairdressers was finishing up with a client, so Fit Dad stopped in mid-sentence and called out to her, saying, “Do you think we’ll be outta here in the next ten minutes?” She looked confused and slightly offended that he appeared to be rushing her. “You told me it’d be 20 minutes and it’s now been 35 minutes. We have somewhere to be,” he continued. The stylists glanced at each other, then returned to their scissors, customers hid behind their magazines, and I kicked back to enjoy the show.

We continued talking and it turned out Fit Dad was from Austin, Texas and it’s no surprise to me that his face lit up when I asked him, “So, how was it growing up there?” He had nothing but great things to say and I was intrigued to continue the conversation, but we were interrupted when the stylist called his number. He shuffled his son over and began telling her how he wanted his son’s hair cut, pointing to particular areas around his head to communicate his request.

When I heard and saw this man taking charge of the situation, you better believe he had my attention. My eyes remained fixed on him as I thought, Those ladies probably think he’s being an asshole. The others waiting probably think so too, but he doesn’t give a shit. As a straight shooter myself, I appreciated him for his ways. I was convinced that this man was “The Man” at home and at work, because he didn’t mince words.

He spoke with authority, was straight to the point and non-apologetic about it. I liked that, liked it a lot; in fact, it made me all tingly inside. Now now, before you get ahead of yourself, here’s why. I’m a gal who respects people who give it to me straight, who are real, to the point.

Such conversations call me, lure me, tickle my fanny.

Being frank is my best form of communication and many times, I’ve been made to feel bad about this strength (YES, it’s a strength because its me at my strongest) and I’ll admit to playing small at times and holding back my true kaboom for the sake of someone else’s weakness.

In a non-convivial world, it’s being bitchy, bossy, unappealing, worth ignoring. It’s where women aren’t encouraged to be loose with their tongue and therefore inadvertently try to avoid it to appease and please. Fuck that. We’ve got a lot to say.

In my world, speaking out means freedom.

There’s a great sense of confidence that accompanies one’s ability to be assertive. It takes time and guts to come as you are and not care what people think.

When all is said and done, that’s exactly how you get what you want in life. That’s how you get the life you want. It takes practice, faith in yourself, and permission. Who’s doing the permitting? You are! So go ahead and permit it, want it, speak it, live it.

Cheers to a great day of telling it like it is,

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City Girl Gone Gardening

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The Artist, The Muse, & The Monologue

Come art, come art, wherever you are…

Art…are you out there?

You scare me.
Intrigue me.
Overwhelm me.
Calm me.
Love me.
Bestow upon me a great power.

Where oh where art thou my one and only inspiration? You are my other half.
Mi media naranja.
My everything.
My worst enemy. Wait.

Are you?

No.

We are each one’s beloved.

Yes.

That’s more like it.

What do you think of you?
The way you are forming, flowing,
shape-shifting from one word to another,
yes, do you see it all unveiling?

In these few moments,
as we journey together,
it is unnerving, yet unraveling before me.

You make your appearance
and I am happy to see,
and I am afraid,
but I trust in something beyond
you,
beyond
me,
so I can
watch and wait

to see

what you will become,
what you will turn out to be,
how you will represent me.

Are you me?
No.
But I see you. And you see me.
We simply know…

You come from within me.
Like a baby,
a seed I have been nourishing,
quietly,
without full understanding
and comprehension
and finally the moment arrives.
I give birth to you
and there you are,
fresh and new,
pure,
completely open and vulnerable,
yet untouchable.
Wisdom tells me to release you,
to let you flourish on your own.

How will you be seen?
That is not my concern.
You are part of me
yet
separate.

I am a channel. Simply.
Respectfully.
You are your own masterpiece.
As I am too.

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