guts

It is interesting when you get a fresh perspective of yourself from a new acquaintance. Even at this reasonably accomplished age, I am still able to find myself anew.

Recently, I have been fortunate to gain the friendship of an interesting character. A smart, quick-witted, young “old chap” of a guy whose creativity and open-minded ideals speak volumes for his generation. At his age I was not nearly as wise, worldly, cultured, present, or relevant as he is. Even now his intellect far exceeds my own, and his ability to perceive others astounds me. He is very deliberate with his words, often taking what seems to me to be far too long to respond to my often off-kilter banter. But always following his reflection, he delivers an astute, provocative discourse on whatever topic I had mindlessly rambled into. Seriously, the guy can talk me under the table…and that is saying something.

And I must admit he is a bit off, as well. Regardless, or perhaps in spite of those facts, I find him very interesting.

As it goes with most new friendships there is the crush period. The time where everything about the new friend is fascinating and we often try to find a bit of ourselves in our new pal. And so my new friend has attempted to find fascination in me, and has asked for the privilege (his term, not mine) of reading some of my writing. I initially waved him off, figured he would find what he wanted or give up. But, after the third very polite request, I obliged.

It is strange; I can write for an unknown audience without fear. I can put it out there for the world to read, all of it…without a second thought. Yet when I directly hand over a few poems to my new friend, I am paralyzed.

As I said, my new friend is very perceptive. So, when I stuffed a few of my poems in his hand and continued on about the weather, he immediately detected my insecurity. He saw in my rushed speech and downcast eyes that I was nervous. And while I waited for him to speak, to interrupt my prattle, I reeled. He placed the pages face down on the table, then said “Ah yes, I see I was correct. You are an exhibitionist and shy, both.”

Which really put me to thought…what purpose am I serving with these characteristics, if characteristics do in fact serve us?

I suppose that those opposing characteristics, that in my case are so apparently extreme, benefit each other. I can only imagine that my unchecked exhibitionism would undoubtedly lead me to my depraved end, and that my need to slap the world in the face keeps me from becoming a total shut-in.



p.s. what you got in you; what it takes.

metamorphic