You know when you are walking along, maybe going through a doorway. You have a good pace going on, and then suddenly, your shoulder clips the doorway? There�s a physical pain, but also, a shock. It�s like a �lite� version of the saying �hitting a brick wall�. It�s not nearly as dramatic as running into a wall. But I think it�s like the weekend getaway version.
I tend to be a really clumsy person. I frequently bump my shoulder on the door frame as I�m walking through. For my job now, I carry a laptop when I�m out in the field. Carry is a loose term, technically, I �roll� a laptop behind me. There I am, doo de doo, walking towards the door, happy to be done with my audit and on my way home, then she-bam, knock the laptop on the door.
I am constantly misjudging the distance between myself and the world. Whether it�s rapping my knuckle on a shelf while reaching for an object, or clipping my tire on the curb as I�m making a turn, it�s inevitable that some part of me (or extension of me � car, laptop, etc) will come in low-level violent contact with the physical world.
I don�t know if it�s because I�m in a hurry that this happens or because I am not paying attention. I recently had a conversation regarding the fact that I tend to use my right eye more than my left and this could possibly be affecting my depth perception. But ultimately, it's about decisions that I make. Decisions to walk fast and not pay attention, decisions to turn the steering wheel this much instead of that much. Decisions that alter the course of my travel by small degrees, and affect the outcome.
When I think about my life, and the decisions that I make, sometimes I get caught up in a cycle where every decision I make seems to be a bad one. But I think it�s more like bumping my shoulder on a doorframe. Ultimately, I get through the door, it just turns out to be more painful than it should be. I fail to read the signs in my life, I misjudge the distance, and run into the doorframe in my journey.
And when I speak, as in my last entry, of being too embarrased to write of something, I think it�s that shock and embarrassment I feel when people see me run into a wall. There will inevitably be laughter, and I feel a bit of shame. I want to rerun the last few seconds so that it doesn�t happen.
Which brings me to another topic that I meant to write about and didn�t�.
And though I�m not sure that I�ve personally exhausted the topic I began this entry with, I am moving on, because my fingers and brain seem to be taking me elsewhere at this time. But they may bring me back here someday. The other topic, shame, embarrassment and teasing. I seem to be really sensitive to teasing and what others think.
I know I spent a majority of my childhood enduring teasing. I was always chubby and children are relentless in teasing other children who carry that burden (literally and figuratively). If I am objective about my life, I don�t think I really developed good social skills until I was in my 20�s. I was overly shy, desperate for friends. I am sure I was guilty of TMI too early with friends and others. In my desire to bring people into my life, I know that I scared them away. I have vivid memories of being teased, of crying in my classroom while other kids watched. When I was 7 or 8, I remember some other kids singing the song �You�re mama don�t dance and your daddy don�t rock and roll�. I was crying. A teacher came up and asked me what was wrong. I told her the other kids were teasing me. See, I thought they were singing about my parents.
On the subject of shame, I still feel the shame of other moments during childhood. When talking about them today, 30 years later, I still feel the shame and embarrassment. When I was 8, we held a rather large party in our backyard to celebrate my dad finishing his college degree. We had a swingset. There were about 15-20 kids at this party and only 3 swings. I remember wanting to swing but they were full. I grabbed the swing of a younger child and started shaking it. I was publicly disciplined for this. A party full of adults got to watch as I was chastised. I am sure that no other person remembers this occurring. But this memory is locked safe inside my memory and tethered there with the intense shame and embarrassment that I still feel today.
I have a fear of opening up my life. A fear of allowing people to see the mistakes that I�ve made. The doors that I�ve bumped on my way out, the swings that I�ve shaken. I live so in fear of being judged, that sometimes, I am motionless. If I don�t move through the door, I have no risk of bumping into the doorframe. On the other hand, if I adjust my journey by just 1 degree, I might make it through the door without hitting the doorframe. Maybe if I take my attention off of who might be watching me, I�d be able to pay attention to where the doorframe is.
Now on another subject entirely, I�m running some more banners. Last time I ran banners, Carrie asked me what they were. I never posted them at the time, so I�ll post them now. And I�ve added a few more. I have non-existent HTML skilz, so it�s just me and Word and Paint trying to find our way (except for the woodstock one, which I owe my thanks to Heidi .
And yes, I have noticed that when I get to self-introspective, I tend to change the subject to something like pictures, before ending the entry. This way, I can distract you and you won�t remember me as the girl who can�t walk through a door.
