Many mindfulness teachers teach that there is no “self,” but that doesn’t stop my fascination with the quirks and qualities that seem to follow me around. When I’m in a mindfulness zone, I am curious about them. Other times, they confound me. Some are helpful but all of them are fodder for creative fuel and the transcendence we can find through writing, art, and interpretive dances in living rooms (watch out for the chandelier).
“Laughter is carbonated holiness.” ~Anne Lamott
Survival Humor
As for me, I loved making my parents laugh when I was little. It was pretty much the only way to get their attention other than putting a thermometer on a lightbulb to feign high temperatures. Difficult childhoods are frequently a catalyst for using humor to evade reality, sublimate angry energy, and process awkward circumstances with laughter instead of suicide. A lot of comedians start that way. As for me, it included all the above as well as a way to connect with parents when nothing else worked.
I didn’t intentionally use humor to cope. Few people do, it’s an instinctual form of resilience made up of funny-prone genes, the friction of circumstances igniting an ability to to let the air out of the rage, pain, or perceived unfairness found in troubled childhoods. When you’re a highly sensitive person in a family that finds high sensitivity irritating, it’s lonely. Humor softened the pain. The pain cultivates more advanced humor so there’s no poor-me theme going on, just gratitude for the funny genes. Maybe you have them too.
There is recorded footage of me in Morristown, New Jersey, three-years-old, dancing in dad’s boat-sized shoes and a rubber nose on mustache glasses. I had entertainment value to these two caretakers. With laughter as their response, I was in age-appropriate euphoria and if you had given me a cigar, I’d have gladly been a headliner at the local comedy club.
When I was five, we moved to Miami and my family joined Kings Bay Country Club where kids waited in line at the high diving board for an exhilarating jump into the Olympic sized pool beneath. When it was my turn, I’d climb to the top, dance in clown-like antics then purposely fall into the chloride sea and push off from the concrete bottom quick enough to catch my parents’ laughing expressions. Rinse and repeat.
Does Not Rebound Quickly
One time I jumped too soon. I just missed landing on top of six-year-old Eliot Kleinbaum. Mrs. Kleinbaum came over and in a heavy New Jersey accent shouted, ”You almost killed Eliot!! What is the matter with you, you’re a terrible little girl.”
My parents shook their head at me in disapproval, then put magazines in front of their faces. I did see Eliot, but it was shortly after I jumped off the board so all I could do was wiggle in midair as best I could to avoid him. Gravity doesn’t work that way, wiggling did nothing to change where I landed, which was close but not on top of Eliot.
I did not like being yelled at by Mrs. Kleinbaum. It ruined the rest of my swim. I wasn’t used to being yelled at; my midwestern parents disciplined me with passive aggression and looks of disappointment. I thought the words “terrible little girl” were terribly unnecessary. I did not rebound too quickly from the Kleinbaum incident. As mentioned earlier, I was highly sensitive, and we hang on to embarrassment to torture ourselves as long as is earthly possibly.
Impulsiveness
The diving board incident was a precursor to other instances where I jumped into things too soon. Unsuitable jobs, unwise purchases, … hot tubs. A few years ago, it was a romantic relationship. As a child, I believed that when you ask a prince, “So how long since your last relationship ended, your majesty?” he would answer honestly. This guy told me he was out of a relationship for two years, so I went ahead and let infatuation blind me because he was the lead singer in a rock and roll band, and you know how that is. Turned out his last girl broke up with him two weeks prior to our first date and he was still seriously, SERIOUSLY, hung up on her.
He was desperate not to be lonely. No courage to give it time, go it alone and heal, nor to be honest with me when she wanted him back. He chose me as the placeholder, the fool, the rebound. As I mentioned earlier in this very same chapter, I do not rebound well. My delusional thinking flared up and I was certain my charms would overcome his pining for her. You know, that old fairy tale. Nope. Creativity has its limits.
Aversion to Being Ignored
When an ex gets into a new relationship, the party who did the dumping often thinks twice about the breakup because this new love interest seems to have discovered something appealing about the dumpee that the dumper took for granted. His ex stealthily played on his aching affections and because he realized she was jealous, I got a free trip to New Orleans to capitalize on her changing mind. I didn’t know this until well into the trip. Once very attentive, he now treated me like an annoyance and spent an inordinate amount of time checking and responding to her posts on social media. The jazz, shrimp and grits, and beignets almost weren’t worth the heart break.
Snarky
If he was ever in a pool under a high diving board, I would jump right on top of him even if his mom was watching. That’s a snarky thing to say but I was snarky as a child too – and there ya go, snarky then, snarky now. Snarky is sometimes called for and humor is frequently a life preserver for broken hearts. I’m a terrible adult, sometimes but not always.
Writing Prone
When I was in Junior High School, I would write and illustrate elaborate notes with satire, gossip, and commentary on boys. There were news stories, multiple choice questions, fill in the blank, doodled pictures with captions. I loved writing then and am a writer now.
Vindictive
So, it come as no surprise that if you use me as a rebound to a relationship you aren’t over, I will write about your cowardly story and it might end up somewhere public. Like here. Beware of relationships with writers.
Creative
When one jumps off life’s diving board, get you a scolding or a heartbreak, both are fertile grounds for creativity. The kindness and resilience inherent in mindfulness can make it easier to start over, to begin again, but this time with intensified wisdom, greater compassion, and a story to tell.
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