Privacy Please

Truly a day in the life...


"Juuuuude! Get out!  I do not need an audience while I'm using the bathroom."

"And now ladies and gentleman, my mother is about to attempt an amazing feat!"

"Seriously! You can brush your teeth in any other bathroom.  I don't want an audience."

"Mother, it occurs to me that you are confused about my role here.  I'm not part of the audience, I'm the announcer."

"Get out!"

"Now mom, you are a grown woman.  Is it correct that you know how to lock a door, yet chose not to?  Do you understand that by locking the door you could delay us?  We would definitely pick the lock, but by the time we got in you might actually be done."

"Point taken.  Get out."

"Is it? I feel like we play this game a lot.  I don't want to be here any more than you want me here, yet here I am and we're both suffering."

Enter second child.

"Dane, mom says she doesn't want an audience while she's using the bathroom.  I'm actually the announcer.  What do you want to be?"

Shrugging, "I guess I'll be the animal trainer."



 

The Notebook

When I was in my early twenties, I went out with a guy that kept a journal of women he'd dated.  It catalogued their pros and cons, and sometimes there were additional notes describing how these traits had the potential to switch columns and under what circumstances.  He took care to summarize each woman, what he had learned from the relationship, what traits he would now avoid, and what adjustments he would make to his own behavior in the future.  He was an organized thinker and a model of over-preparedness.  He did not care to be idle, and I found him entirely too serious.    

Some women might have been offended by the notebook, or insecure about the story their own entry would tell.  Not me.  I found the whole idea fascinating.  Everyone I know has hoped for love and navigated the ethereal and confusing feelings that come with it.  I had just never seen a system designed so objectively to manage it.

I'm quite certain I ended up in that notebook.  I never wondered what my list looked like though.  Maybe because I wasn't that invested, but maybe because I know the things I like and love about myself, my favorite memories and proudest accomplishments.  I also know my failures, flaws, and regrets.  I hadn't thought of that notebook in more than a decade.

Right now I'm getting to know a new coworker, someone I work closely with and must depend upon.  It struck me the other day that what we know about one another has come from sharing our own perspective of ourselves.  It's different than knowing someone through common acquaintance-it's what you give of yourself.  While we are building a professional relationship, we are sharing personal stories: first good, many funny, and now, some sorrowful.  And it got me to thinking about that notebook.

I feel certain people experience me the same way regardless of what capacity they know me.  I have a sense of balance and a deep appreciation for my life's rewards.  I really love to laugh.  I think those themes are consistent, but I've wondered lately if the pros and cons I would list for myself would have anything in common with a list anyone else would make of me.

I won't be passing out papers with columns drawn in and instructions at the top or anything.  I won't be giving people examples like "admitted lesbian" or "big boobs" to form their lists. (yes, he had those as a pro and con for one woman).  I won't be asking anyone to share their bullet points in front of a group.

I will do what I often do when I find myself in a phase of deep thought and self-reflection.  I will stop to look around at my life.  I will cry and laugh and remember.  I will acknowledge my pros and cons, but I won't put them in a notebook to be stored away.  I will travel with them each day.