Ironically, telling me that
worrying
doesn’t do any good actually
doesn’t do any good for my
worrying.
Honestly, at this point all I can do is
treat this like I am a late night talk show host and
she
is my guest.
You, the audience might prefer she not be here.
After all, she is somewhat of a controversial figure.
But, all I can do now is
welcome her in,
offer her a seat,
cross my legs, adjust my posture, fold my hands together,
rest my elbows on the desk in front of me,
and start asking questions.
You know women in interviews are always being asked questions about
superficial things like who they are wearing
and other
meaningless things that are supposed to define and encompass the experience and depth of women (ridiculous)
and men always get asked about their work or ideas.
That sucks.
Perhaps she is less of a talk show interview guest and more of a house guest.
Yes, she has to be.
Instead of rigidly asking questions under the
bright lights and watchful eyes
of a live studio audience,
separated by the thick wood of a desk
keeping us from any real connection. Instead of this,
I invite her into my home. I show her the messy
vulnerable parts of my life.
and I let myself be inconvenienced
the way that you are inconvenienced
when you
have a house guest.
I offer her a seat here, in my own home.
And me,
my body curls itself up in the chair
the way that I feel most comfortable,
the way I have since I was a child,
sitting with my legs crossed under me in the
wide comfy chair that is mine.
My body does this instinctively
without consulting my brain.
It doesn't need to. My muscles memorized this long ago that
this is how I protect myself,
this is how I feel safe,
this is how I am as close to myself as I can possibly be.
Remembering my guest, I tilt my head and it is here that I call her by her name--
anxiety.
hello.
it is here that I am able to ask her the meaningful questions
I have been dying to ask because
I really do want to know her.
I need to know more than
who she is wearing
what is her skin routine,
and does she color her hair?
I need to know who she is
and why she is here
and what she is here to do.
not questions for the sake of
ratings or entertainment of the masses
but
for me
because I don't always ask the questions I want
because anxiety herself tells me people don't want to hear it.
They want
how are you
fine. how are you
good
simple. meaningless.
With her, though, I demand more.
I ask
how are you, really
and I mean it.
And I'm just trying my best and doing what I know how to do.
Oh, I want a relationship with her,
my fear,
the same way I want a relationship with my brother
or with God.
She knows me so intimately.
Here, I do not dismiss her.
Here I do not tell her that her being here does me no good.
Here I do not dismiss myself.
Here I sit
with the company I have always kept.
pleasantly inconvenienced by my guest.
AMV