I’m in bed, head propped up on two of the 12 pillows in my mother in law’s guest room. Crickets and traffic noises flow in through the beautifully louvered mid century aluminum windows. I’m comfy at the moment, nude under the sheets because I failed to bring extra boxer briefs. Typically I wear boxer briefs to bed just in case when at the in-laws, but not this time. I haven’t told Laura about this packing oversight because I didn’t want to get flack for forgetting undies when I made sure everyone else had some. I also don’t feel like opening myself up to judgement from her or her father. My over thinking of this has lead me to realize, I’m am just too serious about the wrong fucking things.
I dwell over inconveniencing others with my presence or my accidents so much that I over-serve (over pamper) others and fail to serve myself. I think there was a brief moment in my life where I lived to serve myself, but honestly, it kind of ended when I got married. Not in a bad way though as if it was anyone’s fault but my own. In a culture of flaky husbands and absent fathers, I invested parts of myself that were never meant to be invested in anyone beyond myself. I traded pieces of Shelton for marriage, commitment, grad school, kids, and a career. Some might say it’s okay to trade parts of your being because it was a sacrifice at the time, when in reality, it was worse than a sacrifice. I was stealing from myself without the intention of repaying myself back with interest. I am not even sure the repayment is possible…the investment burned. I just assumed that whatever I fraudulently invested in others would magically appear back in my heart and soul’s bank account. Like some magic fairy would wave her wand and I’d be whole again, a real boy. Or like those around were responsible for refilling my coffers, they were and are not.
Too serious about inconveniencing others is definitely something I got from my mom. I’ve probably written about this before (I’ll check), but it was probably a survival mechanism for her. Petite, visibly vulnerable, high school educated, low income, artistic, and stunningly beautiful woman. She didn’t want to be a target, nor did she want to ever jeopardize her ability to provide a life for herself and me. I remember her talking about being able to live out of the back of her car before I was around. I anchored her to Orange County where she existed as a big hearted fish in a swampy pond of soul sucking vanity. No big hearted, wild eyed fish belongs in a swamp, yet, for 17 years, she traded parts of herself for me. I am grateful beyond measure because she gave me so much. She taught me how to be a big hearted and wild eyed fish in whatever pond I dove into. When big hearted fish make themselves small so that they don’t inconvenience others, they get bogged down with swamp gunk.
My mom died a couple years ago, not of a broken heart or lack of life to curiously discover, she was just too deep in other people’s swamps. She thought she had to be serious about others that couldn’t ever see AND appreciate how incredible she was. She weighed herself down with their baggage, their lack of confidence, love, and curiosity. I cannot be too serious about other people’s swamps AND I cannot wade around in them too long without harming myself more than I already have.
So, how does one become less serious about inconveniencing others and making mistakes? I am going to continue to identify areas of life that I want to curiously explore, live in, and be with. I will fuck up and disappoint people. That’s part of the process. I cannot live a life of not moving forward because I’m too serious about what others think. I must remarry myself to that guy before marriage, that is very much like I am now, but with more play, more adventures, and definitely….pardon me…more incredible sex.
Hello, I am Shelton. 