Joanne Weaver
in issue eight
Scintillations
Surf’s Up
A Right to the Left
Hooray Soleil
The Power of Letting Go
Fuzzy Alien Antennae
Storms and Silence
Incredible Shrinking Woman
Apologizing to Mandy
Sex in the Outback
Dream Interpretation
Moody Girl
Younger Self
Single (again)
photography
Meditation
Single Sunflower
Porch
Park Feet
Smith Doors
Subway Guy
poetry
Courage
Fear
Change
Revelations
My Illusion
artwork
Dancing Star Girl
Noire
Nude on the Side
workshops
Play With
Your Words
Writing Workshop
Magic Money
Write or
Photograph
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Issue Nine: Humor
Issue Ten: Free Write
I locked the door to my tiny New York City
apartment behind me, ruddy-faced and sweaty from my jog. I
felt refreshed and clear-headed, and even though I had been
grappling with a veritable truckload of issues over the course
of the past few weeks, my mind kept drifting back to one
thought in particular.
I
wish I could say that I was busy contemplating the state of
world affairs and America’s role in the threat of imminent
nuclear holocaust, or that I was reworking the lyrics for the
skeleton of a song that I wrote last night. Hell, I wish I
could say that I was thinking about how Starkist tuna got its
“Chicken of the Sea” catchphrase and why…anything other
than what I was thinking.
Instead,
my mind asked, pointedly and naggingly, “did he call?”
I
lowered myself to the dingy kitchen floor to stretch out,
halfway listening for the telltale voicemail beeps from my
cell phone signaling that I had a message.”
“Did
he call?”
A
sentimental story of puppy love on the exterior, perhaps, but
the truth is unfortunately more sinister.
You
see, I don’t even LIKE this guy. Far from it: I actually
wish that he would get abducted in the middle of the night by
a masochistic race of superhuman aliens who would cage him up
and force him to prance around wearing nothing but furry
smiley-face antennae and shoot neon blue laser beams at his
feet. (Not that I’ve been giving this fantasy any serious
thought or anything. Nah.)
As
you might have guessed by the fuzzy antennae/blue laser beam
fantasy, this guy done me wrong.
I’m feeling the normal amounts of disappointment,
annoyance, betrayal, confusion, and pissiness that go along
with being rejected. And the whole mess would be so much easier
if he’d just call, because then it’d be him
and not me checking
voicemail uneasily throughout the day.
It would be him
and not me looking out for the other on the street and having a mini heart
attack when a stranger looks just like them from behind and at
300’ away. And
it would be him and not me fantasizing about being surrounded
by drooling admirers the next time we meet.
Why
do I care if someone who not only mistreated me but who I
didn’t really give a damn about in the first place, calls me
or not?
Because
of one thing, and one thing only: Power.
Call
it what you will; it comes in a variety of flavors: the
bittersweet tang of evening the score. The salty sting of
retribution. The sweet relief of saving face. The juicy
nourishment of winning. Whatever you call it, it stems from a
need to gain power and the control and sense of security that
come with it.
I’ve clawed and scraped for this same power in past love relationships, in petty workplace politics, and the like. And I’ve suffered when that same power seemingly slipped through my too-tenacious grasp.
Let’s
come back to me on the kitchen floor. Once I jumped into the
shower I did something that I’ve been practicing for some
time: I merely observed myself dealing with this struggle. I put my pouty little
self, complete with all my knee-jerk emotional reactions and
unconscious behavior patterns, under a microscope. Knowing
it’d be about as pretty as a 10-car pile-up on the Autobahn,
I gritted my teeth, reminded myself to have an open and
forgiving mind, and peered in.
And
I saw that buying into such petty ego and power issues
ironically only made me lose, not gain, the very power that I
seek.
Whose
standards am I swallowing by relinquishing my own personal
power? And in this case, why am I relinquishing my power to
someone I shouldn’t be wasting another iota of energy on?
Why am I avoiding the real
issue here--- creating and utilizing the power that I
inherently possess within? Why do I instead go on errantly
believing that power can be accumulated by way of the
uncontrollable outside world coughing it up on its fickle
terms?
Taking
a hard look at my power issues was about as hard to do as
shoving a 10-inch rebar stake up my nose (and felt about as
invasive!). But once I did, what I was most shocked to
discover it was NOT my flaws, my inner demons, nor my
stumbling blocks---but rather the infinitely deep well of
personal power that I already possess, just by virtue of being
human! I might try to run from this power, claim it couldn’t
possibly be mine, and shield my eyes from its blinding light
because I feel undeserving, overwhelmed by its implications,
or, more probably, scared at the responsibility I have to
myself to make USE of this power, but nevertheless, it is
there. It is unshakable. And it is within all of us.
But
there’s no need to run, because there’s nothing to fear in
such beauty. Once I allowed myself to stop ignoring my own
strength and embrace it like a long neglected child, I learned
to embrace myself in my totality. I can see the specific ways
that my own power makes me who I am. I realize my physical
power and what an exhilarating feeling it is to run like the
wind, my lungs pleasantly burning as my legs pound the
pavement beneath me, and more so, what a redemption of self it
is to respect yourself through respecting your body. It comes
in the form of spiritual power, too: having faith not only in
my earth-bound convictions and integrity, but to have faith
that the Universe is benevolently working with me, and being
true to myself by taking steps to realize my life purpose. It
comes in the form of emotional power: knowing fully who I am,
why I react to life’s curveballs (and joys) the way I do and
superceding all that with understanding, recognition, and self-forgiveness. It’s
having the balls to admit I’m already powerful beyond
measure and all I need to do is go out there and claim it.
In the week that it’s taken me to tinker with this essay, the man that sparked so much inner angst DID call. I laughed to myself and imagined that this was the Universe’s mischievous way of saying to me, “Oh yeah? You think you’ve got this power thing down? Prove it.”
I felt the old Joanne, the Joanne that still exists for a split second in my rash emotional reactions, feel the satisfaction she had been yearning for in “winning” this boxing match of love. But as is the case with all petty power victories, the glory eventually faded and all that I was left with was me. But that’s OK. Now that I’ve taken a good look at myself and am on the road to resolving my power issues, I happen to think I’m in pretty good company.
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