I’m looking at a motivational gathering in NYC at the end of the month, two days of woman power designed both to empower and to sell places in the 2015 empowerment institute.
It would be great to find other women who are ready to go big in their own lives, ready to encourage others to claim their own power, to say yes to a passionate, full, big life. How amazing would it be to find people who get the joke, say yes, and support you in bold moves?
The problem is that not everyone there is really there for that. Many of them are really there to fill a hold in their lives, to find someone or something to fix them. And many of them are there to sell their own stuff, maybe to others or maybe to themselves, converts who get affirmation by converting others.
For every possible venue I see, every group that I consider joining, I have to ask myself one big and messy question.
Is there any damn chance that I will end up buying into their shit?
A big trans conference is happening this weekend within driving distance. I spent hours poking through the workshop schedule to find one that was compelling to me. In the end, the question I asked was the same: is there any damn chance that I will end up buying into their shit?
On a TV show, a gay doctor tried conversion therapies, deciding that none of them worked Of course they didn’t work for him. He had no interest in diminishing his homosexual behaviour; he likes it too much. There was no damn chance that he was going to end up buying into their shit, so the outcome was pre-ordained.
It’s easy for me to see the downside of positions, for me to see the shit. I have been around the block many, many times and remember almost every circuit. The crocks are clear to me from a great distance.
If I am not ready to take a damn chance that I will end up buying into the shit, is there really any chance I will connect with other people, ever find support, ever discover myself a happy and relaxed member of a group?
Doubt is my core, analysis my tool. Like those CSIs who pull out the tuneable forensic lamps and luminol, it is hard to imagine me ever feeling safe and relaxed in one of the hotel rooms of life. The stains don’t hide from me.
You are crazy if you are too gullible, always wanting to believe in the next person, never subjecting them to any scrutiny.
But you make yourself crazy if all you have is doubt, never being able to believe that you can been seen, valued and loved, even beyond the flaws and limits of other humans.
Sometimes, you just have to be open to buying into what other people are selling, knowing that as flawed as it and they are, there is still wisdom and love wrapped up in their intentions.
With my history, that’s a hard belief to come by. I don’t have much experience that leads me to trust that other people can be present for me in a safe and playful way. My porcupine nature has been made clear to me over too many decades. My big, sharp mind and rich inner life aren’t things I am willing to trade for momentary comfort, as they are what have comforted me from my youngest days.
Still, we need the eggs.
Is there any damn chance that I will end up buying into their shit?
Is there any damn chance that I will be swept into saying yes to something, even though that something is not perfect?
Is there any damn chance that I am ready for change, for hope, for immersion in something or someone flawed but passionate?
Is there any damn chance I will be willing to be a participant rather than just an observer?
Is there any damn chance that I am ready to hunker down and fight for the long term, doing the hard, grinding work to spread my own vision against the stolid assumptions and expectations of others?
Or am I too savvy and too skint to actually end up playing the game?
Callan 