flailing about

And why I struggle with serious people

The barista has a pink star painted above her left eyebrow, but there’s a worrying lack of irony.

“Oh my, that looks delicious.” I make ridiculous yummy noises over my glossy cappuccino and dark-dense cacao slice. She doesn’t crack.

“Vegan and organic,” she drawls. ‘“Our friend buys the cacao beans directly from Colombian farmers.” The words drip off lazy lips. Slow and self satisfied. Ugh!

Wait, why am I judging?

I suddenly realize that I’m surrounded.

Drawling voices and slow-motion nodding at every table.”mmmm, that really resonates.”

I make a face at my friend to restore balance in the world.

Is it the vulnerability that makes me uncomfortable? Do I laugh at myself too quickly so that no-one else beats me to it?

Fleeing monotony

When life demands a somber song, my heart responds readily.

The moments of mourning stand out. The timbre of my feelings rumble in the depths of my gut rather than the usual high-pitched ditty that bounces around my chest.

The contrast feels important. A constant hum of seriousness would be too close. A limited range.

I can be serious, and I savor those moments.

But I don’t want to be stuck in a Leonard Cohen song forever.

Culture perhaps?

Facts are swatted back and forth in smug volleyball. One point to ‘Jaw-tenser’, two to ‘Eyebrow-raiser’, another to ‘Intense-starer’.

Nodding occasionally, my face poses interest while my brain struggles with quickfire German. I recognize the word for ‘peat-bog’, get excited, then lose the thread again.

Maybe if the dry data was seasoned with some salty sarcasm or sweet self-mocking, I could swallow it more easily?

I miss my action group in Devon, where saving the world is deadly serious and therefore must be fun. How can we imagine our way out of this mess without laughter?

“Life is too important to take seriously” wrote Oscar Wilde (or something similar). A very British sentiment. One that for me…really resonates…

So, perhaps that’s it? I’m too British.

I’m so used to words being dressed up in bows and ribbons that, when they charge at me naked, I get flappy and awkward and have to run away.

Oh no, it’s jealousy

My choreography teacher hits the side of his singing bowl then stares around at us in wide eyed wonder.

‘Can you feel the resonance?’

I watch my classmates respond. Eyes closed. Flourishes of movement accompany weighty sighs.

Pretentious.

A knee-jerk judgement and looking back, I can see what it’s hiding.

I am envious that they can take themselves seriously enough, not to think that this is silly. That they can lose themselves in movement without looking like a three year old having their first go on a space hopper.

Perhaps that’s why I abandoned contemporary dance for Zumba?

Blame the genes

My Auntie Jan’s favorite life advice is to look at yourself in the mirror every night, then make the most ridiculous face you can.

“It reminds you to always laugh at yourself.”

At 82, my Auntie Jan wears gold DMs and drives a bright yellow car called Snazzy. So I generally take her advice.

We are a flexible faced family so ‘making faces’ has become an artform. And we use it well.

If pomposity slips out, we dilute it with mock-pomposity…like this:

The pomposity is forgiven. No one is embarrassed.

That’s healthy…right?

What have my musings taught me?

• I use silliness as a defense mechanism
• I need ups and downs to feel alive
• I am trapped in my cultural conditioning
• I judge people when I envy them

Action points

• Stop judging others for not being silly.
• Stop being silly?

Nope! I come from a long line of silly sausages and I am proud to continue the tradition.

Wonderful.

One step closer to self-acceptance.