Going all in

The other night, wrapping Christmas presents, I caught most of one of my favorite movies, Adaptation.  It’s the one with awkward twins Charlie Kaufman, the screenwriter, and brother Donald, both played by a chubby and balding Nic Cage, in one of his actual acting turns (as opposed to the churn it out for money movies he often makes).   Kaufman is unnerved by writing an adaptation of a book about a Ghost Orchid and its central character, a very flawed minor criminal/horticultural expert in the Florida swamps.  Meryl Streep is the writer of the book, a real book called The Orchid Thief written by real New Yorker writer Susan Orlean, and as it turns out, in the movie, “Susan” is now John’s lover and fellow orchid-drug addict….anyway, I digress.  

   

There are several pivotal scenes and amazing themes in this film, but I was struck so hard the other night by one of the last brother-brother moments.  Donald is telling Charlie that he loved this girl in high school, and Charlie points out that she only made fun of Donald and never was his.   Donald replies that it doesn’t matter–that he loved her, and that none of her mocking behavior or adolescently cruel rejection could take his love away; it was his to give, and that made it his forever.  He could cherish it forever, and feel nourished by the experience.

That is real love, love that is generous, kind, and non-possessive.  I’ve written about my questions on the nature of love a lot on this site.  I have wondered why it’s so easy for a love that is freely given to get twisted and wither under the weight of expectations… but this one scene captures it all so much better than I ever could.

My life has changed in the last few years, and while there have been very obvious changes, one that is apparent to very few may be the most important.  I am less defended than I’ve ever been—- living more freely, breathing easily, finding it so revealing to be open and honest so much of the time.    Even though I’ve been an extravert since birth, I used to observe with a long cool eye and then show only parts of my truth.    (Used to, meaning, up until about 3 years ago.  Meaning, most of my life).  Now, I find myself speaking the truth nearly all of the time, often to strangers, but also to friends, colleagues, and family members.   Some could say I might should temper this a bit—as in, don’t scare all the grad students and other young folks in my circle when they are just entering their 30s, max, and shouldn’t be expected to hear the truth of the 40s.  

When I realized I was telling the truth to people I barely knew, I also realized some things about what’s been happening.   I’ve opened up so much, compared to even 5 years ago, that it’s caused a loosening of the death grip of my cultural lessons..  I’m from a deadly subculture that encouraged me to hide my real feelings (especially even from myself), translate them into mild questions of others, and show myself (the self of which I was truly aware) to very few.   And at the same time, as a girl from the South, to attempt to be appealing to all, offending none, again requiring HIDING.   And once I trusted someone, I should regard that trust as a blood pact that could never be violated and to EXPECT no violations, no weakness in myself or others….All of these ideas required me to close my eyes …..I couldn’t see so many things that should have been obvious, and worse, I developed a victim epistemology that led me to imagine I was enduring  tragedy as if it were happening TO me, rather than seeing what of it I influenced.   I was always an actor in my life, but had been well-trained to overlook that fact.   Sort of Southern girl—by way of Catholic rules and authority—-by way of Czech immigrants trying to assimilate quickly —all of these overlaid with my own secretive family dynamics from both maternal and paternal sides and the vastly unspoken realities of those families’  lives.  

So one part of me thinks that it might be a little dangerous to walk around so undefended, so open, often raw.   Yet this porousness allows joy, sunshine, passion, scents, sounds…in.   IN.   The possibility of some future wounding seems nearly irrelevant compared to what can get in now….and what is getting in.    So this year, I may be taking risks, but I’m not calcified….I’m porous and soaking all of it in.  IN.   I’m all in.