The rewards of vulnerability and openness

The moment that you feel, just possibly, you are walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind, and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself…That is the moment, you might be starting to get it right.
–Neil Gaiman


This is one of my favorite quotes from Neil Gaiman, or anyone really. I’ve referred to it before. He’s talking about how you know when your writing, or whatever your art is, is starting to be good. When you are starting to find your own voice. You know it because you feel exposed, vulnerable. And you keep doing it anyway because you don’t have any idea if any of it is going to work, but it’s what you do. You keep doing it because only you can. 

This is something I have touched on before. Being open. Being vulnerable. 

Being vulnerable, being open has good points. 

Sharing on a deeper level. Exchanging ideas, thoughts, feelings. Being more alive, more part of everything, more real. There are huge rewards in human connection.

It also has a downside. 

When share who you are on the most intimate level it is a risk. People may tell you that they can handle it, or that they want it as much as you do. Sometimes they can’t handle it even though they want to. Sometimes they say they want to, but they are only telling you what they think you want to hear. Some people, maybe a lot of people, really don’t want to have that level of sharing or connection.  Sometimes people just lie, and when the rejection comes it stings all the more because it is your real self that they are rejecting.

So what do you do?

You hurt a little, or a lot depending on how strong your feelings are for the person. You move on. 

You try not to let it impact how you interact with other people. 

You keep trusting, in spite of the hurt.

You try not to take what feels like a very personal rejection personally. Yes, it’s hard. No, I am not very successful at it. 

It’s really all you can do if you want to keep building genuine connections with people. 

The  other day after a long, frank conversation about my experiences in trying to be more open, someone asked me how I can keep being so vulnerable in spite of  all of the times that people have rejected me as too intense, too complicated, too weird.  It’s pretty simple, really: the connection I make with the people who I do really connect with is worth it. There’s no question in my mind that  it might not be worth the hurt. 

I’ve had some amazing conversations with people over the last few months. Some were hard. Some were deep emotionally, or intellectually. Some were sexually more frank than any conversations I have ever had. Not sexting, but shared ideas/preferences/history. Each of us putting ourselves on the line.

If it’s a choice between being distrustful and trusting, between being scared to share my feelings and just diving in head first, I am going to keep trusting and sharing even though sometimes I land on the rocks.  I am learning resilience. I am learning the power of being connected to the people I interact with. It is all too good to step back just because some people are scared or dishonest.  If other people are frightened, or less than truthful that is their choice. I can only make mine.

It’s all I know to do right now, to have faith in the power of connecting with people.

Even though some people are dicks.

Most people are not. Maybe some people are not ready to share in the way that I would like, but when it happens it is really special, and really intense.   It’s hard for me to imagine anything else.


It is one of the best decisions I have ever made.



Seriously? Prove I am human?

C’mon. I know I can be a little odd, but I shouldn’t have to demonstrate my humanity by doing math. 

For one thing, it’s math. Simple math, granted, but I don’t want logging in to write a post to involve counting on my fingers. 

I’d really prefer to demonstrate my humanity through performing some sort of sexual favor or showing emotion. The application’s fixation on proving humanity via something any robot can do seems inappropriate. 
Ah, well. 
It’s 12, right?

  

An imaginary conversation about simple questions

Are you a cat person or dog person?

Cat. Definitely. I love cats. You?

Mostly a dog person.

I thought you told me you have a cat?

I do have a cat. He’s sitting on my feet purring right now. 

But you don’t like him?

Sure. I just like dogs a little better. They’re so enthusiastic.  Cats can be dicks.

They just have very definite opinions. You remind me of a cat in that regard.

Yeah. Sometimes I am a dick, too.

That isn’t really what I meant.

Don’t worry. I know. You are far too polite to ever say something like that.

You’d be surprised.

I wonder what else I would be surprised about?

Uh. Surprise? I don’t want to ruin the suspense.

OK, fine…act like a cat. See if I care. Do you have a cat right now?

No, and I miss having them around. 

You can have mine.

You’d miss him.

Maybe a little. He’s a good foot warmer, and I don’t have anyone else to purr at me.

I’d purr at you, given half a chance.

Would you also keep my feet warm?

I would do my very best!

You are good people.

Thanks. So what is his name?

The cat? When we got him his name was Fenway. 

Fenway?

Yeah, like the baseball place. 

Oh, right. Fenway Park. Are you into baseball?

No, not at all. 

So why Fenway?

That is what they called him at the shelter. It’s what is on his microchip.

You could have changed his name, you know.

Yeah. Cats don’t care anyway.

You don’t think they care?

No, I think they just listen to tone of voice and the sound of can openers and food packages being opened.

Very cynical.

No, just truthy. Anyway, we never called him Fenway.

So what is his name now?

We call him a lot of things.

He doesn’t have a name?

Not one specific one.

That’s sad!

No, it really isn’t. He has a whole bunch of names.

Like what?

Mr. Squeeeks, with an extra e because he is extra squeaky.

That’s cute. He squeaks?

Like a 20 pound mouse.

What else do you call him?

Fat cat.

Does he really weigh 20 pounds? That probably isn’t healthy.

I have no idea how much he weighs, but he’s pretty hefty.

We can talk about your cat’s diet later. What other names does he have?

Squeaker, Peeper, Peepster, Ratty, Rat, Kitty Kato, Cat, Stupid Cat, Fucker if he scratches me, and Motherfucker if he draws blood.

I see. That’s a lot of names.

Is it? Don’t most people call their pets by different names?

Not that many!

I guess.

I didn’t think “what’s your cat’s name” was going to involve a 20 minute question and answer period.

Some things are complicated.

Some people make things that way.

Well. Uh. 

Don’t look at me like that, I didn’t mean it in a bad way!

I know. It just…never mind.  Do you have any other important questions for me?

How many times have you been married?

Let’s talk about that when we discuss Squeaky Cat’s diet plan.

Really? Complicated again? Usually people just say a number.

Well.

Is it more than you can count on your fingers?

No! God, I’m not Liz Taylor!

So what’s so complicated about it?

It’s not a big deal, it’s just. It sounds awful.

Whisper it in my ear.

OK.

That isn’t so terrible. Only one more than me.

Oh, good.

Why did you think it was too complicated to just tell me?

There’s a story, but it’s a little late for it now.

You’re so funny. Always worried you’ll chase people away…

Hilarious.

It’s fine to just tell me anything you know.

I know.

But?

But I’m weird. Some people don’t like that.

In a good way. I do like it.

I’ll definitely give you a gold star for that!

I’m counting on it.