The hardest time to talk about something is when there’s a lot at stake.
Like a friendship. Or a client-ship. Or a relationship of any kind. (Or, yes, a lot of money. Not sure about this, because I do not come from Big Money, but I suspect it’s hard for them to talk about it, too. Most of the people I know who grew up with Big Money aren’t big on talking about much of anything, much less money.)
Of course, life being the perverse sumbitch she is and the Universe having a mighty hearty sense of humor for an inanimate object or an interwoven collection of collectively-animated objects, the time when it’s most important to talk about something is when there’s a lot at stake.
Only you don’t, because, you know, there’s a lot at stake, so you hold tight and tell yourself you need to do a little testing with mission control and a little prep work with the editor and maybe call in some outside consultants to reality-check and drum up a strategy, and before you know it, you’ve got a full-scale storm a-brewin’ instead of a little rumbling in a teapot or a Stage-IV melanoma instead of a freckle that looks “off.”
Did I mention I’m going to the dentist today? And that I’ve had a number of dental-related issues over the past several months?As in what comes out of the mouth, so goes what happens inside it. Or somesuch.
It’s good to be cognizant of the world outside our skins, and to understand that sometimes, the party of the second part is going through something that’s not so much a party as a cruise around a circle of hell, and that maybe our Thing can wait.
On the other hand, we’re all grappling with some goddamned thing or another all the time. And when we’re not, well, things are so nice, you wouldn’t want to go spoiling this Precious Moment, right?
Enh. Five-alarm, crisis situations aside, there’s usually room to be made in a day to talk about most anything. Or, if you like, even on a spin around the fifth circle of hell, sometimes you can catch a breeze.
By all means, prep. I lived without an editor for a long time and it wasn’t always a good thing. Now I live with one, and a conveniently placed override switch I installed a while back. It’s finely calibrated to look for openings, and I’m more finely calibrated to understand how much ground can be covered in an hour, or a half-hour, or ten minutes. I’m also better at getting how to bring something up in a way I can be heard, and I’m like a fucking champion compared to my younger, assholier self when it comes to copping to my part in things. (Hint: cop up front. It’s almost always better.)
For the worriers out there, nothing is wrong. This is just life, which is change, and me dealing with it. Like (maybe) an adult, for once. In a way that (maybe) I won’t be embarrassed to tell my shrink about when I see her this week for our monthly meetup. (For the record, I’d probably do them more often if she didn’t live so far away and the economy wasn’t so wacky.)
I’ll get through my changing. You’ll get through yours. We’ll all get through, one way or another.
I’ve just decided I want to be in the driver’s seat more often.
Taking the wheel.
Saying it now…