Yesterday a creative mood came over me -- I moved around all the potted plants on the front porch, imagined what our front yard would look like with a pebble "streambed" rain garden meandering through it, and then came inside to make a snack.
Something about the feng shui of the bamboo cutting board inspired me, and I took some time to arrange the apple slices in a pleasing way, found a pretty bowl for my hummus, and laid one sprig of parsley for some diagonal interest. The camera was nearby so I snapped this shot of the scene. Then Andy walked in the kitchen, and I quickly put away the camera and stood with my back to the cutting board, embarrassed to be caught having fun in such a simple way.
This is far from the first time I've found myself embarrassed to be happy -- there is something unguarded about joyfully participating in my life that I am afraid to let other people see. It goes back to when I was a teen, at least, and continues even today. If I'm caught in the act of moving to a good beat, or saying hello to a bright yellow daffodil beaming up at me, I quickly dissemble and try to look "ordinary" -- busy, fretting or fussing, doing something productive.
Only around my kids can I sing and boogie and talk to plants with abandon, and it feels like this is a clue as to where the embarrassment originates.
I delight in watching my kids continuously creating and participating in their lives, with a minimum of self-judgment. I can already see the inhibitions creeping in with Isaac (now 9 years old), but Josie (age 5) is still pretty freeform with her constant movement, wonder, and delight. It feels like somewhere around Isaac's age we start picking up the judgments, the critiques, carefully deciding what's cool or not cool, what is socially acceptable and what isn't. We begin painstakingly constructing a suit of armor around the truest, most unique and therefore vulnerable parts of ourselves, each chink comprised of some behavior or attitude or identity that we deem will best help us fit in.
And it feels like when I'm happy, really just happy for no reason and having fun with what's around me, that suit of armor is off; I'm like a child exploring, not afraid to be silly or make mistakes. But being seen by another in this state is like being seen naked, for who I am, with nothing to cover up my perceived weaknesses or oddities.
It seems to come down to self-judgment, a core feeling that there's something inherently wrong with me, and that it is better to fit in than to risk showing my true self to the world. Which is why I created that suit of armor to begin with.
But why should I fear being who I am? For what reason could it possibly be better to hide and just try to fit in? If I really pause and consider it, I can feel how happily being myself will bring infinitely more joy and healing to the world than hiding inside my defenses. After all, anybody can fit in, but only I can be me.
Besides, I'm getting tired of dragging around this armor. And letting myself be who I am -- however vulnerably -- makes me happier than hiding ever did anyway. So please watch your step if you should come by, there may be random bits of chainmail strewn about and me dancing under the trees, singing a catchy tune.
