Wednesday, May 30, 2012

Some break the rules, and live to count the cost

MathMan and I rode together to work and the Howard Jones song No One Is to Blame played on the radio. I paused in my nostalgic and painful-to-listen-to warbling to note a specific line. It would come in handy some day.

The insecurity is the thing that won't get lost.

Insecurity. So many forms. Emotional. Financial. Professional. A euphemism for hunger. Food insecurity. Why use one word when you can use two?

We're locked in the Battle Royale with our insecurities. We're swaddled in them. They are our shadow, our muse, our nail-biting, bed-wetting, bed-hopping eating disorder.

Sometimes they are the long pole helping us balance on the tightrope. Nothing but the pole, the air and way down below - - the net.

My insecurities and I are so tangled up together it's impossible to tell us apart. They borrow my clothes and force me to eat pie after 10pm. They twirl my hair and suggest that people who probably don't even know I exist are talking smack about me. And then they wonder aloud why those people don't know I exist. They make me ask MathMan if he really loves me and then to pick at the affirmative with a plaintive "why?"

Your insecurities might keep you up at night. Mine mostly keep me inert.

When I hear from someone who is in an insecure situation, I want to do whatever I can to help them out.

I know you guys are of a generous spirit and I've been so grateful for the help you've given us when we were struggling to keep the roof, the food, the lights, etc. Now I'm asking you to help out a friend who has been generous with us in the past.

Robert's car requires repairs so he can get to job interviews. His rent is also due. There isn't enough money for both things. These are the tough choices we make in this unequal world of ours. If you can slide a couple of dollars his way, I'm sure he'd be grateful.

Don't let Robert's gruff demeanor throw you. He's a kind guy who worried that the Golden kids wouldn't get Christmas gifts, who loves his cat Popeye and has blogged for social justice for as long as I've known him. He's also an unrecognized writing talent with a couple of novels in need of a publisher.

You know how much I hate to ask, but it's far easier to ask for someone else than it is for me. And as relieved as I am that we're on the road to financial recovery, I won't feel secure into we all feel, at least, some sense of financial security and justice.

 Until then, we buoy each other when our insecurities threaten to pull us under.

Take it away, Howard.
 

9 comments:

  1. First, Howard Jones . . . Man. "Hide and Seek" at LiveAid was pretty awesome.

    Having done the begging thing once, I know how horrid it is. You are a true saint to spread the word.

    As for insecurities, at the moment I cannot open an email from a first reader of a non-fiction essay I sent out to three people because I am just way too aware of the many flaws in it, and I just KNOW what I'll read and I may chug some metal cleaner later if I read it.

    And "Hide and Seek" is now on my Spotify playlist.

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    1. Thanks, Geoffrey. I understand about that first-reader anxiety, but I have confidence in your writing. Your non-fiction pieces are so well researched and thought out. Toss those insecurities already!

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    2. "Toss those insecurities already!" They're like my left foot! How can I just toss that?

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  2. I wish I could help, but my own insecurities are going up steadily.

    But good on you, Lisa, to write this.
    ~

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    1. Ah, thunder, I hate it that you're accumulating insecurities. There's so much wrong with that.

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  3. When I'm feeling insecure is usually when I'm most entertaining. I have a feeling that's fairly common.

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    1. Ha! Yes, Susan. I think you're absolutely right. I know some good angst usually brings out my creativity. Contentment is a menace.

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  4. "My insecurities and I are so tangled up together it's impossible to tell us apart. They borrow my clothes and force me to eat pie after 10pm. They twirl my hair and suggest that people who probably don't even know I exist are talking smack about me. And then they wonder aloud why those people don't know I exist. They make me ask MathMan if he really loves me and then to pick at the affirmative with a plaintive "why?"

    So me too...

    Fabulous description!

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And then you say....

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