Thank you, but I already believe

We were visited by two nice middle-aged women today who explained that they had a little booklet explaining what is in the Bible. Well, I'm rather mistrustful of a) people who want to tell me what they think is in the Bible (because I have read some of it myself and know that it says lots of different and contradictory things) and b) people who fail to read and respect my no shoes no soliciting no religion no politics sign and ring my doorbell anyway.

So I gave them my new stock response when I get religious visitors on my doorstep, which is: "Thanks, but I already believe."

I love this response. It's honest and contains no criticism of their beliefs. If I feel like amplifying my statement, I can truthfully say as I did today, "I have my own beliefs." The nice ladies told me their names, excited that they had found a believer, and I used their names in the next minute to thank them and tell them to have a nice day, sending them on their way.

I explained to my daughter that it's not that I don't want to talk about my beliefs in "God" or the ideas of Jesus or what is in the Bible. I just don't want people to tell me what they want me to think, when I have spent my whole life arriving at my own ideas and beliefs. I believe what I believe for a reason, and I don't really want to mix that up with what two ladies who don't know me and don't know my history want me to think -- basically whatever has led them in their lives to their own beliefs.

But I'm so happy I have that response in my quiver now. It works like a charm. Try it the next time they visit your doorstep.

Staking out my space

What do these have in common?
- making sure I have the right spot at a show (something I can be quite nutty about)
- deciding whether to walk on grass or pavement
- blogging and posting on message boards
- deciding whether to lose weight
- constantly questioning the decision to eat meat
- curiosity about gender roles
- persistent dreams of rock stardom

Well, some are habits, some are avocations, some are trains of thought, but all are about how much space I take up in the world, which is an old theme for me. I suppose my conditioning has a lot to do with that. I was the survivor when my sister died,
something that makes you question what you're doing here on earth. I grew up with unpredictable and sometimes unreliable people around me, which can easily make a kid like me question what she deserves. I've spent much of my professional life as an editor, working behind the scenes to smooth things out, make everyone look better, yet remain invisible in the process.

But I'm breaking out of some old conception of myself. I want to be seen and heard. I've learned that grass is common because it withstands foot traffic and I've stopped worrying so much about killing it by walking on it. (But I still wonder if eating meat is the right choice.)

And since this has started to happen, I have made some changes.

I was able to tell my father I didn't want to see him anymore, that I still didn't feel he was sorry for the damage his violence and unwillingness to seek help from anything other than himself and a glass of bourbon inflicted on our family (he just claims not to remember; that's not good enough for me). That I didn't feel he respects women and I can't live with that. People like to tell me he's changed, but I hear stories about how he treats the new "love" and I don't think anything's any different. I shudder for her; it's like The Shining mixed with Blue Velvet in an endlessly repeating cycle of alcohol, self-pity, impotent rage, and isolation. The best part of saying "don't call me" is that I have had no regrets. This has been a great year, and I feel much freer to be me, to take up THIS MUCH SPACE if I want to or need to or just feel like it. What a freaking relief!

Yet in my work I have always used these old skills so I could blend into the background and take on the role of the one who smooths things over and coordinates stuff between others and exercises tact at all time. And I find again and again I've left myself out of the picture. Or I've cast myself in the role of nag, telling uncomfortable truths about what people have done wrong.

But now I'm seeing a space for me in that picture, but I can't quite recognize the pose or the costume yet. It's not a bit part, like the ones I used to get in junior high and high school. It's not a consolation role but a center-stage role. I am the star of my own life. It's about time I realized it.