First off, a happy happy happy happy happy(ok, I’ll stop now) St. Patty’s day to y’all out there!!!
Whoop! Whoop!! and more Whoop!!!
I’m a couple of hours late, I know, but alas! The downsides of Wednesday blogging! A toast to the very vibrant Irish anyways… and the title of today’s post is in honour of them too!!! It means “some uncertainties”… and I hope google translate is on my side on this one.
So I was talking with someone last week… and mid-convo, he mentioned how really confident he thought I was. Me, the one who can’t kill a cockroach to save her life. Yes. Me. The one who makes the sign of the cross a zillion times before she can bath cold water on a cold morning because she thinks she will freeze on the spot if she doesn’t. Me. Tee hee! I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud. Not at him, the guy, no. But at myself. At how good I had gotten at just winging it that I could now pass for a confident person. Ha ha!
Confidence… ergo, self-assurance… expression or feeling of certainty.
I am testing the word on my tongue as I write this post and deep down in my heart I know that I am not it. I don’t wake up every morning sure of what I am supposed to do and how to go about it. I do not know the solution to half the problems the world has. I do not always have the perfect come-backs. If you see that I have styled my hair in a particularly creative way it may just be because I didn’t find all my hair pins and so just made do. People can wow all they want about my hair genius at such times but that wasn’t confidence. That was me going with the flow. If I have ever seemed confident it was merely because the alternative, was not an option for me. I do not think I have ever had a choice in the matter really. It’s either this or that. And so I embrace boldness, because from it I derive the strength to do what needs to be done… not because I know what it is all about, but only because I need it to survive. And by Thor and all the Asgardians, it works!!!
Eating Calamari(absolutely disgusting thing to eat by the way and did you read the story of the South Korean woman who bit into her parboiled Calamari and got a mouthful of squid sperm?) ooorrr just starving to death…
And ooh come on… from the above listed, what choice is there, really?
**When I needed to leave a bad relationship…
I didn’t do it because I had some other guy on hold. There was no one. All I had, was a lot of alone time and the fat lady in my head waiting for me. Still, I left him. I wasn’t sure about the future or anything. All I knew was that being with him was eroding parts of my essence, parts that were very important to me. I couldn’t let that happen. I was dying, so to speak, and I had to save me. Leaving him was less to do with the comically twisted person that he was but more to do with who I saw myself to be and if I merited the treatment that was being handed to me and if I wanted to live(not physically). So boom! I chose life. Confidence? No, that was just me doing what I had to do.
**When I have had to speak up and out for myself and for those I hold dear…
Ironically, growing up, there were a lot of crazy as shit controlling people around me. Do this, do that. It worked for me, so it must have to work for you. Eat that. Don’t read this. Listen to that. It wasn’t because they cared. Why, they just wanted to piss on me and call it rain. Drove me nuts they did, with all their harping, their evilness. Heh heh heh. But I showed ’em. I could’ve listened to them and become putty in their hands, but that would’ve been tantamount to taking a knife to my throat and slicing open my carotid, ya dig? Consciously choosing to “end my own life” at the urgings of other people would’ve been utterly stupid of me, no? I mean, if I’m going to off myself, let it be all my own doing. Not because someone said “Hey, death is a hot look. Wanna try?”
Left to them, today, there wouldn’t have been a Sonia. No rabid humor… no intensity, no painful honesty, no living to the fullest or philosophical musings or poetry or art, no rock music or randomly going out without a bra on, no screaming to One Republic’s “Stop and stare” in the shower, no brain work, no effervescence. In short, no fat lady. They would’ve cowed me, my tail between my legs. I would’ve been like Smaegol from The Hobbit, afraid of the light, lover of dark and grimy places, and content to say “my precious” in that raspy voice, for the rest of my life. So hey. Given the options, I had to fight back. Now, I am living the part bohemian, part philosophical dream. It wasn’t because of some sense of certainty or surety that what they tried to make of me wasn’t what I was supposed to be, no. I knew nothing save the fact that that which they wanted, negated that which was in me. Handing myself over to them would’ve basically ended me. So again, it was just a choice between living or dying. And tadaa! It goes without saying, that I chose life.
Being super duper duper duper sure as sunshine and rain certain of any and all things? Me? No friggin’ waaaaaaaaay. I only know that I want to survive, so I just tick the boxes that will enable me thrive. It hasn’t always been easy. Heck, sometimes I just want to roll over and play dead. But there is only one of me. If I choose to stop living for even a second, who will leave their life to help me live mine? Sooo I wing it even when I’m sick of doing so… I go with the flow even when I’m not sure where the flow will lead me… I’m jumping off cliffs without parachutes when I have to… and I smile while doing it all. And is that confidence? Phony bravery? Faking certainty with a smiling face? Pretending that I’m not about to fall apart even when I may be doing just that on the inside?
I… I… I don’t know.
I think not, anyways.
Aaaand next Wednesday is a date.
I’m super-duper certain.