Week 03…

I can’t help feeling like I am a black cat in golden retriever’s clothing. And that incongruity tends to unsettle people.

After all, I am friendly and warm when meeting new people — a little awkward, but that’s because my brain moves faster than my mouth when I recognize a kindred spirit. But there are other times when I feel I don’t have anything to say, and I just prefer to listen and observe.

In other words, I Introvert.

However, in spite of Susan Cain’s best-selling book published oh-so-long-ago, it feels like introversion still leaves folks a bit uneasy. Now, this is not surprising since we live in a world where the cult of personality is fully-commodified, but I am frustrated when I recall how many times my going Quiet has resulted in folks labeling me “a tease,” “mysterious,” or — on one memorable occasion — a “Bene Gesserit witch” (it wasn’t a compliment). I don’t know, maybe it’s still part of being a woman, and if you’re not Mary Sunshine 24/7 and always available to others, they start writing their own narratives about you.

Ah well, I can’t control how others perceive me, but I’ll be the first to admit that getting to know me does take a little effort. Not, like a lot, but you do have to pick up the book in order to read it — I’m never going to be an all-access channel. In fact, once I feel truly comfortable in a relationship, the prancing-puppy energy gets tucked away beneath the slow, steady blink of a cat in a bookstore (go with me on this, it’s a segue…)

I have gravitated of late to the poetry of Charles Bukowski, and the compelling tug-of-war between his cynicism and lyricism. And just this week, I came across a quote attributed to him that was a real shaker (I promise that is the only time I will use that expression):

“The love of lonely people is the most authentic there can be. They love you by choice, not by necessity.”

What I wish I was better able to express, as this quote does so eloquently, is that I love in a very intentional way (not a desperate one). Moreover, once I love you, that’s it — it becomes a fact of reality, like water being wet. And maybe because of this inevitability/perpetuity, I tend to demonstrate my affection more quietly, and gently, than some might expect: through tailored gifts and acts of service rather than grandiose declarations (serenades aside).

Where am I going with this? Well, I want to keep on embracing my own contradictions. After all, I’m in a brand new city with the rare opportunity to present myself in whatever way I please… and yet I am choosing not to be just one thing: I am neither cat, nor dog, but still, Meg the Platypus. And if that means I shall remain one of Bukowski’s “lonely people,” then I hope that those who are dear to me read this post as the strange love letter it’s meant to be.

I am happy here, and all is well. And I thank you for sticking around and loving me. Now, I will just nudge you with my forehead, and we’ll call it a good day.

SF Neighborhoods/Places Explored: (The) Richmond, Haight-Ashbury, Nob Hill

Soundtrack: Hans Zimmer and John Powell

Bus + Bench Book: We Are Green and Trembling, by Gabriela Cabezón Cámara

Lesson-Learned: Thrifting requires a staggering amount of self-confidence