Reviewing...

I recently received a huge gift.  A friend of mine gave me a review of a review I had written and pointed out what I feel is one of my major flaws.  And, I didn't even know it.  In fact, it is something I am constantly telling my students not to do, yet I didn't realize the whole time I was doing that very thing.  I expect too much of my reader.  Just like a lame girl does to her boyfriend, I expect my reader to read my mind.  I coyly tease with vague flowery pictures and deny them the details that lead to understanding. 

I say all this not to berate myself and my writing.  In fact, it's quite the opposite.  I'm pretty damn proud of myself as a writer to be able to take my friend's advice and run with it.  And, run I am.  In fact, it's got me wondering how many other things I am doing without my own knowledge.  Am I assuming too much of the people in my life too?  Yes.  In fact I can think of several examples, one of which lost me a friend. 

Here I go deleting the details again.  Long story short:  I had a friend; she made me upset; I didn't say anything about it until I flipped, couldn't take anymore, and went off.  She is no longer my friend.  I hide details from people until they are so lost as to what I am thinking, they don't really ever get to know me.  Maybe I'm not aware of doing it, but I am doing it on purpose. 

I'll use my wardrobe as an example here.  I prefer funky, colorful, retro or punk or Mexican clothing.  But you would never see me wear such items to work.  Yes, yes I have to maintain a professional appearance, but do I have to wear only solid colors?  Do I have to wear only Gap and Old Navy?  Who am I dressing for anyways?  And there it is- my penchant for blending into, not just the walls, but what people want to see.  I am deliberately ambiguous so that what you want to see is what comes through.  I say just enough to manage, but not enough to speak.  I play the quiet shy person, but is that really who I am?  Or am I just doing it to protect myself from judgment? 

Sometimes I ask myself what would happen if I were just honest?  Would the world end?  Would my family hate me?  Would my friends all desert me?  Then I think of Lorelai Gilmore.  Perhaps a lame example, but an appropriate one.  She never shuts her mouth.  If she disagrees with her mother, she says it.  She's not afraid.  If someone gets mad at her, she shrugs and moves on.  If she's upset with her friends, she fights with them.  God, I can't tell you the freedom I would feel to be able to fight with someone other than my husband and be confident that they'd forgive me.  Or that I'd forgive myself. 

Ok, let's just go there.  Could it be I am being ambiguous to hide from myself?  I am the one who remembers wrongs I committed when I was 6 years old and still cringes over them.  I am the one afraid to open my notebook for fear I might not have anything to say.  So maybe that's why I stay quiet.  To prove to myself that I am right.  I have nothing to say.  I am who the nearest person wants to see.  I am a reflection.