Singer Songwriters

I respect m. I do.
There have been many times that I've listened to them and thought, Get Over It!!!
But these people (like certain poets) lay out their heart, verse after verse.
They put themselves in delicate situations and have their hearts crumpled on.
And they don't turn to stone, they just express the pain in song and hope on...
What an intense way to exist!
I decided somewhere in my early twenties that I'm allergic to drama.
Since then I've been removing it from my life. But I believe SSs believe that drama colors their life.
At times when I'm really emotional and can't walk away from it, I write a song too...
That generally turns in to the kind of song that SSs sing. (It once turned into a culturally disrespectful rap song, but that only happened once).
I can count these, outbursts on 1 hand. (maybe 1 and a half) But the people that heard them regard them as my 'better' songs. I generally have difficulty listening to them, because they remind me of so much. The emotions, the pain, intensity, how can you pick yourself up and decide to go there again and again, in the name of authenticity.
Isn't authenticity overrated?
Seriously, if being authentic about what you think and how you feel, daring to not have an answer and leaving wounds open until you do, if that doesn't make you happy, but just 'real' why be real.
The few times I've been 'as real as I can be' have led to drama. Unresolvable drama. If I could turn back time, would I repeat my actions... not all... in fact, none.
I'm happy they happened and made me who I am and all, but I just simply don't have the balls to choose that again.
I guess, I'm a bit to absolute. I don't think authenticity works, because you have people around you to consider. Being authentic, I would drive myself crazy, let alone people around me. Like the fool of the town, that talks to anyone who will listen and is not really understood or accepted.
Here's me thinking I'm a confident person, but the idea of being as naked as SS scares the shit out of me. One album of that & I'd be the most insecure chick in Holland.
So call it World Pear Pressure, call it prevention of insanity, or just plain chicken syndrome but I could not do what SSs do.
Respect...

Snap je?

I wonder, what is t with me that I have this strong desire to be understood.

Does everyone have that?

I see some people, mainly in conversations who will force their opinion, point of view or just their sentence out of their mouth, pushing the returning comment of their listener back into their mouth, simply because 'they hadn't finished talking yet' and still had more to make clear. It makes conversations resemble tiny monologues between two people, desperately trying to be heard 'completely' and 'correctly'.

My dad taught me the dynamics of a conversation, and I am forever grateful that he did.

I tend to speak a lot when I'm on a verbal roll, but I almost immediately shut up & listen when I notice that someone is about to reply, or as my dad would say, trying to get a word in...

However, when in a conversation I get the feeling that I'm not understood, instead of stressing my point, I shut up. I go on automatic pilot and reply in the best way I can to politely end the conversation as quick as possible, so I can get on with whatever I am doing, or desire to do.

I know that's wrong. If not for the way I tackle it, it would be plain rude, and it's not like I want to be rude, but for some dark reason, when I try to be understood, and I am not, it hurts like hell.

It seems that in my head, being understood is directly linked with being seen and acknowledging me, it's like my being is linked to being understood.

If I'm trying to show an aspect of myself, but you can't see it... is it then really there?

I realize that this is a lot to ask of a person who happens to discuss something with me that I am passionate about, so my solution is, a lack of desire to be understood when I talk to someone. (read: avoid conversations that are close to my heart).

I realize that this isn't the best solution, but it works.

There are exceptions. Life would be very lonely if there weren't.

Not only that, but 99% of the time I don't even notice that this is what I do, and life is cool.

But there are some people that I really want to be acknowledged by. So when they don't understand my view on things....then I feel really crapy ..... and then write a post on my blog and try to get over it...

Metaphor of the day....

Some people can just fart in a room without so much as a pardon and then wonder why it smells so bad...

Room Full Of Egos

I’ve never liked big groups. For as long as I can remember, I’ve always felt uncomfortable in them.
In some form it always resembled A Room Full Of Egos.
Most people in the room are trying to shine, while the room is already very bright. It’s a little unnatural, and unnecessary, but happens all the time.As a result others try to hide in the safety of shadow, but there is no shadow… In short, no one is themselves.
My desire would always swing from shining to seeking shadow, trying to fit in and only when I’d leave the room, would I find peace and myself again.

I remember the camps I’d go to as a teenager, learning how to perfect my shine, and at the end feeling rather sick with myself for being ‘so fake & bitchy’.
At high school I’d have a barrier meters high, creating my own shadow to hide behind, while at war with those bright lights around me. Shield of their light, attack with mine and all the while keep the barrier up… That cost a lot of energy, and I was sweating all the time.

In my twenties, I took on a different approach. By that time I’d lost all desire to create light in a bright room, but I still felt my ego shrink & expand to the current of my environment, it still cost energy, just to stay me. So, I’d wear baggy clothes. My ego never swelled beyond my sweater, when it shrunk it still felt safe, and if at times, staying me took a lot of energy, it less noticable.

I’ll be thirty next year. My aim…. No more baggy clothes in a Room Full Of Egos…

It’s getting better. When looking into those bright lights, I actually can see the person behind them, with their swelling ego and their own barrier. Maybe not the same as mine, but a shield none the less. Also, all my imperfections, and blunders that become so painfully clear in a bright room, don’t bother me as much as they used to.

I think you’ll still see me in baggy clothes, even in my thirties… But soon it will only be an expression of style, and no longer a safety zone in a battlefield of lights.