I see myself doing it. The judgment. It’s a part of myself I indulge, but not one I particularly like. After all, judgment of others is usually a reflection of insecurity–a projection of judgment back on oneself or fear of the same judgment from others. I’m not sure if that’s completely true, but part of me believes it.
I idolize Peter Parker but I have a little too much Wade Wilson in me to ever be that good. Or maybe I have me all wrong. They’re both heroes after all and most days I’d rather stay at home.
I go out tonight, to a story slam that benefits a nonprofit. Inspired by The Moth, five people stand up and tell a story. It’s a brave thing to do. The crowd makes me a little uncomfortable (post-pandemic trauma or maybe I am really just that anti-social) and only two of the stories really land with me. The last one in particular I thought was incredible — vulnerable, destigmatizing, beautifully told. Worth the whole evening.
I find myself fighting off my own judgment at other points. For the crowd who audibly reacts at the wrong moments or talks too loud. For the story of childhood trauma that is moving until it ends at the church and . . . you’ve lost me. Is this who I am, someone who judges someone’s healing and faith? Maybe. Kind of. Is that who I want to be?
I’m not sure. I know I don’t want to be someone who thinks they have all the answers. I don’t. Not even about myself. Especially not about myself.
Someone yells out of their truck at me and my mom: “Hey, ladies” (catcalled in Sturgeon Bay, WI . . . what a world), and all I can think is I. Am. Not. A. Fucking. Lady.
There are musical interludes at the event too . . . excellent musicians and powerful songs. It takes me into my head. This is why I can’t go just listen to music most of the time, I go down labyrinths I’m not always ready to explore. But it’s good. And then I’m ready to go.
Give me a taste of social life and I get all existential. How’s everyone else’s reintroduction to society going?
With Love,
Natalie