The Day that Guy Followed Me Home

21 Sunday Feb 2016

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I have only recently come to understand that I am a lot more immature and naïve than I had believed myself to be.

I always thought I was very mature because, even as a child, I spent a lot of my time with older children, teenagers and adults. I know, now, that I was just very good at pretending.
I have a keen talent to be able to transform into the type of person that reflects the situation or demographic of which I am surrounded.

While this has served me well in life, it has also caused me trouble. When I moved to the city, I thought I was mature and “street-smart” enough to handle it.

The fact that I was not became glaringly obvious when I found myself walking home from my part-time job at a thrift store, holding hands with a much older man whom I barely knew because I didn’t know how to get rid of him and I was afraid to stop it.

I was afraid to stop it.

This person had started coming-into the store and I was as small-town friendly with him as I was with everyone else I met in the big city. He started to visit more frequently and just hang-around me. Added to my naivety was the fact that, at the time, I believed I was on a mission from god to reach-out to every poor person in the city and give myself wholly to them as a vessel.

This man showed-up one day just as we were closing and asked if I wanted to go out after work. When I declined he asked if I wanted to go to his place. When I declined that offer, he asked if he could come over to my place. I declined again. He kept pressing me, and I was starting to feel rude, flustered and nervous, so when he asked if he could walk me home I said ‘uh…I guess…’

The next thing I knew, he was holding my hand.

I froze.

I was panicking inside. I didn’t have a clue what to do.

I didn’t want to be rude to him, because in my mind I was meant to be there to help people as a vessel of god and as a christian, I shouldn’t be rude.

So, I let him hold my hand and walk me home.

Thankfully, I didn’t live by myself. I lived in a ‘ministry house’ with 3 other adults (all of us had moved to the area to volunteer in the community.

Also, thankfully, there was an after-school program happening there at the time, so when he asked, again, if he could come in I had an honest answer ready to give: ‘No, sorry, there is a program happening right now.’

When we got to the door I, politely, shook my hand free of his and when he asked if he could have my phone # I said “uh, can you wait here a minute?’

I went inside and explained to one of my male friends, who was leading the after school group, what was happening. He came back to the door with me and talked to the man, explaining that he was my boyfriend (he wasn’t) and asking him to, please, leave me alone (in a polite, godly way).

But, the man kept coming to my workplace and talking to me. He came back the next day and said ‘why didn’t you tell me you had a boyfriend? You let me hold your hand.’

I told my boss what had happened and my boss instructed me to go to the back area of the store that was for employees only and inform him whenever the man entered the store.
I did as instructed and my boss, who was a massive man from Trinidad, would go and tower over the man and tell him to leave and never approach me again.

I felt so embarrassed.

I was so young.

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People Pleaser

20 Saturday Feb 2016

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“If you think you can get away with it, you can.”

That’s what my brother said to me many years ago when I saw a girl wearing green camo-style khakis and a blue top and said “I’d never be able to wear that”.

I had been raised with many “to do’s” and “not to do’s” of fashion: never wear horizontal stripes, they make you look fat; white should never be worn after labor day; and, of course, “blue and green should never be seen”.

So, on this particular day when I was looking longingly at this girl who looked great, seemed comfortable and exuded confidence, his words rocked me to my core.

‘I can wear what I want?’

This question, of course, was just a shadow of the deeper struggle going on: ‘I want to be this, but I feel forced to be this .’

I grew-up as a person who wanted to please everyone – a trait that still hangs around my neck like a boulder the size of Texas. I hate letting people down. I hate not living-up to expectations. I hate making mistakes. I hate upsetting people.

So, it has been a pretty huge learning curve for me in life to learn that, no matter how much I try to avoid it, I am going to do some, or all, of it many, many, many times.

Sometimes I feel like I missed the lesson on ‘how to think for yourself’ that everyone else got in life. It’s not that I don’t have my own thoughts, I certainly do, but I only allow them out into the world if it means that it’s going to please people. If I think that it will upset people, I generally will keep it to myself.

This is a huge problem.

It leaves me feeling invisible a lot of the time. I’m afraid to be myself for fear of disappointing people.

I’m not sure when it all started. It could have been when my parent’s divorced and I began to worry that it happened because I wasn’t good enough, or if I could only be perfect maybe I’d see my Dad more often; or when adults would tell me, a child, about their struggles and I felt it was my responsibility to take care of them and make them feel better; or in school when everyone is just trying to be accepted and fit-in so you do and say what you think your peers want. Most likely it’s been a combination of all of the above and more.

Wherever it started, it exists and it sucks.

The intention is to not let it exist here.

Memories will be shared, dreams will flow, imagination will run wild and life will forge forwards as it always does.

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Imagination Station

19 Friday Feb 2016

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I had an extremely vivid imagination as a child. I spent most of my days lost in a reverie of day dreams that would have made excellent fodder for a Disney epic.

In fact, I think I lived most of my childhood in a belief that I was in a Disney epic.

I was ‘Cinderella’ making friends with the mice and birds while dreaming about the day they would put-together a gorgeous, flowing gown for me to wear to meet the man of my dreams.

I was ‘Wart’ going-out to the farmyard to find the sword in the stone, knowing that if I got my hands on it, it would release from the stone, the heavens would open, angels would sing, and I would be made Queen.

I was Belle singing barefoot in the fields of hay during a gorgeous sunset about wanting to leave my small town, discover a terrifying beast, fall in love, have him transform into a drop-dead hunk, and live happily ever after together in his killer castle.

These characters, these stories, were my friends-my confidantes. No matter what was going on around me, I could always retreat in my head to one of these stories.

Actually…not much has changed in this area over the years.

When I’m having a rough day, I still look-out the window and see a dark, run-down castle, staffed by talking candlesticks, clocks and tea pots who are ready to rally to my side and give me a pep-talk, while singing wildly to me about being their guest.

But, there is little space for these dreams and vivid imaginings to exist in my current life.
I do not have the type of job that allows for, let alone would value, imagination and day dreams. I have a run-of-the-mill, typical, desk/administration job.

This is my space to let my imagination breathe.

It’s been boxed-up for far too long and has been screaming to be allowed out to play for years. Well, it’s out now. Time to stretch its legs, let it loose and see what it can do.

I have no format, layout or guidelines for what’s going to happen here.

My only plan is – to write.

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Starting over…over and over again.

18 Thursday Feb 2016

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I have always loved to write.

When I was young I would write long, elaborate, humorous stories and my friends would gather around during recess and ask me to read them out loud. I lived for English class, enjoyed writing essays and loathed the dreaded “100 words or less” type of assignments.

I dreamed about being many things when I was young: teacher, musician, missionary, voice of a Disney character, fashion designer, photographer, lawyer, therapist, personal driver, forest ranger, big rig driver…but, the one dream that never changed or went away was the idea that I would write.

I have started and stopped blogs, oh, about a million times it seems.

The thing that often stops me is this idea that everything and anything can already be found on the internet.

The internet doesn’t need another voice clogging-up its waves (or whatever it is that keeps things ticking-along behind the scenes).

I felt powerless. Voiceless.

There was nothing I had to say that would add any value or relevance to the magnitude of words already out there.

And then, just suddenly, while sitting at work one day (years after my last attempt at a blog post) it all made sense…

The world may not need any more thoughts expressed in words. But, I needed to write.

I feel lost, less myself, when I am not writing. And, as often happens with these massive life lessons, my Mother told me this long before I realized it for myself.

So, thanks, Mom. I got there eventually.

This time I hope to stick with it because, actually, I feel like I have a lot to say now.

And, who knows, if you come along for the journey, we might discover together that I did have something to contribute after all.

So, welcome back Me.

It’s been far too long (again).

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