There are often times that I am in deep discussion with someone and I have trouble explaining myself and/or getting my point across to them.
So I will often think about a post I wrote, and send them the link.
"You talk about EVERYTHING on that blog," I've heard many say.
Yes I do. In over 6 years of blogging, I can always find a topic... and send the link.
In a recent convo, around 2 ro 3 weeks ago, I was discussing with a friend the difference between "The representative" and "The Real You."
My hypothesis was...
"When you meet people, you meet their representative."
That touched off a discussion. And I sent a link to a post detailing such.
I've thought about it since then. And I really thought about it after I read a scripture in Jeremiah, which I posted this past Sunday. Very much indirectly related, but related nevertheless.
It's 3 years old and worth a repost.
So enjoy...
I am reading the most interesting book right now.
The Church of Dead Girls by Stephen Dobyns, published in 1997. He has written numerous mysteries and thrillers, and he's also a poet, penning a fair amount of books of poetry.
Normally I wouldn't read anything with a title like this. There is nothing that would make me pick this book from a store bookshelf and buy it. I came across it while reading a writing craft book on plot and structure development. The book sited this book as one with a nicely written beginning. So I put it on my reading list. I 've had it for a couple of months, and decided to read it now.
This book starts out with a very detailed description of a terrible scene: three teenage girls found murdered in an attic, and their left hands are missing.
I was expecting this book to go on from there as a mystery, but it doesn't. Imagine the play
Our Town gone astray. It goes back a few years and describes the thoughts and feelings of the inhabitants of the small rural sleepy town of Aurelius as one by one, these young girls turn up missing. The townspeople think that the killer is amongst them, and fear and suspicion spread like a virus. Everyone is suspiciuos of everyone else.
People look at each other in a new light.
The distinction between one's public personna and one's private life dissolves as a result.
This book is a very slow and psycological dissection and examination of that whole phenomena. I swear, this book is only 10% dialogue, yeat 90% exposition and thought. Normally that would drive me completely batty, but I find it all, I don't know the word... let's just say, deeply satisfying. Yeah, that's it.
Now, this isn't a book review, and I haven't finished reading the book. I only wanted to read the beginning, but I decied to read the whole book.
It reminds me much of my favorite book of all time, Tayari Jones'
Leaving Atlanta, a fictional tale surrounding Atlanta's Missing and Murdered children in the late 70s/early 80s. It is, like, some long drawn out version of her book.
So, uh, you know I have to read it all the way through.
The story is narrated from the point of view of the local high school's biology teacher. I don't know why the author decided to do that, and I don't think much about him until some of the private details of his life start to unfold.
Then I read a passage at the title of Chapter 15, which stopped me cold, and is the subject of today's "Food for thought"
"Just as we are only aware of the surface parts of one another's minds, so are we only aware of the surface parts of one another's behavior. We see the polite part, the public part, and we can only speculate on what exists underneath. But usually if the surface part is conventional and well-mannered, we assume the rest to be also. Although what does that mean? How can we assume that a person's secret self is equally conventional and well-mannered? If the offensiveness of one's public self is created by fear, then it would seem possible that one's private self could be anything at all." (
Church of the Dead Girls, Stephen Dobyns, Chapter 15, page 127)
It amazed me that such a paragraph would be found in a fiction book. It looks like something of nonfiction.
The narrator goes on to elaborate on the difference between one's public and private selves. He talks about the big boon of 1-900 sex lines of the 80s. People call the lines, but would they ever admit it? He also describes how he watches his next door neighbor's daughter, who is blind, and whose bedroom window faces his own. When she finishes her bath, she sits in a chair and pleasures herself. He watches this, but out of guilt, he moves into another bedroom. He marvels that when he talks to her, she appears to be nothing more than a smart and bright college girl...
You get what I'm saying.
Anyway, that had to be one of the most unforgettable chapters I've ever read.
And it made me think about our private self versus public selves. How we act differently when we are amongst people versus how we act when we are alone and/or amongst people who we are very close.
Me and my baby blog sistas were joshing around on our usual email thread, and the subject turned to the men we meet and how hard it is to figure them out.
They know I always screech, hoop, and holler the same ol' same ol'.
When you meet anyone, especially someone of the opposite sex, you meet their
REPRESENTATIVE.
Now (from a woman's point of view), when you meet the
Representative, you are attracted to him. He is snazzy. He has on a fly Armani suit, and a pair of gators so fresh that they still snapping (LOL!). His teeth are gleaming white, and his breath is minty clean.
He does allll the right things, says alllll the right things. He is Mr. Personality.
He is perfect.
He is the best thing since water and dirt.
As he should be, you know. Afterall, he is
the Representative, the public personna.
But then, the plot thickens. The
representative thinks he has done his job. The woman appears to be pleased with what she sees. She may even be a little emotionally caught up right about now.
Yep, he's done his job... and he's done it well.
He turns to the one he represents...
that private part of himself.
"I've done my job," he says. "You take over from here."
Then he leaves the freakin' room. I mean, he walks straight out the door.
And you're left with... well, you're left with what's left.
The "Real" man.
One minute, you are there with the snazzy fella in the Armani suit. The next minute, you're there with a man dressed in a burlap sack. A length of dirty rope is tied around his waist to hold that sack together. His teeth are all jacked up. His breath is horrific. His knees are ashy. He got hammer toes.
On top of all that, his personality has totally changed. He has some jacked up idiosyncracies.
You don't even recognize him. You are looking around and past him, looking for that fella who had your nose wide open.
Then the questions arise...
Do you stick around and put up with this bullsh** or do you split?
Hmm...
I'll let you answer that question for yourself.Not that easy of a question to answer as it appears to be. You would think that you would leave... but there is one thing you've not considered: leaving is dependent on the degree of emotional attachment you've allowed to take place. And let's not even get over into spiritual attachments... GOODNESS.
We get over into all of that on our email thread. I know my blog sistas want to yell
"Shut up, LadyLee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!".But everytime some mess go down, a heart gets broken or what not... I state my same hypothesis, much of which I've derived from examinations of my own personal experiences, and too many times of wailing out loud...
"Why this n**** acting all crazy? He wasn't like this before!!!! And why it hurt so bad when I try to leave? Why am I feeling this way?!!!? What's wrong with me? Why am I still with him??"
I think for myself, when answering the questions whether to stay or leave, well... at the age I am now, I would split. I am the worst skeptic, and I'm always thinking waaay in the future. I don't have the "ticking biological clock" isshas, and I far from lonely. That trumps my inate need, just like any other woman's needs, for a relationship. I can take it or leave it.
And on top of that, my own public self
"Representative", is a little different from my private self.
My
representative doesn't get emotionally attached at all. My private self may never even show up. It's a looooong time before you know me privately. Long time, babes.
Publicly, I am what I am. Most people don't know me privately, as I guard my emotions like they are Fort Knox. But I can say that I spend much time making sure that representative part of myself acts responsibly. I will leave it that.
But I leave you with a question...
Do you ever think about your public self (your
"representative") versus your very private self ("the real you")? Are they vastly different, or are they similar?
And more importantly... are there any changes you need to make to either?
Hmm... this book is making me more cognizant of that.
I'll let you think about that.
Have a great weekend...
Peppermints, speariments and tootsie rolls. Cheap candy. Lasts longer.
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