This time of year I’m always a little more nostalgic and reflective than any other time, even more so than the end of any given year and the beginning of the next. And it doesn’t take major events to trigger certain memories or feelings, and yet it’s not anything small that gets my mind going. In fact, usually it’s nothing at all.
These thoughts and feelings end up defining this particular time in my life and outlining the path I’m to travel. Decisions are made instantly but without haste. Friendships are guarded or destroyed instinctively, but without prejudice. Ambition becomes my dearest friend, but without the hint of favoritism. And during this time, certain things and people are quickly shoved out of my life, but without that second thought that usually comes next.
Conversations that would occur on the daily or weekly basis would suddenly cease to exist, yet are not missed. Spontaneous events suddenly became planned … then never scheduled at all, which was expected. Eventually, comfort zones became increasingly yet predictably uncomfortable. Situations, places, people, things become much too much and something … some thing … inevitably has to give … and change, and does.
I can’t begin to explain why this happens and why it is during this time that the year’s evolution comes to an end. And why the next have already begun the second the others were complete. But it happens, year after year.
And as each year passes, I don’t give much thought to letting people go. I don’t give much resistance to people who want to be let go of. I don’t give much energy to retaining a certain position in someone’s life. I don’t have much to say to someone who doesn’t have much to say in the first place. I don’t give much of my time to someone who spends it like it’s not worth anything. I don’t put up much of a fight when I know there isn’t much left to fight for.
It doesn’t take much to not pick up the phone when it rings. It doesn’t take much to press a button and delete any and all contact. I don’t have much to do with people who don’t have much to do. I don’t have much to believe in if you don’t give me a reason to believe. I don’t have much feeling if I can’t find your pulse. I don’t have much to cry for someone who doesn’t give me a reason to cry.
It doesn’t take much writing to turn in a resignation. I don’t have much to ask someone who doesn’t have anything to question. It’s not too much for me to grow when you want to stay low. I don’t have much to give when I already feel like it’s gone. It doesn’t take much to not speak when you want to remain silent. It doesn’t take much for me to release the reigns if you want to run free. It doesn’t take much to pack to pick up and move. And then, at the end, I realize that it takes too much of me, and then I know that it doesn’t take much to come to the conclusion that each year it doesn’t take much.
It’s not uncommon for people to make assumptions about others, and it’s not unusual for me to be on the receiving end of those presumptions. I have been thought to be many of things just based off of my appearance alone, so it doesn’t surprise me when I discover that I’ve been prejudged in recent conversations.
In the past two years, I’ve made a concerted effort to put myself out there and meet new people as well as build new networking connections. My efforts produced positive results and in the process I’ve made a few new friends and associates. However, it didn’t take long before a new friend or two shared with me their thoughts about my conversation style.
It has been said that I am a woman of few words — that I’m guarded, secretive even, that I don’t allow anyone to ‘go deep’ with me in conversation. It’s also been said that I’m somewhat complicated and hard to figure out. What I’ve gathered is that many believe that I am ’surface’ in my approach to communicating. But that couldn’t be further from the truth, the truth of who I really am.
See, what they don’t know is that I tend to listen more than I talk, because what I may hear is sometimes more important than anything I could have said at the time. And, what they don’t know, is that I’ve never been an open-book, because I’m not an easy read.
Lately, it seems as though some expect to meet a person and learn what makes them tick, what makes them squirm, and what they want out of this lifetime, but they want to know all of that over the span of one drink. It takes more than one or two (or one or two dozen) long conversations for me to recite my autobiography — dreams and fears included. It takes time, patience, and trust, to build any kind of relationship, and it will take more than an expedited rendezvous or chatting over a latte for me to feel connected enough to someone to reveal all.
Time is the most precious gift and sharing oneself in any kind of way with others should be viewed the same. Any personal and even general information about what brings me joy or sadness should not be something that is expected from me — it must be earned. Because, I’m not a DVD that someone can just press play to find out more about me — then fast forward to the end because they don’t have time to watch the story unfold.
Yet, I will say this much about the person I am. Who I am, is someone who cannot be figured out as easily as the next person. Who I am, is someone who knows the value of real communication — it is not always spoken. Who I am, is someone who doesn’t shy away from silence. Who I am, is someone who knows when to ask questions and when to let the answers reveal themselves. Who I am, is someone who would much rather not have to tell you who I am, because if you’ve made the effort, you would know who I am. And who I am, is someone who will always be this mystifying woman to many, but not to all.
