On Emotional Incontinence
In the dying days of 2017, I did what the internet kids refer to as "shooting your shot" — I told a very dear friend that I had sort of, kind of uh... developed A Crush™. Their reply was tender, thoughtful and carefully explained. It was, I realised as I absorbed it, the answer of a person who could not be a better friend, determined to be a friend: clear, and full of love as a verb. Of course, as far as this letter is concerned, the answer was a no — no, thank you.
There is a sting in 'no' that nothing in the immediate aftermath can soothe. Even when no makes sense, when it is in fact — upon even a tiny amount of reflection — the only correct answer, no always feels like a slammed door. A slow squeeze on the windpipe. I used to joke that rejection was "against my religion", born of stush Yoruba heritage and an overdeveloped control freak gland. Rejection doesn't kill, it only maims, said Abby, as played by Janeane Gadofalo in maybe my favourite romcom, The Truth About Cats and Dogs. But let me tell you that it doesn't even do that! (It's a great line, though.)
What I have found is that a no changes shape over time. What was? Well that remains, of course. But the no grows softer with age. You know how big your parents seemed when you were a young child? When I was little, I was convinced my father was essentially a looming giant oak. It will come as no surprise when I tell you that he is not, and I just needed to grow a little bigger myself to see that. I'm friends with my friend, still, and soon this sting will sting less. The ache will fade. There will not even be a bruise to mark the site of original trauma.
I don't regret saying something, even though every single part of the control freak nerve centre is having a meltdown. In discussing change and how humans are capable of it, despite what the adages say, my friend K opined that it was the phrasing that was faulty. Maybe what we call change is actually a shedding of layers. So: perhaps it's not so much change as it is a reversion to an earlier form (or forms). I am entirely taken with this idea. It's also such an apt metaphor for the beginning of a new year, which as we know, means nothing on a cosmic level — what even is time etc — but is a human way to deal with the human condition. Slough off some veneers, fam.
Here's to a little more of a certain brand of emotional incontinence in 2018. Of course, clean up after yourself where required. But spill.
Spill!