A couple of things happened in the past few days that brings about this post. I’ve had the idea of what the topic would be for quite some time now (it’s February, so I knew I’d be doing a dating/relationship series), but ironically, I didn’t know how. Then, two things happened within two days of each other. One, I had a class in which it was brought to my attention (among other, more positive things) that when I speak in public, I tend to put up a bit of a “mask” rather than connecting. The first part of that I knew to be true (usually it’s on purpose; this time it was not), but the second part was accidental. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to connect, but perhaps rather that I was…afraid? That sounds about right. Two, this class reminded me of the story/piece thing that I wrote a few days prior. It’s basically a series of love letters at different ages, noting the differences (or similarities) between how we try to express ourselves at different times. I’ve been told it’s cute. I think it’s sappy. I realize, though, that when I say “sappy”, I may also mean honest. I can be more honest when I’m writing things down (which is why letters appeal to me) and when writing fiction, bits of yourself get stuck in your words so that, even if you didn’t really intend for it to happen, parts of it reflect you. So…maybe parts of my story reflect back on me. Or maybe I just think it’s really funny to write “Do you like me? Check yes or no.”
In some ways, that very middle school-esque note is the most perfect form of honest communication. You’re asking a question-do you like me-under the pretense that, in even sending that note in the first place, you like this person. Your desire is clear: you want a yes or no answer. No middle ground, no explanation. Just…I like you, do you like me. It’s extremely simple, yet most people cannot bring themselves to be that honest. I certainly can’t. If you asked me right now to go up to someone I was romantically interested in and say “I like you, do you like me?”, I’d tell you to screw off. If you offered me $100 to do it…I would get up and find that person and say…nothing. Words would not come out of my mouth. My lips would move and air would pass and eventually I’d ask about the weather or class or something that is the complete opposite of how I feel. How I feel is scary.
Feelings are scary; that’s a fact. They’re big and take hold of us and we don’t always know if we can control them. Experience usually makes them worse. The first time I told I boy I liked him, he flat-out rejected me and ran away (granted, I was six). Have that happen a few more times over several years, and suddenly you don’t really feel like sharing your feelings anymore. Have those feelings be for someone unexpected (i.e. your best friend, that person you once rejected, a person of the same-sex), and it feels like you’re about to lose your damned mind. The first time I had a crush on a girl, I swore myself that I would never tell a soul, especially not her. That was ten years ago, and I still have never told her that happened (and we’re friends still). When any of these romantic feelings for people showed up, I didn’t know what to do. Ultimately, it didn’t matter if I was 6 or 16, if it was a guy or a girl. It was all just about being honest with myself about this thing that I hadn’t expected. That’s the beauty of feelings: they don’t discriminate based on things like sexual orientation. They are equally present and scary for all groups of people.
Even with feelings as the great uniter, we’re still stuck with this idea of honesty. Being honest with people about how you feel can be really hard. It can be difficult and suck and avoiding it altogether can sometimes feel easier (note: it is not). Still, if we ever want to move past hiding, move past this mask, we have to do something, right? We can’t just always sit back and play it safe. I mean, we could, but then nothing would happen. The fact that we’re scared means that it actually means something to us. The feelings aren’t scary for the sake of being scary; they’re scary because they hold weight and actually matter. That’s fantastic, because it means we are human and have the chance of taking the scary and turning it into happy. It’s also horrible because the only way we can really get to that point is by being honest, not only with ourselves, but with another person. We have to effectively communicate, and we may not know how. Even if we get past the fear enough to want to do something, we still may not know exactly what to do. We stammer. We’re unclear with our language. We say silent. Just like in public speaking or unfamiliar get-togethers, we may avoid connection as a way to get by. You don’t say anything because you’re afraid to say anything, so not knowing how serves as a great way to not have to deal with it. Finding the words is difficult, so you tell yourself not to engage at all. My challenge to you is this: try. Even if you feel like a fool, even if you’re too scared or anxious or nervous to even think about it, even if it feels like being honest will mean the end of the world. It won’t. Regardless of whether or not that person feels the same way or is honest back, it will not be the end of your world.
If someone offered me $100 to go tell someone I liked that I did indeed like them, using just those words, I would attempt to do it. I would try very hard and get stuck and be silent. Here’s the thing, though. In my silence, that awkward period where I’m making myself look like an idiot, the mask would have to come down. Try hard enough to break down the wall and eventually there is no more wall. After some unacceptable number of seconds, words would come out. They may not be the perfect, well articulated words, but words they would be. They may say that I think someone is really awesome and lovely. They may say that I’ve been trying to ask them out for a while and just haven’t gotten things together. They may even just be “I like you.” Whatever they are, they would be real and, regardless of the other person’s reaction, in that moment, I would have made a genuine connection with someone else. The fact that it could lead to even more connection is what makes the fear well worth it.
