An idea was planted in my head when I was, maybe, five years old. I still have yet to uncover what the idea actually is and it haunts me everyday. Last evening, I became overwhelmed with raw emotions. I decided to write about these experiences that I deal with raw emotions because I separate the emotion from the fair and reasonable reality as best I can. (because no one is perfect)
First, let me set the stage for this message. Unpacking conversations while in a dialogue is one of my largest challenges. For example, when my Grandmother and I chat, we listen intently, return feedback, pose questions, and provide guidance in our domain. We’ve practiced this method of communication and I feel confident in my abilities as a communicator. In a conversation with a stranger, yesterday, I stated that I could not find the organic Arrowhead branded, red lentils in aisle 16, where they normally are placed. Next to other edible legumes, seeds, grains, and dry beans, I simply was unable to see the product. The stranger responded, “yeah those are in aisle 16.” I assured the individual, that I scavenged that specific aisle, but I couldn’t over sell my search. I was afraid this individual may not help me at all because of their current task. I needed help in this moment and this person was one of a few options. When I ask for help, it’s usually because I have exhausted options. For instance, if the stranger would have looked at me and listened, they would have found, that I had, in fact, searched the aisle extensively, and they would need to check somewhere else in order for me to purchase the product. Although I carefully considered how the stranger would respond to my request for help, the individual was being payed to attend to people’s questions, or so I assumed. Perhaps this is where I was wrong. Who is this person being paid to stock shelves? Why would they want to help me find red lentils identified in an Instacart order I was processing, for the elder woman, living seven miles away, on a private road, not maintained by the county, so she could make dinner for herself. Or for her nurse to use the lentils as an ingredient to make a warm meal.
So, I was flooded with emotions. I attempted to ask for assistance and received the assistance without follow through. I left the store without the lentils, knowing I had tried my best and failed. There were many, many, other items on the list that I had struggled to find as well. The store was being stocked as I searched the aisles and I was being timed. The woman I was serving was then beyond frustrated with my attempt and went ahead dialing the grocery store’s general number available online. She spoke to an individual who stated the red lentils were indeed in store and she needed to tell me, after I had carefully placed her groceries on her doorstep, that in fact, I did fail. Deep breaths. If I had forgotten an item, or searched for an item myself in a store, asked a million questions, and was turned down, I’d hold my head high and make use of any other damning legume for my meal. But, I acknowledge that this woman paid money for a service and I was unable to provide effectively. (It was my first order people, chill out, we all make mistakes)
Second, the emotions I felt were scarring. This is not the first time I have failed. I make mistakes daily, multiple times, every few minutes, I forget not everyone around me is living in my reality. So, in order to be considerate of another human being, I dress myself in kindness everyday. I focus on the eyes of the individual I am speaking with, I consider their morning, what mistakes they’ve made already today, and how their feelings may be shifted because of the way I look at them or speak to them. For example, I was recently spoken to by a business professional. I say spoken to because the consideration did not feel fairly returned. In conversations and dialogues with professionals, I trust this person is looking at me with the care I deserve. I am a woman, who is twenty-five years old, five foot two, bright brown colored eyes, clean hair swept behind my ears, soft features, dressed in kindness. The business professional is dressed in power, sacrifice, paid opinion, precisely combed hair, collared shirt, buttoned sleeves, tucked in shirt, brown belt, and brown shoes. I take notice to this, but it does not effect how I choose to speak to the professional. He or she is another person just as I am. I will show respect by simple gestures like nodding, looking in the individual’s eyes, and reserving judgement, because dialogues are weighted heavily nowadays. Even if the conversations are only in an undergraduate class, middle school zoom call, graduate program, grocery store, or gas station, we still have to treat people, as people, not objects. I try my best to smile, my face says a lot, and if I can emulate my compassion by softening my eyebrows, I’ll try that.
I separate myself as best I can. I carefully use myself as a tool to learn more about other people. Even though my raw emotions sat in my eyeballs last evening, I maintained myself, till the end of the exchange (I am about to describe it!). Why is it that a business professional would find playful banter in commenting a woman’s cleavage as unprofessional and unkept? In a zoom room full of other professionals? Or why would this professional, comment on a woman’s cleavage at all? What was said or what was told that allowed this individual to believe that this woman chose the size of her chest, and had enough time to clasp the certain bra behind her back, in one of the four evenly spaced out hooks, secured the shoulder straps, so her chest sat uncomfortably high, then layered a colored tank to hide said brasier, and added a blouse approved by a business professional to comfortably allow work to occur without distraction? Oh, wow what a mouthful that was.
And that is just the top half of a woman!!
What about her pants, skirt, trousers? or does she wear a dress? with or without stockings, socks, maybe tights? What if she feels more comfortable without a bra? What if she feels comfortable in a lacy bralette? (once this is published, bralette will appear without a red dotted line under it, but I want to be clear, after you read this, the word bralette will still remain on this page as misspelled). Are men allowed to go to work without two sweaty cups caressing their parts?
Oh, the questions that face me, when men have one distracting private part, and women have four you struggle to see what’s actually in front of you. Some would argue women have more parts than that! For example, in the episode of Friends, when Monica and Rachel explained to Chandler the seven parts of a woman to satisfy her. If we forget about those physical parts of your neighbor, for a moment, can you focus on your work without distraction? (Btw, I am human. I know it’s compelling to ogle your eyes on an attractive being, but it’s not necessary.)
Here’s another example, if I haven’t been successful in making a point, I had a glass of Coors light(with olives), garlic fries, battered and fried onion rings with a girl friend the other day. We sat on a shaded patio, while a woman served us our food and beverages. We intended to pay for her service and the meal provided. In a commonly understood manner, we ordered, received, thanked, adored, celebrated, enjoyed, and paid for the experience. Did I mention the server was a woman wearing a padded push up bra, plaid fabric tightly sewn as a tiny top, a matching pleated skirt, with knee high white socks, and plain black heals that covered her toes. Her hair was shaved on the sides of her head, her bangs colored slightly, and swept aside. My friend noticed and commented on her appearance after she walked away. I smiled back and moved on. I kept in conversation with my friend but stopped to take a sip of my beer. My eyes followed the waitress as she passed by other tables and no heads turned. These tables of jolly older men that appeared to be rugged, overworked, but content, held their eyes higher than her, because of the TV playing collegiate basketball overhead. I noticed how the waitress was friendly, but not pushed around. I wondered how these men could focus their attention to the game on TV when this beautiful woman was strutting around the patio. Then, I realized, that the men must come here often, they have to know this woman, they wanted to chat with her about her future. I recognized this, because I had many men that I would speak to, at the golf course I worked at, in a similar fashion. Although, I was wearing a tight baby blue golf polo and jean distressed daisy dukes in eighty degree Minnesota heat, these men, still, were able to chat with me as I was another person, and not an object. I have actually had women reach out to me and question my intentions with the men in their lives. While, I could understand how my appearance is threatening, I genuinely made attempts to assure the women that I had no intentions to entertain their men besides that, I was being paid. Paid to provide a service; ladies individual and group golf lessons, junior league, ladies league, beer pouring, drink mixing, keeping four man group-play moving along, and keeping the team of people working at each distinctive task, happy.
I am aware I say, “so,” a lot, but I can’t help it! So, what does this example do for you? Can you name a time where you were faced with talking to someone on the phone without being visually pleasured? Could you hold a conversation with someone you never imagined getting to know? How about someone who you felt threatened by? Why did you feel threatened? Was is something the person said or did? or were you doubting your ability to focus when you were presented with a distracting object? Was the distracting object a woman or man? in that case, you may need to re-frame how you think about women and men. You have a mother and father, yeah? Even if you don’t know your mother or father, you were born by a woman’s womb and a man’s sperm. Hate to say it, but people are not, only, distracting objects.
Women are healers, they listen to their senses, speak to them, and cater to them, because when we are able to slow down and listen to our own hearts, we realize we can’t speak to the masses as we once thought we could.
When I was five years old, I sat with my Grandmother, watching her carefully tend to everyone around us. A person at the grocery store smiled by her ability to move from failure to beauty. Whether she could roll the best dough for cinnamon rolls, or heal a terrible wound from a large machine, she was doing God’s work. When I was five, I found out how to care for my Grandma, by using my ability to learn to teach her how to use a computer. It seemed so simple to me, but to her it was foreign. Not all of us were made to deal with foreign beings. If a women or man seems foreign to you, and you can’t quite understand why they seem foreign, do you ask questions? Do you assume this person is wise in their own domain? or do you assume these individuals cannot fend for themselves as you once have? I promise, I do not have all of the answers. I just ask questions.
Lastly, this is not a battle. I do not feel at war with ideas, but at peace. How do you feel?
