Growing up, and out, and then back in again.
I am an extrovert. I love people. I love talking with people, or at them, or about them. I love parties, group gatherings, hanging out. That is not going to change.
Used to be, I could not abide a Saturday night alone. Used to be, I could not make a big decision without telling everyone. Upsets, concerns, mistakes, joys, everything was shared. But I felt so alone the second someone walked away, closed the door.
Now, I still feel alone in a lot of ways, mainly because I have overly relied on one friend, even as she drifted away. But I don't feel so desperately lonely, because I'm starting to enjoy myself as company. I've had a number of people recently describe me as quiet. Sweet. Polite. Me! Quiet!
I don't have a need to be the center of entertainment all the time. I still like to put on a show for family, close friends. I will still talk the ear off of strangers. I am just more careful about when. I've taken a step back from the circus, and it's a relief. I've taken a step deeper into myself, what I really want and need, and learning to trust the answers.
One thing that has helped this shift is hula. I am part of a strict, traditional halau. There are so many rules and expectations on top of dancing and chanting and making lei and wearing costumes, so many stories, so much to remember. It is a huge challenge, requiring intense discipline, focus, practice, respect. One simple rule that I couldn't comprehend when I started, seven years ago, was that you don't ask questions. You certainly don't ask your hula sisters if you have a question. You listen to instructions the first time, you look over the material you've been given, and then you wait to see if your question will be answered in time. There are important exceptions, but it ultimately comes down to this: be responsible for yourself. Don't expect to be taken individually by the hand and walked through everything step by step. You walk with the group, and you pay attention. But in this, and in so many other lessons, I have found a deep peace when I walk into hula class, or even when I think about hula. Confidence that I have the ability to do things all on my own.
I was inspired to write about this because a few girls in class today spoke about how they were very shy when they were younger. That they credit hula with helping them come out of their shell, open up, join in. And it struck me as funny because it has given me the opposite gift, that of turning inwards, being more careful about what I let out.
Used to be, I could not abide a Saturday night alone. Used to be, I could not make a big decision without telling everyone. Upsets, concerns, mistakes, joys, everything was shared. But I felt so alone the second someone walked away, closed the door.
Now, I still feel alone in a lot of ways, mainly because I have overly relied on one friend, even as she drifted away. But I don't feel so desperately lonely, because I'm starting to enjoy myself as company. I've had a number of people recently describe me as quiet. Sweet. Polite. Me! Quiet!
I don't have a need to be the center of entertainment all the time. I still like to put on a show for family, close friends. I will still talk the ear off of strangers. I am just more careful about when. I've taken a step back from the circus, and it's a relief. I've taken a step deeper into myself, what I really want and need, and learning to trust the answers.
One thing that has helped this shift is hula. I am part of a strict, traditional halau. There are so many rules and expectations on top of dancing and chanting and making lei and wearing costumes, so many stories, so much to remember. It is a huge challenge, requiring intense discipline, focus, practice, respect. One simple rule that I couldn't comprehend when I started, seven years ago, was that you don't ask questions. You certainly don't ask your hula sisters if you have a question. You listen to instructions the first time, you look over the material you've been given, and then you wait to see if your question will be answered in time. There are important exceptions, but it ultimately comes down to this: be responsible for yourself. Don't expect to be taken individually by the hand and walked through everything step by step. You walk with the group, and you pay attention. But in this, and in so many other lessons, I have found a deep peace when I walk into hula class, or even when I think about hula. Confidence that I have the ability to do things all on my own.
I was inspired to write about this because a few girls in class today spoke about how they were very shy when they were younger. That they credit hula with helping them come out of their shell, open up, join in. And it struck me as funny because it has given me the opposite gift, that of turning inwards, being more careful about what I let out.