Hit rewind, and take a look at last week.
I’m sitting in this tiny Greek deli in New York City. There’s no cell reception on the corner outside, because AT&T has totally lost its ability to cope with the mobs of iPhone users all living on top of one another. The deli is crowded, and my table is pushed up against three or four more just like it. I haven’t touched the chicken caesar salad in front of me, because I’m experiencing a tangle of emotions that I can’t quite name. But since I’m sitting at that table with ten of my closest friends — people who care about what I care about, people who are trying to make things happen in the world — I’m trying. I’m trying to name it, and I’m trying to work it out.
But the thing that keeps happening is that I feel foolish. I make self-conscious jokes about bursting into tears, even though I haven’t. I’m clearly a teensy bit verklempt, and I’ve been that way since we wandered out of the Linchpin Session on West 27th. I’m determined not to turn into a raccoon with even the small amount of eye makeup I have on, but I’m also not willing to let it go — because it’s important. Because I want to work it out.
Except even with ten of my closest friends, this is awkward. We don’t really all know each other that well; we just know that we’re looking for very similar things, that many of the same concepts resonate with us and make us want to do better. At first I think that this is the perfect time to work a few things out, especially with all the clever brains at the table. But I quickly find out how weird that can get.
The thing is, none of us really knows how to deal with an emotional display — even a mild one, like this. I’m clearly struggling with something, but I’m having trouble explaining anything about it. Some people think I’m upset or unhappy. A few of them simply take it in stride, and that makes me particularly grateful — but others obviously feel a little bit uncomfortable. And of course that’s perfectly reasonable. How do you act around someone who’s experiencing something you don’t understand? You barely know her!
This gets me thinking.
And right there at the table, I begin to expostulate over my (untouched) chicken caesar salad.
We are all searching so hard for meaning.
But when we find it, we don’t know what to do with it. It leaves stains on the furniture. It’s inconvenient and sometimes downright strange. It’s rarely predictable. Meaning is messy.
We look for it in our work, and maybe we even find it sometimes — when we’re alone at home, with a trusted partner, someone we love, or someone we work with, or both. We know what it will probably look like when we find that meaning in our work; we’re expecting it, and we think we know what to do with it when it arrives. We don’t expect it to hit us like a train at midday, in a crowd of people. And we don’t expect it to disarm us the way it inevitably does.
Because we are trained to turn away from meaning.
We’re trained to isolate ourselves. We’re trained to maintain distance; we are taught that displays of emotion are inappropriate, or something we should grow out of. We’re supposed to “leave room for the Holy Spirit” and be very careful not to touch one another. Real meaning, deep meaning, is anathema in a public space. Do your crying at home. All I could think as I walked from the session to that Greek deli was this: Oh, god. I need to calm down. Collect myself. Be professional. Be clear, be friendly. Don’t let them see you upset — no one will respect you if you lose your shit here in public. Pretend you’re normal. Pretend you’ve got it covered.
Of course, I wasn’t normal, and I didn’t have it covered. In the deli I’m reeling from a series of complex emotions I haven’t quite been able to identify, and I want to talk about it with people I trust. Furthermore, I remember (as I always do, over and over) that the urges to “be professional” and “calm down” are exactly what have kept me from getting things done in my life before now. Things I identified and did away with — things that served no purpose for me. Getting worked up is what I do. Getting excited, tapping into feeling, sorting out the tangle and understanding what it all means, these are acts that allow me to deeply connect with the people around me. They are my work. Why am I trying to bury them now?
Really, why? These same displays of emotion are inconvenient. None of us are used to them. We’re supposed to set up these tidy little walls between ourselves and the people around us so that everyone can feel clean and safe and not have to deal with anything confusing or uncertain or upsetting. And let’s be clear: I’m NOT talking about frequent, ongoing cycles of anxiety and pain and fear, the kind of constant emotional imbalance that obstructs us from our purpose and delays our work. I’m talking about important individual events that give you windows into the things you care about. That movie that really touched you and made you cry. The letter you received from your grandmother after she passed away. The day you realized what your work really had to be if you were going to be happy. But you quash it a bit in front of other people — we all do! — because there’s this constant need, this pressure, to appear seemly.
We’re not talking about emotional hygiene, the importance of claiming responsibility for your own stuff. We’re talking about open, honest meaning. We’re talking about a thing that connects you with the people around you. We’re talking about the path that brings tears to your eyes when you reach it, because it’s so important, because you’ve been working so hard to find it, because you know you can help so many people once you’re on it, and you’re nearly on your way.
Of course you’d cry.
But the very idea that you’d be embarrassed to cry — that you’d try to pretend nothing untoward was happening, even in front of people who are looking for the same thing — is astonishing.
If I turn away from that meaning so readily, so mechanically… how can I possibly expect to find meaning when I’m seeking it out? How can any of us? Why on earth would that long-sought meaning bother to appear if we constantly push it aside, whether it’s manifesting in ourselves or in those around us?
Why shouldn’t the meaning go find someone else to enlighten — someone who welcomes it?
No wonder we’re so confused.
Megan Elizabeth Morris (aka MEM, Megan the M.) is a bonafide professional catalyst and adventurer. She's the Ideaschema instigator, orchestrator and autodidact, and you can find out more about her by clicking here.Got an idea? Something we haven't thought of? Whatever you're thinking, we want to hear it. Please feel free to leave comments or email us by clicking here.
