lundi, novembre 26, 2007

Not exactly 42nd street

Doctor's appointments, haircuts, broken plumbing-I've neglected a whole lot over the course of this fall.

It is misty outside, the only noise that of the trucks working on the new school down Fairview. I've finally had a little time to reflect on a few other things today.

I think of myself as someone who is pretty open to accepting people the way they are. I'd rather deal with eccentricity than hypocrisy anyday.

But I wonder if occasionally my vaunted tolerance is actually sloppiness-and a lack of bravery.

Is it kind not to confront people when they provoke you? Is it helpful for them?

What's the payoff for me?

I like people who are willing to live boldly-if they do it in the sunlight. I have to keep reminding myself that part of my professional identity is, put bluntly, that of a demure burlesque artist. Peel off a layer here and there-your public sees what you chose to reveal. In my case, I hope they eventually see something that evokes their own scrapes, scars and beauty.

However, even in high class joints like newspapers of note, there's a definite limit in how far I am willing to go. We showgirls have our standards.

I know that some would think my fetish for putting myself on public view more than a bit odd. They lead more discreet lives.

It may be both unfair of me, and slightly puritannical, to expect everyone else to flaunt their secrets in public. After all, they don't get paid to do it-and they don't get the byline.

And it's questionable that every time I indulge in self-revelation others will find something evocative.

But I have to admit that I gravitate to people who have the chutzpah or courage to be open about their woundedness-and hopeful about the possibility of healing. That combination is my drug of choice.

My challenge for the day is to learn to tolerate discretion-and perhaps even to be a bit more discreet myself. Wish me luck, gentle reader!

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