Monday, January 9, 2012

For Real



Dear Jane,

What does it mean to know someone? What exactly do you need to know? (not rhetorical, please answer with a long list of particulars)

I love asking questions.
I'm almost positive everyone craves to be "truly" known. Known completely and loved anyway- for the troubled and the beautiful bits of our souls.

Granted, it takes a good deal of courage to be real and open.
To be open to being known.

I quite enjoy having a discussion filled with an assortment of unusual "get to know you" questions. For me, hearing the answers to these questions show me the innards of a person. (Even more interesting is that it shows the person answering their own innards- more on this idea another day)

Everyone has a story to tell. People are fascinating.

The process of answering illuminates.

You know me as well as anyone.
You know my views on religion, my schooling method, my parenting gurus, the content of the somewhat inappropriate, silly skit Megan and I did together at our last family reunion, and the colour of my living room area rug. And I know similar things about you.

Something I don't know about you?
Your fears.
I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours...And in the interest of this post I will go first. (defeats the purpose of the "if you..." I realize)

It came to me last night while washing the dishes no one else had the stamina to face (the muffin tin, the mixing bowl, the jug that was taken to the park for yesterdays rocket launch).

I am afraid of the moment when I plug in the vacuum.

It stems from a childhood trauma- someone pulling the cord from the wall instead of pressing the power button- resulting in a spark and a suddenly alive vacuum.
Scary.
Turns one off of vacuuming permanently.

Aside from the vacuum, I think I am also afraid of the power of my choices. You know the ones I mean. If I choose to be flippant or let my grumpiness reign, if I entertain a bad mood, everyone follows my lead.
I create the weather in this home.
I gather the family and provide a center for them to spin from.

And that kinda freaks me out.

2 comments:

Katie said...

I interviewed my family members to find out what their fears are:

Seth: "I am afraid of dogs. I'm not afraid of kitties. I love kitties."

Olive: "Monsterellas" (laughter)
Me: "What is that?
"It's a type of food" (more laughter)

Ezra: "I'm afraid of Olive. She bites."

Mike: "I'm afraid of time passing by so quickly that I can't do everything that I want to do. I'm afraid of missing great opportunities.
Also, public speaking, heights, and mice."

Jane Wildman said...

I'm afraid of elevators. I sometimes opt for the stairs, but often I have to just walk through those elevator doors and try to look like I'm not having a personal-sized panic attack.

My fear of elevators germinated when I was a child (maybe 7 or 8) at Great Aunt Florence's apartment in SSM - I would ride the elevator alone for fun, but once I accidentally got off on the wrong floor. Since all of the floors looked exactly the same I felt completely lost and a little tricked.

The fear took root while going up the CN Tower with Mom, Dad and Fraser when I was a few years older. The wall of the elevator was glass. It is one of the tallest buildings in the world. I layed on the floor the whole way to the top, immobilized by the feeling that I was falling.

Then my fear truly bloomed while I was around 12-13 years old when I was stuck in an elevator at a Laurentian University Dorm with a friend and a couple of teachers. They managed to get the doors open after a few minutes, but we had to climb up a few feet to out as it was stuck between floors.