Self doubt in a different voice
Don't ever let your name fool you, my Maragon, Grethe, Mairead, Margaret. Don't ever let those sly syllables trick you into thinking you really are an oyster pearl. Your friends say that there isn't a way to say "Margaret" without tripping over the consonants in the word. And you wondered today if you had tripped so often, stumbled about, garbled your words and your feelings and your meanings in order to fulfill that prophesy of your awkward name.
Why such an awkward name for such a pretty thing? And why did you get all the awkwardness with the name and none of the subtle prettiness of the pearl? There isn't any luster left in your hair; it's all been stripped by the river water and the wind. There's nothing pearl-like left in your fingertips; the cuticles are ripped out and the nails bruised and banged.
I've seen pearls smashed into powder, and I've held pearls that felt so fragile that I was afraid they'd flake apart. I've looked at the pearl your mother wears sometimes, and how caked it is with dirt and dust. And I've seen lumpy and grey fresh-water pearls.
And here you are. A strange girl with rough hewn hair and hacked fingernails, and eyes that squint to focus onto the distances. You've grown into your awkward name, learned to like the g's and the r's, and the thick noise it made in the back of your throat. The other day, you felt like you were drowning in oxygen. Unbelievably happy. Inexplicably joyful. Your entire esophagus swelled with wonderful emotions.
Sometimes you forget that the qualities we most despise in other people we tend to own ourselves. An impatient person is irked by impatient people because she can't handle seeing her own faults for what they are. You forget this. It is hypocritical, and I suppose it's also rather human of you.
Perhaps you're tired of me calling you silly, but it's what you are. The patience and good nature that you had prided yourself on is so easily eroded. That joy you felt welled up in your throat turned to anger and pride in a flash, and started it's stranglehold on you. The only reason you gave people the benefit of the doubt so often was to save your own hide - when deep down you suspected them of devious lies and hypocrisies. Giving them the benefit of the doubt saves yourself. It's purely selfish, you only wish to avoid responsibility for the inevitability that they're actually telling the truth.
There was a psychology book that said that emotions do not change as we grow older. We feel the same rage and anger that we did during temper tantrums, but simply know how to control the emotions better. The psychology book said that your identity is in a formative stage; that it's normal for you to be struggling to grasp the ideas about who you are. The psychology book said that dysfunction arises in families when imminent separation looms. I suspect you know this: The same separation will happen with your friends, and similar rifts to those you navigated with your parents will arise.
You relate stories about your friends to people you know online. They sound horrified that your friends are so callous, or let such small things come between you and them. The people who only know you online can't seem to understand how you get along, how they're even your friends. I know this: It's because these friends are the ones who put up with you. Because you're an awkward and stumbling person, and they're the only ones left who'll deal with you. These online people have a deluded view. The small things about you that irk people, your own hypocrisies and unpleasant idiosyncrasies never show up online. They never have to say your name either. Typing "Margaret" is so much cleaner.
Before you complain, caked pearl, about the people in your life, before you hold yourself up as an unreal standard, before you think you've got it all figured out, stop a minute. You're unknowingly harsh, you forget to take into regards other people's feelings. You say things lightly that hit your friend's soft underbellies. You're unnecessarily competitive. And you forget all of that, under your cloud of humility. It isn't that you're a terrible person. Just a careless one, and an offhand one. You play the fool and then complain that you're treated like the fool.
You have to peel off the layers of the onion. There are the clean and filmy layers, and there are the rotted and brown layers. All of them must go. I believe, I really do this time, that the clean and good layers reveal the most about you. That you are inherently a good person, with a good sense of compassion. The clean layers of an onion are the most clear. They're still hazy though, and beneath them all is a green and fresh sprout. That elusive and shifting sense of balance that you read about when you poured over The Once and Future King. Apparently that seventh sense of gravity won't come until your body has finally started to go. Anything, you would take anything for an end to this infernal self doubt.
You're formative right now. There's still some hope. Keep taking the high road, even if it's for selfish reasons. We'll all be a little better off if you do that. From what I can tell, some real self knowledge will be something hard to find. Oh, Marguerite, don't worry about it. Sorry. I got you so worked up.
2000-04-28, Maragon, Grethe, Mairead, Margaret
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