Small But True: Eye Contact

Were we all taught that not making eye-contact while speaking to someone was a sure sign of cowardice, or was that just what I have interpreted from previous lessons? (Chalk it up to insecurity, if the latter.)

The Epiphany Elephant has reared its majestic head again.

[cut to lackadaisical, ever-graying third-grade classroom of children; heads on their desks, half-awake]

Classroom [in slightly off-rhythm, near-unison]: "What new, exciting thing have you learned about yourself now, Lexx?"

I'm glad you asked, kids!

I have been in the supervisory/managerial position at a job before, and as such have dabbled in the study and practice of body language (if I sit up straight, speak calmly but assertively and don't cry, they might respect me here!). As such, I have gathered that eye-contact is labeled as important - even necessary - in not only the job interview, but throughout the career journey. If you let your eyes avert, people may think you're:

1. a wimp
2. lying
3. don't know what you're talking about or how you got here.

In addition, of course, I have also been taught in my childhood that making eye contact is respectful. SO! Whenever I do not keep eyes locked, I feel a twinge of guilt and even embarrassment from it. Having my attention called to it in this way is, of course, irritating, but has also allowed me to notice a pattern: When I listen to a person, my eyes naturally go to theirs (alert respect). If I am to think creatively and/or prove a point/make a scientific call-back to something important I have learned, it is nearly impossible to keep my eyes on someone else's face. I believe the reason for this is that when I look someone else in the eye while I am trying to talk, I will get distracted; By their reaction. By their intention to interrupt me. Distracted by the inundation of emotional information projecting from their face, by way of a simple lip-twitch.

My boss says this may be because I am an "Empath" (Empath Epiphany Elephant??). I can not only read other peoples' reactions/faces/body language very naturally and smoothly, but it is typical for me to immediately feel what they feel. To run on their energy instead of just my own, in a way. This is also very typically why I feel so terribly spent at the end of a very social day, even if the physical activities didn't run far past sitting on the couch.

In conclusion! If you find yourself consistently unable to keep eyes locked on your opposing human as you speak to them about why you think the metaphysical world has evolved/is falling to bits, fear not, little Empath. You may just be trying to form poetry without the stinging distraction of someone else's emotive surface.

The Funniest Thing My Sister Ever Said

We were much younger than we are now; we must've both been in school, as this was pre-divorce. We were spending time with our mother (Dad was likely working) in the living room of our gorgeous, cathedral-ceiling white house. These were the culdesac times. The times when I felt that no one day was really marked and every adolescent moment I lived was a safe, white blur (albeit riddled with disorder-driven confusion).

The house was quiet. The sun was silkily warming the boring, tan carpeting we all three lazily sprawled on. My mother read aloud from the hardcover she held in her hands. A book with the words "Harry Potter" stamped upon it in a funky gold lettering. I believe it was Prisoner of Azkaban, but who knows at this point. I just remember being riveted. I remember this so clearly because before this (and for some time after) reading had been a very painful experience for me; All alone in the florescent corners of the classroom, so much noise and distraction, so many words on every page. Words I didn't care about from some stranger I didn't care to know. I couldn't fathom why people would choose to do this to themselves on purpose - on their days off. But this was different. This was just something cool my mother was doing while including my sister and I. This was entertaining, this was peace. And I got to hear my mother's voice (and sometimes my sister's) consistently. We were all together. Very relaxing and immersive. A very special time, indeed.

Then the phone began to ring. My mother would get up, check the caller ID and see if it warranted a pick-up. Then she would walk back, rejoin us on the floor and sift through the words on the marked page to find her place and begin again. 

Then the phone began to ring. My mother would go through the rigmarole and once more head back to join us. 

The landline again.

Finally, in a huff and in great humor my sister said: "Don't they know what today is??"

(As if to say: "It's Harry Potter Day!")

I love this for many reasons. My sister is the one who said it, so already it's up there on the list of favorites. The applicability of the statement has effortlessly been proven over time - I call back to her words to this very day. Of course the humor has a few lines: the obvious, where someone is simply getting huffy about being interrupted; the specific, where my family and I are doing something silly, yet we categorize it as something we should have alerted the media about. And that brings me to my favorite thought of it:

I really love how it reminds me that, at one time, I was shown that it would be alright to give a moment as much merit as I thought necessary. As important as I wanted it to be and/or as important as it was to me is exactly how important it was, period. You could be spending time with loved ones (or on your own), having what would appear to others as a really "nothing" day, and it could mean so much to you. It could be imperative to your childhood. It could give you the peace you didn't know you needed. It could save you. 

I hope we all have "nothing" days like this. Moreover, I hope that if we miss the bus on recognizing these days' greatness in the moment (as is human), that we can at least recall them with enough sharpness to really appreciate them in nostalgia.

quote source: my sister.