Reality Bites

Meeting a celebrity is like having two people take control in your head at once. There’s one voice saying ‘Just relax, stay cool, be normal,’ and there’s the other voice, the one that is unfortuantely speaking out loud, that’s already halfway through explaining that time you saw them at Woolworths in February 2016. The cool you is screaming ‘Just stop talking!’  but it’s too late — you’re already describing the produce aisle where you smiled at them, then in horror you hear yourself say, “Do you remember that?” I just spent two minutes being someone I didn’t even recognise, watching myself perform this bizarre fan theatre while my actual self provided horrified commentary from the sidelines.

The beautiful mess of being human is that we all have these multiple selves — the person we want to be, the person we actually are, and the person who shows up when we’re nervous. Sometimes all three appear at once, usually at the worst possible moment. Maybe authenticity isn’t about having it all together, maybe it’s about admitting that sometimes we’re all just trying to figure out which version of ourselves to be.

We can only ever present to the world a version of ourselves, never the full gamut, and that’s got to be ok. However, I worry about those who never reveal the hurting self, because grief, pain and lament are what generate hope rather than despair. Allowing embodied pathos to be uttered aloud, to cut through our own denials, opens up a space where the possibility of renewal comes to life. This newness comes from our expressed pain, this suffering made audible and visible produces hope.

Oftentimes our role here is entering into the pain of others and giving it a voice. To sit with a mother who’s arms ache for the embrace of her child that has been removed from her care, or with the beautiful guy, who has more tattoos than face, as he shares his heartache for the father he no longer sees, and to not say anything that gives false hope or suggests a solution, may feel like a foolishness too great to endure. Yet, sometimes bearing the grief of others is a noble task, and perhaps the only task that honours and respects the grief.

During the City2Surf, I took in far too much water and had to take a quick break. After queuing for 15 minutes in the driving rain, I headed back off — but after one step, I realised my body had frozen stiff. All I wanted to do was cry and fall asleep under a soggy tree, no longer caring about the soaked and snotty version of myself that I was presenting to the world. That tiny and trivial moment filled me with newfound admiration for all who walk on in the face of great adversity. The cheering from the sidelines soon became the shot of warmth I needed to keep going. Sometimes it’s the encouragement from the sidelines that makes all the difference.

Thank you for being part of the Inner Circle,