Day 23: Fluttering

Poetry class was all about GAY poets. It's like Ernesto knows me or something... what the hell, Sir? Your class today was the shit. After an interminable jaunt home with Megan after school, I had to shower and jaunt all the way back to campus to see a play for my poetry class. I had been lead to believe that this was a play that was for the general public, but when I arrived, I soon realized this was not the case; this was a play being put on JUST for the nine kids in my class. Ah-door-ah-bull.

I realize I've been to Broadway plays in New York City and amazing plays in Denver and some kinda questionable ones along the way, too (*ahem* The four hour, two intermission long catastrophe about party hats from the Middle East. That was surreal. Surreally awful.)... but this was just... different. The fact that all of this was going on just for us nine little dorky Americans, that my teacher was one of two actors on stage just being totally adorable and that it was tailored just for our class, the poetry and eras we've learned about thus far and that it was all about the history of LOVE poetry... well... I was in awe.

You'd never find an ordinary American professor who would take the time to memorize a million poems, put together a little chest of costumes, bribe some woman to play along and rent out a little theater just so that you could relate the poetry from hundreds of years ago to songs, movies and modern day pop-culture so that we could better appreciate Spanish poetry. Seriously. I felt so privileged and honored and humbled to be in a class with a teacher who actually CARES about his students enough to pull that all off so masterfully and passionately!

After the play he and the lady sat on stage and wanted to have a mini "colloquium" about our thoughts and questions in regards to the play, but of course, being Americans and half asleep nobody said hardly anything. I felt so awkward about these people's lack of enthusiasm and gratitude that I blurted out my little secret project to the whole class and my professor. When I told him how I'm taking my favorite verses from the poems he teaches us every day and writing them on post cards from all over Spain to send to somebody in America, well, I seriously thought Ernesto was gonna cry. I swear the man teared up a little bit. It was so sweet. But I guess I too would feel a little touched to hear that my teachings and passion was getting through to some little self-obsessed American 20-something. Awww. Haha.

An hour an a half later and one train ride and I was in Fuencarrol with L, back at the piercing place to beg them to plllleeeeeaaaassseee change my monroe bar for me, 'cause the original one was too cumbersome and bothering me. The same little man was there whom I had talked to a few weeks previously and he tried to tell me that I had to wait again and come back when it was fully healed. I, however, was not just about to take no for an answer, and so I told him (mind you, this was ALL in Spanish and, not gonna lie, I felt pretty badass holding my own in another language while arguing playfully) that he had promised me he would change it for me and that I couldn't take it any longer and he had to help this poor America chica. He giggled and finally gave in. ;)

When I went to pick out my jewelry (pink stone to green stone -- not a big switch, but the bar was the issue), he asked where I was from (oh, obvious accents... you're so lame). When I told him Denver he got his panties in a little bundle and started showing me all of these tattoos he had that were based on bands he loved that were from Colorado! Haha. CUUUTE!! He told me he had a bunch of tattoo artist friends that were from there and he liked them very much. Adorable, sir. I smiled and told him he had another friend from Colorado now and could come visit whenever he wished!

When they changed my monroe and I was ready to leave, I asked him how much I owed him for everything. He smiled, took my hand, and said nothing - that we were friends now and that's what mattered. I <3 people sometimes.

Flash-forward and I found myself in a park, next to a carnival, listening to Dani Martin. Sometimes, my life feels so random - like a giant quilt of experiences and places that I just sort of fall into. It's the best. While it was too echoy to understand much of the lyric value, the beat was nice and it was cute to see so many people spralled all over the park grooving out to him! It reminded me of when J and I went to see Jeramiah at the Dane County Fair - only then I knew the man and his lyrics and here I felt like I was floating in an incomprehensible fish tank of happiness where I was the odd fish out, but still contented. <3

The most revealing part of my day, though, had nothing to do with poetry or piercings or music, but rather communication styles. It's been so long since I've had a serious talk with anybody "new" that I had completely forgotten that distinct communication styles exist and that I spent most of my teenagerhood studying and reading up on and practicing and conversing about them practically daily. I choose strange things to really focus on, but when I pick something, I put all my energy into it. All of my Fearless Living coaching with Martin and reading books like, "When Everything Changes, Change Everything" / "Ask and it is Given," going to four separate psychologists and pressing them for information on the topic and reading countless online articles... all of that... has shaped a huge part of who I am and how I communicate in intimate environments.

I'm far from having an sort of mastery over the subject, obviously, but the knowledge I do have I often mistake as intrinsic in everybody. Speak in the first-person, not in the second-person; speak in feelings not actions; ask yourself if you're bothered by something that is being reflected of yourself or if it is a secondary source, etc. I've gotten so comfortable in my communication styles and habits with my closest friends that when I was suddenly blindsighted by a whole new manner of going about things, I was a little stunned. And then all at once - like psychological muscle-memory haha - some part of me took over and began processing and evaluating very calmly yet carefully. It was entirely comforting to know that all those years of studying such things was not for naught and that I have come such a far ways since I was 15 in how I listen and express myself.

Perhaps it sounds silly, but it was a big deal for me. Any sort of confrontation was my biggest fear all of seven years ago, and I would have rather had my whole body waxed than have to listen to somebody being upset with me and find a way to respond without going silent and hiding for a few days thinking the world hated me. Bottom line is, communication can be deceivingly tricky but is intrinsically paramount to any sort of functioning relationship -- on my walk home I had to take a moment to thank myself for taking it so seriously when I was so young and working so hard on becoming even a little better at such an important ability.

On the flip side, it also showed me that no matter how many books and psychologists and life coaches and friends and family and journals have helped me, I still have a lot to learn - only I'm not scared anymore, but excited to take what I've worked on for so long and continue to watch it grow and blossom even more.

Perspective is a key thing in this whole game of existance and I've realized that even more since I arrived in Spain. My Tuesday was great - the poetry, the play, the piercing man, the park full of music -- but the part that showed me the most about myself and opened up my awareness was the part that made me feel the most uncomfortable and vulnerable. Perspective doesn't just mean focusing on the good, but adjusting your view of the butterflies to see the possibilities inherent in their fluttering.

XOXO
Jet-Set Cupcake