the prude in the bookshop

scooting over to make room

Have I turned into a prude? This is the worrisome question. If I have transformed from a feminist open minded person into a judgy, looking down my nose and squirming in my seat type person I may need to take myself for a long long walk… because I have no idea when or how that transformation may have taken place. Perhaps something else is at play, let’s hope so, let me tell you what happened. 

First, I’ll go back a bit to explain how I found myself out of the house after 7pm on a Friday (yes, this needed to be bolded). This being out on the town in the evening is highly unusual for me, being the very early morning person that I am. But a few weeks ago I treated myself with a reading from Malory Leone of Four Corner Studios. And, let me tell ya, it was a blast. Not sure if I would call it a psychic reading because it was based on my birth chart (birth date and time etc.) and cards pulled (very scientific folks - insert wink and nod) but it was pretty much magical. And the suggestion the reading gave was that during the next month, anytime my intuition seemed to be interested in community events, I should heed its call. Not such bad advice right?! And something I am usually, as an introvert, highly likely to ignore or push to the side. So I took this to task and when I received invitations to events or saw something I thought would be nice to participate in I really did my darnedest to raise my hand. I put it on my calendar! Book Signing! Friday! With a little heart drawn around it to reassure myself that it would be fun. Also, reassuring myself that after the month was over I could once again slow down, retreat into my cozy shell, and according to the universe not miss out on anything important for my personal growth.

And so this was how I ended up heading out, with a total cosmic agenda, to see a poet, who I like very much, talk about her new memoir…when honestly all I really wanted to do was stay in bed (Friday traffic doom is real folks). The memoir, which is beautiful, circles around her divorce and untangling all the pieces of that experience and of course making meaning of it. She was being interviewed by another author who ironically is also currently going through a divorce. As I was completing my assignment from the universe by going out into the world I assumed some sort of inspiration would be ignited, connections made, or purpose fulfilled to make the discomfort of my doing so “worth it” as they say. I sat politely with a seat on each side of me so as not to touch anyone’s thigh or purse as we were all on folding chairs and quite smushed. Until it started filling up and they asked us to scoot in to let late folks find their seats easily. Pretty sure I was the only one to scoot. I’m always the one who scoots. I think to myself of course, yes, I should have done that earlier. While other folks think I’m not giving up my seat, I’m comfortable, they should have gotten here earlier. I politely sat and then scooted and waited and listened expectantly…

I will stop here to confess eavesdropping is one of my favorite things to do. Collecting bits of conversations makes me love humans more and so if I’m alone at an event it is my primary indulgent activity. For instance, there were two older women; one in front of me and one a few chairs to the left of me who were talking about their daughters going off to college. The woman in front was leaning over her chair to talk to the woman to my left in a way that at first I thought maybe they knew each other and had unexpectedly ran into each other at the event. But later I realized no, the woman in front just really wanted to talk to folks even if it meant leaning her whole body over chairs. The room was quite loud but I could overhear her say she can’t wear sneakers unless she’s working out. which sent my mind spinning…some sort of college dress code? And then the tender and frightened I told her not to go ANYWHERE alone to which the other woman chuckled politely and to which I thought to myself I’m glad I have ten years before my oldest goes to college. After an awkward exhausted silence the woman in the front got up, sharing she was going to go find the restroom, and while she was gone a man and a woman sat down next to her, book on the chair, saved seat. The man was then left alone as his date went to get a drink and when the older woman returned she said oh hello, what’s your name? to which the man did a double take and said I’m sorry? Excuse me? She repeated the question and then proceeded to ask many many many personal questions in the way that only an older woman whose daughter has just gone off to college and left her behind has the audacity to ask. Causing the man to squirm in his seat and look around desperately for his date. I watched as she talked to him for the next ten minutes and he repeatedly checked his watch, no doubt wondering when the author would walk onto the stage.

Here’s where I will pause and share that I actually ran into the author coming out of the bathroom. I smiled widely and said “Oh hi!!” To which she smiled and said “hello!” And that was that. I have now learned that is all you should do. Do not ask for a picture. Do not say I love your work. Do not attempt to connect in any way that would risk revealing that you love someone you know nothing about and they have just left the bathroom -  something very human - and the reality is they don’t want to talk to you. I learned this the hard way when once I thought running into them was a sign that I should “say something.” Nope, still just a person coming out of the bathroom. I run into people a lot actually and now I just say “Oh hi!” That is all that should be said. You’re welcome.

And so finally when the author and interviewer took to the stage we all breathed a sigh of relief in the hope that we could stop talking and sitting awkwardly next to each other. Only to be startled by something new and awkward. The humanity of the interviewer.  I felt my eyebrows raise, as I simultaneously felt my attention lock in on the interviewer's choice of gown which was decidedly making a seductive statement. I raised my eyebrows at her. Then I raised my eyebrows at myself because I did not think I was the kind of person to raise my eyebrows at such things. As they got settled the interviewer then proceeded to say fuck. A LOT. At one point shouting it three times to make a point which was lost on me and only made me hold my breath and wonder if there were children behind me, as we were set up adjacent to the children’s section. She began to reference HER divorce and HER book and HER pain and HER choosing to not wear mascara because she might cry. I realized I was clutching my hands and not breathing. The whole thing was upsetting me. I kept trying to focus on the author but the interviewer was pulling my focus.

Mostly though I was bothered by the fact I was bothered. I hear myself wondering, am I now a mid 40’s prude that can’t tolerate sexy clothes and cursing in a bookstore? Whaaaat??? Because prudishness in my opinion is at its core unlikeable: it is rooted in judgement. And I try very hard to not be rooted in such things, especially when I am observing other women. To each their own and to their own I send love. And yet…here I was judging.

I comforted myself with the thought that perhaps it wasn’t prudishness but simply irritability stemming from some sort of recognition. Some sort of familiarity. You know like when you find yourself really bothered by the way someone is chewing. You know you’re being an asshole, and you even have the elevated thought that you also are a loud chewer, but you can’t help the impulse to stand up and shout please for the love of god close your mouth! I wanted to stand up and shout, please for the love of god stop making this about you. I didn’t come here for you (to which of course the universe laughed at me and said oh no?) And then the interviewer and author started sticking their tongues out at each other and silently mouthing I love you, I love you at each other. And I realized they were friends. And they were both uncomfortable up there on the stage but one (the author) was there to talk about something already experienced…already done and metabolized and turned into something beautiful. The other one (the interviewer), the one that was pulling my focus and irritating me to no end, was still in process. She was still in the process of the pain and the mess and the real discomfort that is shedding a version of yourself that doesn’t work anymore and searching for something new. That messy version sat quite juxtaposed to the art version. The art version is what we all want and even expect our lives to be. And usually we want it immediately while we’re still in the process of going through whatever it is we’re going through. We want to be the version that has beauty and meaning but the truth is sometimes we’re just shouting fuck a lot. And it bothers us…it bother us all. The ones going through it and the ones watching.

I drove home with the windows down in the car, because it was 8:30pm and I was falling asleep at the wheel. I walked slowly up to my door, thinking a lot of thoughts, with the flashlight from the app on my phone swaying light back and forth in front of me. I opened the door to my eight year old jumping up and down delighting in the fact she had stayed awake and I’d agreed to read her a story. I had gone out, I had heard people say intelligent things about writing structure and publishing and I had also been turned off by own judgement of someone in the midst of an experience that was messy. I was a prude but not in the traditional sense. I had forgotten that what we’re all doing is messy and sexy and loud and bothersome and awkward as fuck. The art comes later and it’s where we will find comfort. But the living of it will always make us squirm in our seats and that’s ok; we can just scoot on over and make some room.