There is a kind of person I have always secretly admired. I see them only at work where they appear in meetings. I notice that I never notice this type outside of work and I know, sadly, it's because they lose my attention. The Quiet Type. When they have my attention, I am fascinated and more than a little envious. They are armed with good common sense and the only offbeat quality they seem to be afflicted with is that their cool factor is in need of a boost. I'm sure they have wanted to be more cool but honestly, that would ruin everything.
I watch them and think, "Maybe if I could simply learn to shut up in this life, I could be that person in my next life" and I dream of doing arithmetic without the whole scene ending in hives and tears. They might be male or female but that quiet, thoughtful hardworking person seems so sensible in every way. Married. A fully functioning filter combined with the ability to keep tabs on last years' tax returns without much effort. That consistent bringer-of-lunches in sensible containers. I steal glances at their marginally out of style clothes and imagine them balancing the check book to the penny while their equally sensible children do homework or practice musical instruments in the background. This is the stuff that I long for. Everything in it's place. The quiet contentment that comes from being loved and cared for by emotionally mature people. Goofy jokes and puns that never sting with sarcasm.
Office people. I like to watch them. I like to see them appear again-and-again over the years. It's nice to work in a very large office, too. It has all the benefits of people watching at the airport. I like not knowing names, being on the periphery. I like people watching in quiet and making up my own stories. I wonder why the guy I think of as "The Indian Barney Miller" always has bed head. I am fond of him. I like seeing him from time-to-time, a distant, disheveled touchstone in the elevator off to some meeting I will never know about.
Living in the periphery is not my game. Not to the outside observer, anyway. I know that I am larger-than-life. I am large in every sense of the word. It suits me. I laugh too hard and with too much enthusiasm. I can't help it. My head flies back on my neck and my mouth opens up wide, like an eager PEZ dispenser. Even though I imagine every tooth is exposed to view, I don't care. I know that generally speaking, the world is in need of people like me, too. I am a character. Earthy, stoic, too sensitive, overly dramatic and motherly. I know this because people feel inclined to seek out my company for comfort or to try and advise me about how to better "fit in". That's not really the point of being me, is it? I wasn't built to fit in and the Quiet Type? They aren't built to be cool. You have to be who you are made to be and work towards honing that into something you can be proud of. Trying to twist yourself into a completely different shape is just silly.
It's a hard world and I know that there is a need and a reason for each and every one of us. I like the feel of being me. Knowing that I often seem taller than I am. I enjoy, strangely enough, this feeling of always having a way of making people a teeny weeny bit uncomfortable. Even in the way I live in my body....too fat. The way I come across...too negative, too sensitive, too open. The way I laugh....too loud. My insecurities are too apparent and sometimes folks rush to my aid, compelled to school me on the art of self-protection. Yet, it's all a ruse, really. The truth is, I feel compelled somehow to push all of you a little too far sometimes, to say too much. There is some part of me that feels that the only reason I am here is to make you think, to feel, to see things perhaps a little differently than you did before. Helping you accept and love who you are when I am at my best and at the very least, getting a laugh out of you.
I had a roommate tell me once, "I don't know what it is about you, Miss Pierce, but you can make me feel worse about myself than anyone else ever has". That was painful for me to hear but in that moment I understood for the first time that I have a voice. A powerful voice. In the next moment, I vowed to use that voice for good instead of evil. It stands to reason that if I can make you feel horrible, I can make you feel wonderful, too.
The journey towards goodness is a long road. It's pretty rocky terrain and honestly, I don't mind. As long as I have the energy to do so, getting back up is not a problem. Learning to take a hit isn't nearly as hard as it is keep yourself down. A person practically springs back on their feet once they realize that keeping themselves down sucks.
On that note...let those dancers dance...someone better sharpen pencils for the accountants....the alcoholics are running out of beer...the scientists are busy studying the religious zealots....we better get shoe polish and brown paper bags for the sensible ones...god, keep the crafters away from the angry goths, if they get glitter on those black trench coats again all hell is going to break loose...somebody get me a donut, stat. Indian Barney Miller has another meeting on the 18th floor and if my blood sugar gets any lower I won't be able to interpret his hair.
I'm glad we're in it together, my babies. Now, go play nice and if you can't do that, then be yourselves.
Your ever lovin',
Miss Pierce
I watch them and think, "Maybe if I could simply learn to shut up in this life, I could be that person in my next life" and I dream of doing arithmetic without the whole scene ending in hives and tears. They might be male or female but that quiet, thoughtful hardworking person seems so sensible in every way. Married. A fully functioning filter combined with the ability to keep tabs on last years' tax returns without much effort. That consistent bringer-of-lunches in sensible containers. I steal glances at their marginally out of style clothes and imagine them balancing the check book to the penny while their equally sensible children do homework or practice musical instruments in the background. This is the stuff that I long for. Everything in it's place. The quiet contentment that comes from being loved and cared for by emotionally mature people. Goofy jokes and puns that never sting with sarcasm.
Office people. I like to watch them. I like to see them appear again-and-again over the years. It's nice to work in a very large office, too. It has all the benefits of people watching at the airport. I like not knowing names, being on the periphery. I like people watching in quiet and making up my own stories. I wonder why the guy I think of as "The Indian Barney Miller" always has bed head. I am fond of him. I like seeing him from time-to-time, a distant, disheveled touchstone in the elevator off to some meeting I will never know about.
Living in the periphery is not my game. Not to the outside observer, anyway. I know that I am larger-than-life. I am large in every sense of the word. It suits me. I laugh too hard and with too much enthusiasm. I can't help it. My head flies back on my neck and my mouth opens up wide, like an eager PEZ dispenser. Even though I imagine every tooth is exposed to view, I don't care. I know that generally speaking, the world is in need of people like me, too. I am a character. Earthy, stoic, too sensitive, overly dramatic and motherly. I know this because people feel inclined to seek out my company for comfort or to try and advise me about how to better "fit in". That's not really the point of being me, is it? I wasn't built to fit in and the Quiet Type? They aren't built to be cool. You have to be who you are made to be and work towards honing that into something you can be proud of. Trying to twist yourself into a completely different shape is just silly.
It's a hard world and I know that there is a need and a reason for each and every one of us. I like the feel of being me. Knowing that I often seem taller than I am. I enjoy, strangely enough, this feeling of always having a way of making people a teeny weeny bit uncomfortable. Even in the way I live in my body....too fat. The way I come across...too negative, too sensitive, too open. The way I laugh....too loud. My insecurities are too apparent and sometimes folks rush to my aid, compelled to school me on the art of self-protection. Yet, it's all a ruse, really. The truth is, I feel compelled somehow to push all of you a little too far sometimes, to say too much. There is some part of me that feels that the only reason I am here is to make you think, to feel, to see things perhaps a little differently than you did before. Helping you accept and love who you are when I am at my best and at the very least, getting a laugh out of you.
I had a roommate tell me once, "I don't know what it is about you, Miss Pierce, but you can make me feel worse about myself than anyone else ever has". That was painful for me to hear but in that moment I understood for the first time that I have a voice. A powerful voice. In the next moment, I vowed to use that voice for good instead of evil. It stands to reason that if I can make you feel horrible, I can make you feel wonderful, too.
The journey towards goodness is a long road. It's pretty rocky terrain and honestly, I don't mind. As long as I have the energy to do so, getting back up is not a problem. Learning to take a hit isn't nearly as hard as it is keep yourself down. A person practically springs back on their feet once they realize that keeping themselves down sucks.
On that note...let those dancers dance...someone better sharpen pencils for the accountants....the alcoholics are running out of beer...the scientists are busy studying the religious zealots....we better get shoe polish and brown paper bags for the sensible ones...god, keep the crafters away from the angry goths, if they get glitter on those black trench coats again all hell is going to break loose...somebody get me a donut, stat. Indian Barney Miller has another meeting on the 18th floor and if my blood sugar gets any lower I won't be able to interpret his hair.
I'm glad we're in it together, my babies. Now, go play nice and if you can't do that, then be yourselves.
Your ever lovin',
Miss Pierce