Candor and Stupor and the Extraordinary
There is a time in life where the extraordinary seems not only easily reachable but also directly a part of life itself.
I fall in love yet again with that word everytime i think of it.
The Extraordinary.
In these chaotic times, where culture has become just a direct manifestation of objectification instead of the rustle of wings elevating us above worldly matters, this word has a heavy connotation.
It now means unachievable, incredible, it winks at the size of bank accounts, smiles at engagement indexes. It’s now coated in liquid gold, glittering like stars and diamonds.
And worst of all, it’s whispering continuously, slithering in thoughts spelled like “holier-than-thou”, since no one can be extraordinary if everyone is.
But my eyes see other meanings.
I was traveling with a friend on the weekend. Summer days, hot sun, just driving on the highway bound to a big concert venue. He had a rough year behind him. He was maliciously demeaned at work and forced to sell his stakes in the company which he had worked all his life to grow. He divorced abruptly, accused — unjustly if I may say so since I know the man — of not wanting to have children, while she continued to work in the company he was being ostracized from, and she did nothing about it.
He’s been listless from that time, wandering between serotonin chases and dark days alone in a house abroad. He needs to vent and I had the privilege, if not the duty, to be one of the shoulders to lean and cry on. He was actually not that comfortable to be with during the whole yearly endeavor, and while slowly processing all of his thoughts he also tried to trick himself into the complete victim he was not. Fights ensued, reparations were made, tears were shed, hands were shaken. I myself am not a sheep. I wear my heart on my sleeve, and I am not afraid of confrontation.
With this whirlpool of a relationship as the background we found ourselves in the middle of our musical trip, and it happened right then. He just asked a simple question: “How are you?”
That question was of course aiming deeper than a greeting, but I lightly replied: “Well, fine, more or less. Don’t worry about me, you got bigger fish to fry.”
We did not speak for a minute afterwards. Short silence, but meaningful. And then he said this: “You know, I may have to fry a lot more for myself, but it does not mean you don’t have anything to say either. I can see it. Tell me, it cannot always be me talking. If anything I’d like to reciprocate.”
That was Extraordinary.
It was the most ordinary thing out there. A hand reaching out to you when you didn’t ask for it. A simple act of kindness was way more Extraordinary than anything else.
I started talking. And I finished the day after.
I was candid. Like a child telling a story. Navigating through the feelings attached to my words and the memories that those words were evoking, which then translated into feelings again. Like a tumbling wheel down a hill, gaining momentum each syllable. I spoke without a filter. I got into the details, and then I flew upwards to see the bigger picture, only to fly down again to a new target as a falcon sweeping on its prey.
And I realized that being candid means actually looking at the whole. The entanglement of defense feelings that I weaved like a wall to protect me also confined me in a smaller place than anyone would want to be in.
The birds-eye view hurts. It burrows under your skin, and presents a much uglier picture of yourself. But you owe it to yourself to stare at it because, like the abyss, if you stare at that long enough it will stare back at you. It is as risky as Nietzsche said, but more often than not, with just you in the abyss, you will find more than the horrors and recognize a familiar face.
It will look a bit emaciated. it will not like the light and avoid you in fear, it will scuttle and scratch you. It will hiss like a feline in distress. Sometimes it will haunt you, hit you hard enough to throw up and wish you were never born.
But it’s still you. A you that you must talk to. Because as much as anything can be Extraordinary, it will not matter if you can’t see it if you still are bound to your weaved golden cage of protection.
And candor made a good joke on me. You see, for the better part of the last ten years I actually thought of myself as being a cool headed person. Thoughtful, sometimes wilful, argumentative but fair, but generally more poised than most people I know. I cut straight to the point, help anyone if I can and sometimes even if I can’t. I can be a people person, but oftentimes prefer inner peace and calm over exuberance.
Well, turns out a lot of who I am is not really who I am at all, it’s just how I cope with life. And the realization was simple: On that day, I was. I was being heard. I was not lost in the background noise. I was not just useful, I was seen.
I’ll let this one sink in again more. I was not just useful, I was seen. I’m mid forty this year, and I can count this feeling on just one hand throughout my life. Which, by my readings, seems to be the place where a lot of people dwell alone, oftentimes forgotten.
And then came the stupor. Which is still with me as I write, and these words may very well be a way to process.
Stupor at myself, at how i pushed down parts of me, at how distant some parts of myself are from what my expectations, at the irony of the situation.
Another friend of mine told me once me that I “give too many f***s”. That may be true. But it would be unwise to not acknowledge that as an integral part of me. I really give a lot of thought to people. And I tend to speak or reply with actions usually. Even then, there is almost no reciprocation whatever I do. The realization is heartrending, and stupor is the only defense that my consciousness managed to scramble up at the last moment. And as useful as it is, it is also disabling in so many little ways.
It overrides my mind so much that I feel my being inside a big block of yellow jello, where everything is muffled and unclear, and all feels run down and unfamiliar.
I don’t know how much this will go on for, nor if this is a healthy way to process all of the submerged facets of my being. That’s what I can do, as I am only just one normal man.
Candor and Stupor.
Friend, foe, maybe both.
Time will help my clarity i hope, but two things I know for certain now: Extraordinary is all around us if we pay attention, lest we lose ourselves in the static noise of our modern life… And it can also be us. That stretched hand, that little question, that reciprocication. Because it can realize itself from our heart so easily. We just need to listen to it.
