Reckless

So some of us might have heard of Brené Brown, whose TED talk in 2011 kind of became a viral hit. For those who don’t, she is a research professor at the University Of Houston Graduate College Of Social Work, and a lot of what she talks and writes about is shame, amidst others. Shame does speak much, but slightly deeper than that is vulnerability. In this viral talk of hers, she narrates about her search for that one variable that separates the people who have a strong sense of love and belonging and the people who really struggle for it. And in doing so, she arrives at this one key observation: The strong-sense-of-love-and-belonging person embraces vulnerability. In the real world, she says this translates into the “former professing his/her/their love first; the one willing to do something which has no guarantees; the one who invests in a relationship that may or may not work out; the one who lets himself/herself be seen, deeply seen, vulnerably seen”.

To me, most of this made a lot of sense at first. I mean, isn’t this what people have been telling us all along, take that leap of faith, jump off the cliff and you may fly sort of stuff? So the idea here is to just keep doing more of it, and you’ll find magic every other day. You know, like make vulnerability your daily normal (If you want to feel loved and belonged that is). Brilliant. Almost. Except that this doesn’t seem to take into account how the not-so-privileged live and create their lives; how the violated take years before they can feel safe enough to tell their story to a loved one; how the broken have to make sure over and over again if that loved one is really safe; how a self-respected, self-assured identity can become a weapon within minutes in the hands of a brutal, disrespectful lover.

Except that this doesn’t acknowledge the existence of the privileged. Not just those who come with economic, intellectual, and socio-religious privileges; but also those who happen to have the privilege of being desired, wanted, and readily accepted, almost always. The ones who don’t know what rejection really means, and feels like. The ones who are sought after primarily because of their caste, race, class, gender and religious labels. The ones who are craved for, for their looks and their style and their accessories. The ones who know the pathways to another’s gullible heart. The ones who mindlessly flirt and coyly giggle their way through closed doors and high walls. The ones who leave another in mid-sentence, who tip-toe the morning after, who stay gone, and who stay quiet. The ones who seduce; always the ones who seduce. And quite simply, the ones who are reckless with another’s heart, and sometimes another’s life. The ones who play.

So really, is vulnerability the magic potion? Why do we keep asking the open and the honest to strip themselves to be seen, to be really seen, again and again? Why do we ask the loving to keep trying? Why do we ask the naive-in-love to have that mortifying conversation? Why do we keep prodding the affected to keep chasing rejection? When what we should really be doing is not accept behaviours that are reckless; when what we should really be doing is keep the vulnerable safe and the undeserving away from them.

Because the truth is, even if you are not-so-ready to being seen, even if you choose not to be vulnerable at first, thanks to past failures and future fears, love prevails. All kinds of it. And the loved ones, they love, and live, and assure you, that you are, most certainly, magic. They find ways to love you and perhaps even teach you. They are so beautiful that you feel nothing short of blessed. They see you for what you are — sometimes strong, sometimes weak, and at other times the weirdo they cherish. But most importantly, their love for you is independent of your showing of your vulnerability.