Recapping a day

I came back into Manhattan last night around seven for something called Flicks with Sticks. The most enjoyable element of my evening outing ended up being getting there. The city felt alive and joyful. I passed performers in the large Union Square subway station singing their hearts out, full of energy and enthusiasm. Standing tall, their bodies expressive as they played their instruments. A pretty girl bursting out her songs simultaneously playing guitar, dressed in vibrant, wild clothes. But the best was coming into the square to the sound of a sextet of men playing horns to an infectious beat, repetitive, invigorating both soulful and playful. I could hear them for the full length of a block, the sound gradually muted by distance but still just as wonderful. Maybe I should have stayed...

My dominant experience that evening was feeling silly about knitting in a large group of women. I think I felt like a fraud, not because I don't see myself as a real knitter but because that wasn't what I really wanted to be doing. I just wanted to watch the movie and the knitting was a pretense. There was something silly to me about a group of knitters.

I had mixed feelings about the movie, I enjoyed it, but I was dissatisfied with elements of the plot. Especially the end, it was like a clumbsy tie-up where suddenly everyone is happily paired in love. It bothered me that they all openly read their own active story into the book discussions with almost no self-awareness. It struck me as a cheap plot element. Their problems were so clear and identifiable. She's a control freak who is afraid of being vulnerable, this one is bound by her sense of duty, this one hopelessly impulsive and reckless. Yes, they each represented some Jane Austen girl- but in a manner that seemed feebly obvious and lacked depth. What I liked very much was the acting, they carried their roles like they were real. Very satisfying. And Hugh Dancy was adorable! I was afraid in the beginning that the movie was going to have all of the women fall in love with him. His ability to tolerate the one woman's treatment(Jocelyn?) who couldn't admit to herself she liked him was incredible. She really put him through it, but his own disposition was incredulous to disappointment or rebuff. If such a man existed he would be impossible to resist. I really liked the beginning too. Capturing all those little day-to-day frustrations that are common to everyone in such a gentle, humorous way.

I won't go there alone again. Although I got the best spot in the house. We have funny tendencies as humans that can fall on the extreme of either side. When I use the subway everyone is actively engaged in looking out for themselves at the expense of whomever is around rather reliably. But alter the scenario from public to more private and we become perhaps the opposite of obviously self-seeking. I was, a little to my own surprise, one of the last people to arrive. The seats were mostly filled in and I was about to take one off to the side in back when I noticed the two best seats, directly in front of the screen, were unoccupied. After ascertaining they were free I took one! It's funny, thinking about it now, how perfectly I got what I wanted. I came for the movie, and got it most ideally.

I had an episode last night at 3 something in the morning. I always start by believing there is no way I can get to what's upsetting me, my symptoms are at their height and I merely exacerbate them by my emotions. My interest in recovering normalcy still predominates and I hastily review any feelings I had that day to find which ones register a more dramatic response in me and then give them my attention. It is a moment when all my defenses are most purely down, as anything preciptated by a crisis would be. It seems hard to capture in words what I see in myself at these moments. In part it's that same little girl reaction dating back to when I was 9 or 10. A sort of desperation that fuels me into unguarded action. For many years my leading impulse, when upset, has been to deal with it quietly and privately without bringing anyone else into my confidence and if that proved impossilbe no amount of pride could make me hesitate to ask for help. I know this proclivity exists because of my own perception that my episodes are embarrassing, and a source of shame. I have made a lot of peace with that, but it is not complete. It's another part of my story that I will have to slowly learn to validate. I've met so many people lately who struggle with panic attacks that it has shown me they are common and has helped nullify much of the old embarrasment and shame. I'm not a freak! This isn't so uncommon. I suppose the truth is we probably all do a fair amount of hiding, maybe most of it as children and as we grow up let those walls down little by little to find some community of common ground in others. It reflects the meaning in empathy but a different word captures my sense a little better, discovery. It isn't that we can understand others, but rather understand ourselves in that moment. Suddenly I am able to empathize with other people and myself. Empathize with _myself_.