Da da duh da. Da da duh da. Da da duh da……du du daaaaaaaaaah! In my life I feel I am mostly an imposter. Sometimes I feel that I am living a television or movie series life that does not improve in ratings from episode to episode. The action is there. The setting all very exciting and desirable. The problem seems not to be in the scenery, the events, rising action, climaxes, or even solutions. All of these take care of themselves as appropriate and needful story elements. The problem lies mostly in the casting of me.
I am the problem. I just don’t seem to fit anywhere. I wonder how I came to be in this acting and why I haven’t been written out a long time ago. I am loud, too dry in my humor, laugh and smile way too much when I should be sober and working. I am often opinionated, fearless, and argumentative. I ask too many questions and expect answers. And I narrate in movies. I feel I am an imposter.
I wonder if it is possible to understand this thing. I have heard a few church people say from the pulpit, “We are spiritual beings having a human experience.” What the heaven does that mean!? I want to do heaven and spiritual, but the dark side is sometimes just so darn enticing. For a few minutes, the other sexy underwear, the mascara and eyeliner of a panther, tight leather swag and sensuality feel way too nice. I feel I know this species, and I am nearly welcomed into the pride. Slink away.
Next thing I know I am wallowing in sorrow and regret. It doesn’t get better…..until I decide I “will” feel better in embracing the grace of God again. I clambor up and out of a reoccuring bottomless pit like pushing uphill both ways some never ending freaky Willy Wonka Gobstopper. I become Prometheus sucking the prospect of change, only in this screenplay my liver stays in tact. Eventually salvation speaks peace and reason to my soul. In spite of doing still and silent, in calming the heck down, in becoming more acceptable, why do I still feel like an imposter?
Perhaps I am just an odd thief. Maybe I really am a chore to talk to, or just too noncompliant, or ask too many questions. Perhaps I do smile too much and don’t play along in bashing in the teachers’ lounge, or I’m a distraction in the office, and don’t seem to get work done in the work room. Surely there is something good in this blue inked baggage! Like a souvenir, or a jackpot. Ha ha. I know there is (but I am writing about being an imposter for crying out loud!).
I wonder why after seven years, in spite of having a little experience, a lot of professional development, and even a cracker jack Masters Degree, I still feel like the substitute teacher. So today, in a freshly pressed tradition of a New Year, my AZ teacher friend and I secretly passed notes of gratitude. We did this loving toward each other electronically. We recommited in essence to the relationship and planned a summer get away to Vegas. This was tender, and filled a need for both of us.
This time Vegas will not be a mistake in blowing off the GPS to conversation. We’ll certainly play a gig in Sedona too. We play at this note swap as if we are getting away with violating a sacred classroom rule when the teacher’s back is turned. For some reason there is a crazy thrill in this for me… to be the bad kid. Yes…not a good thing. I feel this is left over from being controlled and abused when young. A repressed childhood or religious thing. Yes.
My friend Che’s affirmations help me know that it was no mistake that I was chosen though. My friend was part of the hiring committee. Before being hired, I had no connection to her at all, except that I was a little jealous that she had gotten on board before me. Dunno. This was dumb. She promised me that I was selected for the teaching position for a reason. That she felt good about it, and that she still stands by that decision. I like her promises.
Somedays I wish I better knew what that reason was and is. Like I wish that schools and principals had a forum for this thing. In EMS after a dramatic fire, medical call, or death there is a debriefing, an exam and doctor’s release sometimes required saying that you are in good healthy standing. I would want a note from a shrink. Second thought…..I wouldn’t want one of these.
I think it would be good to have one of these meetings though, just occasionally with the boss. A one-on-one interview in which the employee can ask tough questions…….like why did you hire me over the others? Like what do you perceive my strengths to be, and how can I use these for the common good of students in my instruction? We are always looking at deficits, and now days toward strengths in students. Why not in ourselves?
I am still trying to figure this stuff out. My soul knows the answer, but my Ego is never satisfied. Maybe by the time it’s my time to retire, and some nice district person starts rubbernecking me with 401K talk, and offers of early outs that I can’t resist, maybe then I will know more of the why. Then it will likely be too late. Opportunities lost.
At Church I feel the imposter. I have spent some forty years as a member of record and in good LDS standing…..mostly, when I wasn’t falling down in insecurities or loving too much. In all this time I haven’t made it into the “in” group, or moved up and through the righteous and worthy holy hierarchy on the power grid to sustainability. No. I have mostly kept to myself, paid my dues and fulfilled my tithing. I have only felt the glimmer of belonging, of acceptability, like a valued customer momentarily in sending off or welcoming home a missionary and having the occasional baby. The rest of the time…Zippo.. not including scouting and Pinewood Derby races. I was really good with my son and his scout friends.
I have not for some time become a latter-day Templar of the brother or sisterhood. I don’t bear testimony much in public anymore. Not for want of believing. I believe much. I believe in plenty and have a lot to say. It’s just it seems that no one wants to hear it….from me.
I don’t dangle my heart out there quite so readily as I used to do. I save this for only the blogging community, and a few most trusted individuals. These either do not go to church with me, don’t belong to my church, or live out of state. I hang out with two year-olds instead, singing, playing, snacking, and finding Jesus in the simplest ways and understandings. I can embrace this kind of spirituality and looser more pure religion. Plus I feel good in doing a service for the most innocent of God’s children.
Mostly I feel better in Nature. Lost in the beauty of God’s Mountain splendor. I can’t wait until summer when I can make everyday a Sunday in the great outdoors. I hide and seek for Jesus here and in other places. Among the aged, or the broken, and downtrodden. In the nursing home visiting Granny, or in the prison a few times. I think I would like to go to prison again sometime….as a visitor.
At school, I am drawn to the more difficult kids in my class. I call them the Herdmans sometimes. I feel a personal responsibility to these for some reason. If not academically, yes this, but also morally. Sometimes I feel God with me in responding to a child’s need, or loss. I want to learn to respond with more empathy, and to listen and share more with my heart. This is true religion.
Sometimes I go to Sacrament Meetings. Sometimes I visit in other wards or parties in other towns and other cities, and other states. I like to be the novel visitor from “Zion.” I like the attention, new people, and new experiences. It feels like I have been given a new start and new lease with each new something or someone. I don’t feel like I have the same guilt ridden arrest record to drag around when I am not in my homeland.
I also like attending churches of other Christian faiths. My parents did this thing with us when we were children. I remember the Hallelujah chorus a the Calvary Baptist Church in Marion, Texas. I remember going to cub scout pack meetings at the Catholic Church. Most of my high school peers attended the Church of the Kegger on the weekends. Not me. I went to Lutheran College on a writing scholarship I earned as a junior in high school.
Getting around in churches…ha ha… is a great adventure for several reasons. For the adventure itself, for the heightening of senses, for the writing, but mostly for the search for truth and meaning in the creation of love and life.
I love this journey, mostly for the welcoming glad tidings of Christ come down to men and women. For the messages that speak to my heart and soul. It is encouraging really, and upbeat. For some reason these teachers, like Pastor Fine, know the Word, yes in academically appealing ways, and in psychological, and people ways. The words are delicious to me, and leave me wanting more. It is obvious that the words and works of Jesus are delicious to these holy people.
I also love it for the light of Christ and His presence. He just wasn’t dropping in all that much to my locale. So I set out in search for him and His Grace. Then I found it. And there were also holy people who served as signs and wonders along the way. But I messed up this thing, and in finding Jesus, found darkness in falling from Grace. A series of decisions made me out the imposter in this as well.
I don’t visit that church anymore, or stand and sing Chris Tomlin songs, while people around me raise a hand and witness openly. Sometimes I cry about this, because I loved the open endedness of this thing. Nothing repressed unless that is what you chose. I loved that there is interaction and passion freely expressed. The music, the music, the music. And the singing.
I loved that Jesus is as personable as the people there. That there are no visible lines or boundaries drawn. The smell of coffee. The absence of judging s or guilt trips going on, at least that I can discern. But I did not know all that many people there. And, like I said, I don’t go there anymore for reasons I won’t mention.
Instead I listen to the Sunday messages in delayed electronic rebroadcasts, and fill my cravings for live swaying music with “The Message” on Sirius radio as I ride in Pearl, my car. This is the only serious I can seem to muster. I push her buttons and she doesn’t mind so much that I am forever the imposter. We have a good thing, Pearl and I. I sing and she plays the radio.
I am an imposter among my own brothers and sisters. I am the oldest daughter of the second family. I am the middle child of the combined two families with two older sisters from the first marriage of my father. They are all very nice people, but this birth order is kind of a double whammie. Among my siblings I feel the imposter, with the exception of my little sister.
I love being with my sister. She is accepting and refreshing. Always a joy, a pleaser, and a peacemaker. We are growing closer as she is aging and catching up to me in common experiences. I used to work really hard at planning family things, at staying in touch with everyone, at making phone calls and remembering birthdays and holidays. At hosting Thanksgiving dinners at my house. I thought this is what my parents would want. No more. This one way street became tiring and strangely competitive. I have only retained these occasions in sharing with Suni.
My brothers have become more and more distant as I have withdrawn. And it did not help that in the passing of our parents my brothers had me essentially written out of the trust, first by having me removed as executor of the estate. In my younger years I was kind of the token black sheep. Maybe this is why. Maybe I was not “worthy” of the birth right. Ha ha. I wasn’t the favored son by any means. Later, I became a threat to their dowery and the power structure. But I have changed my thinking mostly, and I am good with all of this. It does not bother me now.
Everything is as it is for a reason. I have made a life for myself. It is actually quite freeing to know I don’t have to rely on them, or put up with any of the hierarchy, generational garbage, and power struggle anymore. It is liberating for sure. I can pick and choose, and take things or leave them as I like, with little or no responsibility. There is no “I’m right,” and “You’re wrong,” when I have chosen “I’m OUT OF HERE.” If I am meant to have something, like stock in chickenville or something really great, then the law of attraction will bring it to me. Besides the only thing I could ever want anyway is my mother’s journals. The Law of Attraction says these will come in time, I know. Likely through my little sister who is a good negotiator.
So that’s about it, just short of discussing blogging. In this I also feel an imposter. Mostly because there is just so much to learn, including an assumed WordPress Code of conduct and etiquette. Superior expectations for writing. I do not disagree with the need for rules or excellent writing. I am grateful for my Yoda Blogmaster, as I learn the language of BLOG, and I backtrack, retracting, editing, largely relearning how to write. This feels strangely religious. A new game. Is this possible?
I will not get into matters of my husband, girls, son, or swim team at this time. This is getting way too long already, and I am sick of hearing myself talk. So I am just one big Impossible Imposter! Ha ha. Un-bull-lieve-able! Maybe I can change my thinking and become someone more agreeable, pleasant, tactful, and willing to fit in with the crowd. Until then I will be me: whether being alone, or in some crazy venue I have created or crashed, looking for a playmate, awaiting an invitation, and think, think, thinking on the next story I will write. Bah! I think I will write the next story with a protagonist me who is not the imposter. 🙂