Looking Inside My Insides
When I was little I loved my babysitters. I was fascinated by them, these older, wiser beings of coolness and fun. My mom had an impressive array of young, fun, cool teenage babysitters for us three kids. Sometimes she’d set us up with movies, snacks, orange soda and pizza for the occasion. And while the food and entertainment had already been planned, I had my own agenda.
I was always curious. At age 8 years old I’d cozy up next to them and say, “Can I look in your purse?” I was fascinated. One was particularly obliging and she pulled out all her stuff. Wallet, gum, comb, makeup. The smell of purse leather and money, change with crumbs on it. I don’t remember what else was in there. I am sure at the time I was amazed. Even as a child, I was into looking beyond the surface. Not just at my babysitter and experiencing her for all her awesomeness, but I looked a little deeper, into her purse. Looking back, this strikes me as my curiosity about who she was inside, what she carried around with her, what mattered to her.
Somewhere around that age, I remember the awareness that the thoughts in my head were only available to me. Like no one else could hear them. I could think whatever I wanted! And as I got even older, I realized that the thoughts I was thinking were more than thoughts. They were part conditioning of the world around me. Expectations, judgements. So much. Somewhere along the line I started writing. And even before that drawing.
Around 6th grade, I used to feign illnesses so I could stay home for great stretches of time. I spent a significant amount of time mapping out my day by circling what I’d watch in the TV Guide. And I sat right in front of the TV watching Regis and Kathy Lee, The Price is Right and all my other gameshows and soap operas with a blank sketchbook in hand drawing up a storm, incorporating phrases from the TV shows and commercials into my drawings. I filled up entire sketchpads. And later, entire notebooks. I no longer have the first white notepad I filled with poems when my 10th grade teacher assigned us to do summer writing in addition to summer reading. I waited until the very, very last minute, sat in my bed and “filled an entire white pad with thoughts I never knew I had.” That’s a line I’ve held in my heart all these years. It’s part of the first poem I remember writing.
Today’s parents might call those days of feigned illness much-needed mental health days for their children. But back then, that wasn’t a thing. I want to go back and hug my 11 year old self for knowing she needed that time and finding a way to create it for herself. For knowing that drawing and writing and time alone (and a dose of 1980s daytime television) could fill her cup and soon she’d be ready to face the world again.
Writing has always helped me process my world. It’s been both my escape from the world and my entry into it. When I am writing, I am more in tune with my heart of hearts, more aware of how I am feeling, more able to cope with what’s happening in my life and the world.
This blog is Me, that little girl who wanted to look into her babysitter’s purse. It’s Me both looking into my own purse and opening that purse to the world. It’s Me opening my heart to the world. Giving you a peek into my sonder. And inviting you to share your sonder, your story, your heart, your world and your purse with the world too.
Today I encourage you to take some time opening your “purse.” What are you carrying around with you? What can you let go of? What are you ready to share?