New Age pundits will say
that the point of power is where you
take what life gives you
and respond to it in constructive ways
rather than reacting to what someone else
has done or failed to do
Nobody can make you feel anything
curtly says the life coach
who brandishes a sheet of paper
with a colorful wheel containing individual “feeling” words
like enraged, enthralled, elated
after she gently corrects me when I offer that I feel overlooked
because “overlooked” is not a feeling word—
it’s a weapon I’m using to project blame outward
while keeping myself comfortably cocooned
in a blanket of self-righteous indignation
I struggle with this assessment
but I’m willing to be wrong
so I consider what would happen
if I did the thing she’s telling me
if I chose my words so they fit neatly into her suggested template
for conflict resolution:
“The story I’m telling myself is that you might be [blank]
and I’m feeling [blank]”
I consider what would happen if I were to tell
an inconsiderate workshop participant:
“The story I’m telling myself is that you might be a racist
based on everything you’ve said and failed to say
and I’m feeling pretty fucking angry and uncomfortable”
Would my assessment be incorrect?
If a racist barb falls in a forest in which none of the
other forms of sentient life particularly care or notice
does it mean it didn’t happen?
I think of the way I round corners
with a shopping cart
so timorously, lest someone in a hurry
come careening into me
I think of the trouble I go to
to contain my thoughts and judgments
to make them a secret only I know
I think of the way I round corners with words
hedging my judgments in the currently accepted
painfully polite chosen lexicon
so that no one can accuse me of reneging personal responsibility
so that no one can accuse me of
springing like an under-fed animal
on some imagined offense
Somehow we get past this awkward burp
facilitated by the fact that where most people’s faces would be
just their names remain in white block letters
and “Your Internet connection is unstable”
splashes its cautionary announcement
across my screen
What happens in you when you speak your truth this way?
When you choke down your protest and smile
at every innocuous invitation, like
“How do you feel about abundance?”
Abundance isn’t nearly precise enough a word
to hold the vertiginous expanse of itself
Abundance probably feels like
the billion trillion stars in the observable universe
an idea that scares me and makes me surge
toward the flickering candle flame of sufficiency
But I won’t say this
or tell you how I feel
I’ll merely smile
jot down notes in my gratitude journal
take whatever it is you offer
finesse and crank it through the mighty wheel of my imagination
and do my best to make it my own
