I learned the other night that one of my younger friends has read my blog and come away with the impression that I’m an angry person. This friend’s name starts with A, and rhymes with a variety of words, like Banana, Savannah. I’m saying that so when she reads this post, she’ll know that I’m talking to her.
It really troubled me to learn that she thinks I’m so angry, and I’ve spent quite a bit of time thinking about that. It makes sense, in a way, though, because I’ve never shown her that side of myself. I’ve known A-Banana since she was 2 or 3 years old.
I’ve shown her my playful side, the side that tells her younger brother I have a candy tree in my back yard. The side that once had her convinced for a whole evening that my backside was glued to the chair, and despite her valiant efforts, she was unable to pull me loose until it was time for me and my husband to leave. The side that told her I had put crickets in the cookies for added protein, because we’d just seen a show about using insects in cooking.
I’ve shown her my serious side. I’ve spoken at baptisms, played piano in primary, spoken in church, shared my testimony of religious matters.
We’ve gone shopping together, gone to movies together, gone swimming together, done all kinds of things together. But she’s never seen me angry.
And this blog is where I do a lot of venting. The thing is, though, that after I vent about something, usually I’ve let it go. Not always, of course, because I’m human. Sometimes something continues to eat away at me, and I may need to do some more venting.
But I don’t want A-Savannah to think that I’m an angry person in general. Because I don’t really think I am. Usually I’m actually pretty happy. Maybe I don’t write about the happy enough here. Maybe that’s one of my flaws. Maybe when I’m blogging, I focus too much on the angry, the sad, the whatever’s got me a little annoyed at that moment. Do I?
A-Montana, I want you to know that I think life is a wonderful, awesome, incredibly miraculous journey. I love life. For the most part, I have a really good time in life. I have great friends. Your mother is one of the best friends I’ve ever had, and I’ve written about her in here. You know that next to my own kids, that never made it past a week in utero, I love you and your brothers with all my heart. I have always loved reading and writing, and now I’ve got another new passion in acting and dramaturgy, which has, in turn, brought me a group of friends that has greatly blessed my life.
There are things that do anger me, though. Injustice. Hatred. Bigotry. And, to quote Shakespeare, “the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to.” Some of these things I can do something about, like helping to write a play and then acting in the play so that people can become aware of a situation just over the border in another nation, and by writing letters, and by writing in my blog. Some of them I can do little about, beyond finding a way to vent my anger and then release it. You’ll find, if and when you decide to get married, that you and your spouse may frequently disagree on certain issues. There will be some things that you will decide are worth letting go, because in the grand scheme of things they’re not that important. Other issues, though, will be important enough to you that you’ll continue to butt heads. You don’t want to let your anger flare at your spouse too often, and you’ll want a safe place to go to. This is my safe place. When I’m so mad at Joe that I can’t see straight, I come here. This way I don’t yell and scream at him. I can think things through. And by the time I see him again, and we’re ready to talk about the issue, I’ve decided where I stand. Sometimes I’ve decided to back down; sometimes I’ve decided to stand firm. It’s all good.
You are very dear to me, sweet A-Bandana. I hope you know that. And I hope that you feel comfortable enough that if you read something here that troubles you, you know you can ask me about it. You’ve got my phone number, and you know where I live.