Reveling in the "A Lot"

Happy blue super moon

Warning: This post is a lot.

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“I am an emotional creature.”

The words of Eve Ensler come through as my thoughts send me into a tizzy. As I overthink the things I’ve said and done. 

“I am an emotional creature.”

They soothe me, coating me in a layer of security. Coating me in a layer of “I’m not the only one.”

Her 2010 collection of stories, I Am an Emotional Creature: The Secret Life of Girls Around the World, made me feel seen when I was 13.

Eve, if you’re reading this, I could use a 26-year-old sequel. 

…

I’ve been feeling like “a lot” lately: to the people in my life, to strangers, even to myself. But for a moment, Eve is allowing me to revel in it.

To revel in the “a lot.”

“Things do not come to me as intellectual theories or hard-shaped ideas. They pulse through my organs and legs and burn.”

I feel it now, pulsing through my organs and legs and toes, elbows and fingers; eyes closed, I begin to hum that tune that’s been in my head and on my mind for weeks on end. I turn it on loud and do the one thing I know will give this feeling somewhere to go.

…

This is an observation on performativity (as a form of expression).

It's been a while since I've written anything like this.

I've realized that it takes being in the right mood, which I guess I’m in right now. It’s 3am, I've got Paolo Conte’s Sparring Partner crooning to me on repeat over the speakers and I've been dancing in front of the large windows looking over the Egelantiersgracht.

Even though no one’s probably watching me at this hour, I like to pretend that they might be. 

There’s a man who lives two houses down from where I’m staying who—without exaggeration—sometimes spends entire days dancing in front of his open windows, inviting the timid gazes of passers by.

I like to think that he chose his house solely for this purpose. It’s optimal, right on the canal where people stop to take that perfect Amsterdam photograph. They may avert their eyes, but they see him. And he loves it. I find myself averting my eyes, too, not because I’m embarrassed for him but because it’s an intimate thing, watching someone dance like that. And I feel like I’m intruding.

Odd as it may sound, there is something about dancing so unabashedly in front of strangers that feels extremely private. He’s free, and freedom is very intimate.

That might be what I like best about dancing in front of a window. I know that I’m probably not being watched, so I can dance like nobody’s watching. But there is also the sense that I’m not really alone.

There is a freedom that comes with being in the presence of people without truly being seen.

Amsterdam is the embodiment of this concept.

Blinds are raised (or non-existent) at all hours, with the people living behind them carrying on as though they’re not; their looks of surprise when they catch your eye after you’ve watched the scenes playing within for a little too long say it all.

The man two houses down makes eye contact with anyone who dares peer his way as he shakes his hips all the livelong day. A woman living in a house on the corner with ground-to-ceiling windows lights candles and spends her evenings drawing and drinking wine on the floor. I wonder if performing her artistic process for an audience motivates her work. Families break bread, couples make love (usually a few stories up) and older folks living alone perhaps find some comfort in those who look in on them reading the newspaper.

Alone, together. It’s a religion for the Dutch.

As it is for me, if not by association then of my own accord. Was I always this way? Or did living here for two years rub off on me? 

There are moments when I wish I was small enough to fit inside a sidewalk crack (without getting stepped on, ideally) and others when I want to send pictures of my naked body to complete strangers.

I suppose it’s possible to crave anonymity and attention at the same time. 

The notion that we are always performing is something I’ve come to understand deeply over the last few years. But what the last few months/weeks have shown me is that we can embrace this fact. Rather than pushing ourselves to be more organic (which comes just about as naturally as telling yourself not to think of an elephant), we can accept our instinct to perform and take charge of the narrative.  

I feel powerful when I dance, and that’s a feeling I aim to harness.

Today I went to an Afrobeat dance class at a studio inside an old church in Amsterdam West. It was the first dance class I’ve been to in a long time, and I absolutely loved it. The music, sweat, synchronicity. I couldn’t stop smiling. And I couldn’t stop watching myself, I felt so good in my body.

I loved noticing other people watching me, too. 

But unlike the sense of  needing to “prove myself” that in the past has characterized my performativity, this experience was characterized by feeling myself, and embellishing on, and relishing in, that feeling in front of others. 

I spoke to a littler version of myself in a hypnotherapy session the other day.

During my hypnosis, I was sitting next to my 8-year-old self in my 15-year-old bedroom. I had bangs, two braids and a stretchy choker on. I remembered this look and how it made me feel: pretty damn cool.

I suddenly saw myself. Really saw myself: how I was bursting with creativity and expression, and how I was pushing it all down to avoid being “a lot.”

…for my teachers, parents, the other kids at school…

I saw myself as a child for the first time; a child who simply wanted to be.

So, I told littler me that I could stop trying so hard; that I could stop hiding; that I didn’t need to prove myself anymore.

“I’ve got you,” I said as I wrapped my arms around me. And I think I meant it.

I suppose this is my way of embodying that fact: by performing without feeling the need to prove myself. 

Does letting go of needing to prove yourself mean letting go of shame?

Not shame in some Godly, nuns who smack you with a ruler type of way. Rather, that layer of film that coats everything. 

What are the things you would allow yourself to do/say/want if shame weren’t in your way? Sure, certain boundaries exist for a reason…if hitting someone with your car is on that list for you, I’d advise against it.

But most of the time, shame is unnecessary.

For one, I would only let the weather rule when I wear a top. I rode my bike a few blocks topless the other night and it felt incredible. To think that men always have this option and don’t always take it! (But more on tops v. toplessness at a later date…)

I would also speak more with strangers.

I spoke to someone sitting in a window above me earlier today. I was walking to my favorite café and he was sitting there on his windowsill, legs hanging over the side, drinking a glass of white wine. We chatted for a few minutes, me on the street, him 3 floors up. Doesn’t sound like much but how often do you do that?

…

What’s so scary about strangers? Why was my heart pounding when I made contact with this person? Can we really chock it all up to our parents’ incessant “stranger danger” warnings?

We all just want to feel connection, and yet giving away just how badly is considered a weakness. 

Maybe that’s what I’m getting at here.

With this newsletter. With this new way of living. No holds barred.

The odds of making it onto this planet are about one in 400 trillion, yet we waste many precious seconds not saying what’s on our mind, not hugging our loved ones, not speaking to strangers, not letting it go when someone cuts us off in traffic, and thwacking away at our laptops over tasks that don’t interest us. 

Okay, that last one is a bit more nuanced than the others—we have jobs for a reason and many of those reasons are valid. But the others I am holding myself to! Due to the fact that I’m not omnipotent (and that it’s really none of my business), I can’t hold any of you to it. But I can hold myself.

All of my selves, in fact: 8, 13, 26 years old…

“You don’t need to prove yourself anymore,” I whisper as I hold myself.

“I’ve got you.”

Too many instances have taken place in this universe where somebody stopped themselves for fear of being “a lot”; where things were left unsaid or undone and all for what? To save face?

F*k that.

I’m tired of pretending that I’m not an emotional creature. 

Of pretending that I don’t care, feel, hurt, love, desire, need to express. 

I forgot how quiet it is in Amsterdam at night. Something rare in London (where I’ve been living this past year). Even in the high grasses of the North-East London marshes, planes go by and sirens can be heard in the far-off distance. But when the sun goes down the Amsterdam Jordaan, only lapping water and the occasional bike spoke spinning in the distance can be heard. 

The streetlights brightly illuminate all of this absence, making the presence of absence all the more apparent. 

It makes it easier to think.

And feel.

Breaking boundaries, doing what you’re not “supposed” to…Why does that feel so good?

Staying up until 3am playing music just a little too loud, walking around the house naked with the blinds open, flirting with someone you can’t have, going a little too hard on a Wednesday…Saying exactly what you mean. Doing exactly what you want to do.

Would these little pleasures exist in a world with fewer restrictions? Maybe we ought to be grateful to boundaries for giving us something to break.

…

Do you believe in an inherent right and wrong? If so, what's the cut off for you? Is it stealing? Lying? Cheating? Physically harming someone? And to be good, do you need to actively do good or does avoiding being bad suffice? 

Asking for a friend.

…

Until next time,

Francesca (Observing)

P.S. I don’t know if I’ll publish this newsletter, but if I do, you’ll know that the hypnosis is working.