twenty-five percent

A few days ago I was pestering my poor husband, asking him the kinds of questions that girls sometimes ask when they're trying to sort out what someone meant when they said a certain thing, and whether it reveals some dislike or concern.

I do this sometimes.  Okay, okay -- somewhat often.

I wish that I could say that I'm this rock of self-confidence; I'm not.

Justin's reponse is as typical and unchanging as it is wise, and it usually follows this theme: "Who cares?  If they have a problem with you, them."

The other day, I retorted, "Easy for you to say.  You haven't given a damn in years."

Which is true.   In sharing my husband's world each day, I've come to realize that, sure, he does have some insecurities, but they rarely ever concern they or them.  The number of people he has given permission to impact the way he views himself and his actions is quite small.  He meets people easily.  Quick-witted and funny, he is adept at making new acquaintances.  But "acquaintances" they remain for a long time.  I've realized that only passage of time and proving of trustworthiness will build what he would consider a friend.

In some respects, I would kill for this.  I worry about measuring up in the eyes of people I've barely met.  Worse, I sometimes worry about the views of people I don't even really like or respect.

Justin jokingly told me that maybe after some time, his disdain for the world in general would rub off on me a little and I'd only care what people thought of me about 75% of the time.  We both laughed, and conversation drifted easily on to other topics, but I've been thinking about it some ever since.

The thing is, while I've grown some in this area out of necessity (you either adapt or you go crazy), I'm not yet "there," wherever "there" is.  Ridiculous things still get to me that shouldn't.  Justin has a friend who hasn't adjusted well to this new married state of things.  Their friendship has changed -- things aren't like they used to be back in the day for a thousand reasons, but in this person's mind, I'm the cause, and he hasn't been very kind about it.  I know Justin tries to shield me from it as he sorts through how to move forward, but some things still get through, and every single time, it hurts, and I rant and rave to myself how I've tried, and how I'm not really like that, and how he needs to quit it.

The thing is, I know that I've tried hard to be warm and friendly when it would have been easy to be otherwise.  I know the accusations don't have any grounding in reality.  I know that they don't affect Justin's thoughts about me or our marriage.  But every time, I eat my heart out, equal parts hurt and frustration.  It shouldn't by now, but it throws me for a loop every time and it's several long conversations with Justin before I'm reassured again.

I have everyone -- from this guy, to coworkers from two jobs ago, to an annoyed-that-I-quit supervisor at Starbucks, to the girl who cut my hair this morning -- on my radar of "What does this person think of me?"  Much of it happens without me even knowing it.  In an instant, the thought process is complete.  I get nervous and begin awkwardly searching for the cool thing to say, or, I go on the defensive, becoming silent and standoffish.  Neither are who I really am, or who I really want to be, for that matter.

Too much power has been surrendered to those whose place in my life doesn't warrant it.

The way one person described it (who knows if it was in conversation or if I read it somewhere, it's been so long) was that there is a conference room in your head, complete with a huge conference room table, and there are people sitting there whom you've chosen.  These people are people you've given permission to tell you about yourself, good and bad.  Beyond that, depending on the power you give them, they influence everything from decisions that you make to how you feel about yourself when you stumble bleary-eyed to the bathroom first thing in the morning and come face to face with you.

I have far too many people in chairs around that table, that's for certain.  I don't tend to choose with any discretion.

I am operating on automatic pilot too often to be able to sort these thoughts out as they happen, but I'm going to try to pay more attention.  There are some folks who simply need to go.  There are others who know me deeply, but nevertheless who love me and are for me, that need to be given a microphone at the table (my husband, Julie, my family, Daniel).  I sometimes give strangers' words more volume than theirs, even if only momentarily.

There is also the not-small matter of God seeing me through gracious eyes and knowing who this messiness will someday become.

Easier said than done, of course, but the work of paying attention to what goes on inside my head and heart can be nothing compared to the exhaustion of having to monitor so many perceptions.

So, here I go.  Wish me luck.  Not caring at least 25% of the time seems lovely.