[961] Inadequate

I’m obligated to speak to an incident I encountered on the dorm. One of my clients, steaming, comes up to me with a writing assignment in hand. He tells me that he’s not trying to be all aggressive, but that he wants a new counselor, and it’s all explained in the writing. I probe for more. According to him, when I asked a question during class and began soliciting answers, he was under the impression I was laughing at him with whatever he said. This had him fuming for the better part of at least a day, venting to others on the dorm, until he could finally confront me. We talked, things mellowed, he left with about the same tension-ridden suspicious glance as he has had since joining programming.

Now, of course I’m not laughing at my guys for any reason than when they are doing or saying something meant to be funny. I’m not ridiculing steps you’re taking to stay sober or improve your life. This is just a kind of “duh” thing. I didn’t even recall the moment in the group conversation he was talking about. As counselor, I didn’t even tell him, “You know, I wasn’t laughing at you.” I did the political thing and apologized if I came across some kind of way I absolutely didn’t intend. As he explained several times over, it became clearer that he did not like being challenged on whatever his answer to my question was.

 

We talk a lot about emotional regulation and awareness. My guys aren’t habitual “think it through” types. This isn’t because they are incapable or don’t want to, but it’s not what they’ve practiced. They have entire worlds of language and behaviors that don’t comport with ways we definitely take for granted. This gentleman, without irony, said, “Some of us just are able to let things go, just because you don’t operate that way doesn’t give you license to just laugh at our answers.” I did not find his capacity for letting things go convincing. I spoke to the difficulty many people in programming, let alone prison in general, have in identifying and resolving hurt feelings.

 

Whether or not they are willing to speak to it, prisoners, no matter the life they’ve led before becoming incarcerated, tend to feel very small, very dumb, and like the world does not give a fuck about them. Often enough, many are pretty goddamn dumb and they hold incredibly immature or underdeveloped brains in their skulls. I don’t think I’d have to spend too much time trying to persuade you how little you or anyone you know thinks about the welfare of the incarcerated unless you’re black. What do I feel my responsibility is to people in that position who say something like, “I just let it go?” I challenge them to get more specific.

 

I don’t really let things go. I don’t honestly know what that means. If all I had was my own impression of “let it go,” I’d still be curious what you were talking about. I have the added insight of hearing dozens of non-answers to important questions on the regular. I know when you’re trying to run and hide. I know that you’re feeling dumb and ashamed. I know that part of the reason you get in trouble is an unwillingness or inability to simply accept all that you, in fact, have in no way let go by any measurable assessment. To the extent any given topic shows up less often in my writing is how you might figure I’ve “let something go.” Does that mean I’ve stopped ruminating on the nature of friendships, communication, “love,” my mom, family, work, land goals, or any seemingly lost to time conversation or thought? Let’s call in another, “Duh, no.”

 

I suppose given that this is the second time in less than a month that someone has telegraphed their “I feel small around you” insecurity, combined with my recent observations of crowds at concerts, the word “inadequacy” really started to shine in my consciousness. I rarely see anyone go out to eat or go to a concert alone. As I look at the people or if I happen to overhear a conversation, my prevailing thought is how I’d rather be alone than with whomever I’m looking at or listening to. I…never? I don’t think I ever have the thought that goes, “Oh, they look like they could be a friend” or “I want to talk to that person.”

 

I should clarify too, this is entirely different from “reading people” and getting drunk and navigating body language and facial expressions in order to make a friendly interjection into their night. I can certainly identify people who are going to be more or less amenable to that kind of behavior, drunk or sober, but the inclination to do so goes to zero sober.

 

Perhaps I give off an incredibly strong, “You’re not my type” vibe. And, frankly, you probably aren’t. I’ve been talking to myself more lately about how…by myself…I often am. I have friends. I go do things with them, but there’s a disconnect. It might be better understood as there’s particular lanes my friendships seem to fit. I’m either working with you, I’m your “novelty,” or I’m something you’re oddly trying to mollify, particularly if the thing that’s wrong with our dynamic is a lack of honesty and communication.

 

Working backwards, the idea that I need to be appeased or pacified I think speaks to the fallibility of people pleasers more than it testifies to my general irritability. I’m not looking for people to make my problems go away or care for me, but I am looking for people with a certain kind of attitude and insistence when it comes to addressing their own. If you don’t have that, when I do complain about something, your worst instinct kicks in, anxiety rises, and I turn into something to resent. If you’re not the people pleaser type and just don’t really care to address things, you start turning into the thing I resent.

 

Me being a novelty is so routine I’m curious why I haven’t spoken particularly in depth about it before. Somehow, every time, in every work environment or when I meet the most obnoxious or “out-there” person, I habitually manage to out “What the fuck did you say?” them. I take the joke several steps too far. I bring in a left-field example. I use a word that gives pause. I say something I find innocuous about my life that seems wholly incongruous to your truly poor read of me or what I’m about. I can say just consistently enough fun and flirty things via text or chat for ages. I’m constantly making myself laugh with goofy shit that comes to mind, and when I can pair it or interject it into our dynamic, a lot of times you’re laughing too.

 

I’ve considered my strongest friendships the ones in which we’ve worked or are working on something. It doesn’t even necessarily have to succeed, but that we’re both there discussing the details and moving in some kind of shared direction is what I was after. It would help explain why I managed to romanticize the college group. We did a lot of shit together, at least, for me compared to anyone else I did things with. I found it immensely gratifying to find myself on the same page, even if it proved superficial, when it came to parties or games or trips.

 

I suppose when I think of my relationships like this, it really highlights the idea that people aren’t generally cool or close with me because of “me” or “who I am.” They don’t really care what I have to say more than how what I said makes them feel. Or if what I said gives them license to condemn or gossip or otherwise fantasize about what I “really” meant. I don’t think this habit of how we might interact really has anything to do with me either. I think we land socially about where we are psychologically or what we think we deserve.

 

The closest kind of person I think that matches me psychologically is either older women or the quasi-pathological when it comes to their work. While there are plenty of those types around, it doesn’t mean you’re destined to be friends or occupying similar circles of interest. Hussain is a workhorse. Hatsam matched every minute of energy I put towards the coffee shop. Allie built the garden. I just had an exhausting conversation with an older woman workhorse who’s grasp of the various fields and sub-fields as it pertained to social work and connections therein might actually help us break through into some vein of self-operating.

 

Are we otherwise “inadequate” to each other? I think of my less-involved connections. I had people from work who would go bowling. I’m almost certain if I don’t send the invitation text, they’re not going to be the ones reaching out to start back up. Did we enjoy each other’s company? There were plenty of laughs, but I suspect my novelty wears thin. Maybe I consider the number of girls I’ve disappointed by not being husband material. Why, if I’m not good for a long-term commitment (read: pageantry of marriage) or a baby and willingness to endure any job that keeps up with the Jones’s, what good am I?

 

I can’t tell you how frustrating it has seemed to make exes when I tell them I just want them to be them and around. Oof, what a fucking asshole I am! What does that even mean!? Where do I get off pretending that I have no expectations for them or am not directing my critical ire onto their being? They’re looking to be defined, be dependent variables. Their boyfriend needs to reflect upon them something they aren’t otherwise feeling about themselves. You can’t just be cool with me! I’m a piece of shit!

 

I don’t know that I feel inadequate about nearly anything anymore. I have the power to eat better and get in shape if I think I’m getting too fat or find myself embarrassed I’m breathing too hard. I know it’s disinterest or mental fatigue that keeps me from diving right back into being a nerd reciting details about whatever topic. I wish I could find someone doing counseling that had a trick or skill I could steal or learn from, but the constant feedback I get is that I’m the one doing it better or the best; and I’m perfectly willing to consider the sources of each of those assessments. I don’t feel great about not having a master’s degree or license, but it’s not inadequacy, more like a frustration with the injustice and absurdity for the cost and indifference to the practical reality upon obtaining them.

 

I think most people know what they’re suffering or running from. If I’ve been in a thousand conversations about living off-grid or sustainability, I’m the only one I’m aware of who went for it, finding speckles of help here and there. If I tell you about some business idea I have, I start it, even if it’s always messy and confusing and if for no other reason than I sit primed with the cocked weapon to employ once the fog of what I don’t know is lifted. I ask the talented and knowledgeable inmates in guitar class to teach me what I don’t know.

 

I’ve been curious why “radical acceptance” has been such a reverberating catchphrase in my head, and now I might know why. It’s, somehow, radical to acknowledge reality. Because we’re constitutive of our environments, psychological, social, and biological, to hold an endless list of contradictory information or competing notions in a deadlocked war with any of those levels appears nearly impossible. Pretend you’re an addict whose whole family is as well. They love you. They’ve supported you. They are your ticket back to prison and a whole host of other horrible consequences for other people in your life. It’s pretty radical to accept their love and all the steps you have to take to perhaps rarely if ever engage with them while they are in active addiction and your true goal is to stay sober.

 

I “radically” embraced the hundred things I didn’t know about converting sheds into living spaces, ticks, driving, learning about country folk, huge projects with scant budgets and tools it would take years to save up for. I accept my “alone” or “outsider” status while fluidly joining you for dinner or pursuing new friendships where I might serve as fun or interesting in proportion to them as they do me. Writing, examining, and keeping open questions about how to think about myself or my life circumstances isn’t “that was the best concert ever!” when I do something entertaining or Insta-worthy. It was probably a good show, and the musicians were talented, and by the end I was just as happy to not have to stand any longer as I was when they played the one song I knew. And that’s okay.

 

I also understand that where I am is always falling short of the idyllic picture I had in my head. I literally only measured success as a child by my acquisition of a big TV, so that concept had to be retired. I still dream about a big house and sustainable experiments in different locations. And I can say at least I have the tools, land, and time spent getting a grasp on how to go about doing so. I’m still living in the dream. Whether I’ll ever find people who feel adequate enough with themselves to play with me, I don’t know. I also don’t have to find them to keep being radical in accepting my desires and obligations.