bound(ary) crossing

When I was a teenager, and even into my twenties, I lived through others people's brazenness and (what I perceived to be) bravery. I had one friend in particular who, I think, repainted her own boundaries all the time and there i would be following a few paces behind receiving all manner of vicarious thrills while pretending I was just as bold. There were memorable moments. Like the time in a bar that I turned to see her dumping a drink on a guy's head because he asked her to dance at which point punches were exchanged and we were escorted from the premises, or when we were chased through Hoboken by two guys whose really-choice, classic-red Camaro was on the receiving end of a rock thrown by her (and then she faced them down by yelling "What are you going to do, hit a girl?" i was pretty sure the answer could easily have been Yes), or the always popular late-night, inebriated stroll through the very-opposite-of-what-is-now-the-land-of-high-priced-real-estate, Lower East Side, to get sassy with the scary locals. All this culminating in me being so, so happy when we'd make it home alive. But at the same time, the endorphins did rush. Until they didn't anymore and I began to wonder why I kept putting myself in situations that were becoming less and less fun. But I couldn't for the life of me figure out how to untangle myself from the friendship. So I slept with her ex-boyfriend, who happened to be my roommate, who then became my boyfriend (not too much more to the story except to say that my decisions at the time were not always very forward-thinking or intelligent). This move guaranteed that from then onward she would despise me.

When I was still in it, I remember feeling as if each incident was beginning to form one long highway to hell that, instead of thrilling me, was making me crave the middle of the road. Or at least to be shown where the on-ramp for that saner stretch of street might be. I know I could have found it without resorting to throwing quite so large a wrench in the works, but at the time I didn't really feel i had the tool belt necessary. To a slight degree, I was paying attention to what drove me: I took up a career with deadlines and assignments because it made me feel safe and confident to know exactly what was required. Although concurrently, I took up relationships with people who had no interest in expressing safe or confident. Out of those two scenarios, the former worked the best by far.

But slowly it dawned on me that my definition of bravery was all askew. I began to realize that bravery has nothing to do with outward acts derring-do (or, rather, dumbass-do) and everything to do with inner moments of development. I'm still discovering that. The other night in the class I was visiting I had one of those revelatory moments where your body tells you something that your mind only suspected was true: that boundaries actually help me become more intimate with someone (and myself) because i can hold a gaze and be curious without the expectation of drawing any closer. all i need to do is look and stay in the gaze. I also discovered that i'm capable of throwing little movement tantrums when i'm instructed not to do something and i decide i want to do it anyway. bursts of five-year-old emotion come out of me and i want to cross that line that i've been told not to cross. but in the end, i respect the boundary and revel in the bravery it takes to face myself inside of it.

This to me, is one brave and trailblazing chick. And talk about a gaze...all mischief and fun. And she's still blazing trails. Her book:
Just Kids. awesome.