#theideasmithy

REFLECTION I hope you will find yourself beyond your wounds & your scars. Because you were there long before your bullies were. And you're there after they've gone. I hope you can see yourself in ways I can't see you. Maybe nobody can or ever will. I know you already do, actually. But you hide it as you refuse to look into mirrors or run from people who reflect you to you. I hope you find the courage to look. I hope you learn to like what you see. I hope you learn to love the bits you don't like. You already do that so well with other people. Why is this so hard with yourself? I hope when you look at your reflection beyond yourself, you will also see the joys between the pain. And treasure the lessons of the wins without letting them be stained by bitterness. I hope you will find acceptance for the parts of you that don't fit the mirror. Or other people's imagination. I hope you will learn to remember who you are, beyond what you can do for other people. Because you exist beyond their needs & how well you fulfil them. I hope you find your own hopes & transcend mine. And that they rise like the sun on the darkness you've experienced in your life. I hope this light will be reflected in your many mirrors. I hope this for you & I hope this for me. #theideasmithy https://www.instagram.com/p/CIfW_djpjeJ/?igshid=16wdat7lnawgv

AGE FETISH I watched @netflix_in #FabulousLives. I loved Neelam as a kid & even more now. At a self-confessed 50, she exudes the understated confidence that comes from riding life's ups & downs. But there's also a vulnerability, the hesitation about her looks, the uncertainty of comeback roles. Unlike the brittle tantrums of the others. This is owning age well, not resisting it. People say I look younger & expect me to take it as a compliment. I do not want to be 25. I've already been there. I didn't carry myself with the same ease because my body was newer to me & it held painful things. My life was not my own. Each day was surviving the control games by men, family, authority figures & social systems while trying to find identity. At 41, many of those battles are over, some won, some lost. I don't bear most of the scars anymore. But I have reduced vision, longer lasting hangovers, more medicines, supplements & monitoring needed where earlier a day would run along carelessly. I am not careless anymore. It's a new story of me so it annoys me to be force-cast into an outdated one. I have haters saying I should 'act my age'. It means shut up & stay invisible. It's ageism. I also get people demanding I take care of them or tolerate misbehaviour because I'm 'wiser'. This is ageism too because why does 41 have to look a specific way? In the show, the daughters of the main cast seem very young to me. Not in an appealing way. Their rawness makes my interest wane. There's a mind-numbing uniformity because after all, their youth is as yet unformed & only trying on various costumes, moods, identities. The mothers have such distinct stories, their choices, their regrets, the possibility of plot twists in their stories. There's a bit about the term MILF. I've dismissed it as an excuse for Oedipal syndrome. I stand by that. I'm not interested in being anyone's babysitter/sextoy. But I also believe our sexual desires carry clues to our hopes & needs. I must admit, this one implies at least recognition & admiration of the wealth of age. At 41 I'm on the same journey I was on at 25 or 33-to write who I am in this moment. Why impose one role on me? #theideasmithy https://www.instagram.com/p/CIZ4Pdapkt2/?igshid=10v7bk3jwkqog

FIERCE BUTTERFLIES There is something about living your best self that draws in other people. We call its wonderful parts, inspiration. The pleasure of watching someone achieve their dream, follow their passion, be happy.  But it also pulls in darker sides of humanity. Microaggressions like insincerity, barbs, sarcasm, condescension. Boundary violations like stalking, hero worship, objectification. Dangerous things like righteous rage & what I call themsplaining (which is people telling you who you are from their own limited point of view but as if that is the truth). Some people are in a hurry to impose on you, their scripts of what your life should look like & who you should be. It's a lot easier than saying, what a joy to behold & what does it teach me about my own joyfulness? People tell you who they are, in the way they respond to your happiest self. My dressing often brings in aggression. Workplace harassment for wearing a hair ornament. Bullying by a classmate for wearing sarees. Slut-shaming & prudery-shaming together. Don't ask - hate isn't logical. Last evening I sported a face painting, some people said was 'scary'. I once read an interview with Rudyard Kipling, where he spoke of the abuse he endured as a child. He said, "That experience left me devoid of the capacity to hate." My contentment in my body & clothes is probably terrifying for some people. It's hard to be angry at people who are scared of you. In my experience, refusing to respond with anger kills the aggression. Bullies have returned offering timid affection. It's hard to take seriously because a guilty compliment is a bribe, a desperate plea for approval. All I feel is sad for the smallness that humanity can also be. I go back to Kipling. And try & keep my head when all about are losing theirs & blaming it on me. This is being my best self. Doing this in big colours makes it an adventure. I am a fierce butterfly. 📢: Watch your reaction to what impresses you 🎶:YEHI MERI ZINDAGI HAIN- Dev D OST #theideasmithy #IWear https://www.instagram.com/p/CIVE6k7pY7j/?igshid=bre7gq64rud7

DEEP BREATH And we're into the last month of this year. Are we ready to let it go? Or are we still clinging to our wounds? Everything about my picture is 2020. Pictures at my table instead of on stage. Spectacles. Showing the world my frown. Does it matter why? Does my perfect 20/20 vision in the last 40 years count? Especially when it didn't give me actual foresight? Do the mistakes count? Yes, they do. Then so should the punishments, the regrets, the pain. And equally, the lessons, the luck, the reprieves, the rescues. It all counts. And it's too heavy to carry. There is something to be said for a mid-life crisis coinciding with a global pandemic. It has a way of forcing you to stay on the true & clear. It's impossible to ignore. At 41, I begin again. Re-examining the assumptions of love I've collected before jumping into another. Filing away tax returns & old certificates with care, then closing the files. Needing help to read, putting on the unfamiliar spectacles with a sigh & being thankful for sight, even if with help. Coping with rude 20-somethings trampling over me in their haste. Planning for a medical procedure so I can breathe better. Calling daily health routines, self-care. Not knowing the future. Learning to breathe despite that. Breathing easy. Laughing. Finding no comfort in achievement. Finding intimacy in places I never thought to look before. Awkwardly, unfamiliarly but truly. Every day is a lesson. This year has been a masterclass. Even for an obsessive learner such as myself, it's overwhelming. The only thing to do, is to keep breathing. #theideasmithy https://www.instagram.com/p/CIQMIy8ptpH/?igshid=jguy2v5o8e36

A BIG WORD When people say the word 'love', I usually recoil. I say that's a real big word, one I don't really know how to say. My language is rooted in past experiences & it pulls up memories of difficult feelings when it registers the word love. And then there are moods like today. I see pain around me. I hear angst push in between the pauses of someone trying to frame their plea to me, in words that will convince me to give them what they want. I feel rage spill through the misspellings of a hot take. I see it all. And all I feel is a cool breath pass through me. For one person here, I say there's no beating hate with hate. To another, I pat their arm metaphorically, as I infuse my words with gentleness. A text here saying I see the stories you're hesitant to tell & how brave you are to try anyway. A laugh sent along as a gift of sunshine bursting through a heavy evening. Later, I think of the disappointments, the rejections, the bumps & cuts in my connections with each of these people. The wounds seem healed but the scars are there, like tattoos telling a story with quiet resilience. What would happen if one of them doesn't care? If she stabbed me in the back? If he forgot about me? If they decided my story wasn't worth carrying? I feel something else trickle through each of these cracks. It's warm breath passing through me. Healing & the memory of it passes over my being, leaving only tattoos & more seeing. And I think, maybe it's not such a big word after all. 🎶: TODAY WAS A FAIRYTALE: Taylor Swift #theideasmithy https://www.instagram.com/p/CIKlp2kpTgQ/?igshid=14bm6nok0ta4d

ASHAMED This month I've encountered jealousy, anger, self-doubt, regret, worry & desire. It's been a month of big feelings. And every time something I call discomfort, rises. I've been squirming & grimacing like there was something in my innards that didn't sit well. It's called shame. Never mind why I've found shame in having large feelings. I'm not saying it doesn't matter, I'm saying it's my lesson to learn. There's talk about how we should be proud of such feelings. But I don't think that's the way to go. The opposite of shame isn't pride; it's responsibility. For most of us, 'taking pride' is bragging or worse, assuming that we have an all-pardon on things. But jealousy, anger, self-loathing & worry are not things to be aspired to. The glorification of anger is what causes hate culture & indeed, hate politics. Treating jealousy like it's a prideworthy thing creates toxic ideas of romance as most of us growing up in the 80s, 90s know - acid attacks & even #MeToo were a result of the entitlement this caused. And self-loathing, ugh. It's the foundation for co-dependency, for low self-esteem, for unbridled aggression & for hate. So how do we deal with the shame we feel for these? Glorification & shame are two sides of the same thing. They allow us to distance ourselves from these uncomfortable feelings & make them everyone else's problem. Yes, these are very human experiences. These are valid is not the same thing as saying these are acceptable to dump on other people. It means, they exist so acknowledge them to ourselves so we can learn how to work through them. And it means they are journeys for each of us to go through, without escape. I'm closing this week with less squirm & more thoughts. I'm trying to carry these feelings without a blast radius (bragging & shame each have one) that hurts other people. I hope I'll learn well. Maybe the point of these feelings is to experience who we are when we're alone, without someone else to comfort, judge, boost, attack or in any way tell us how the story should go. What story? The story of ME. Because what else is shame but the unwillingness to face oneself? #theideasmithy https://www.instagram.com/p/CIIKuSzJQyX/?igshid=4uajsridqbgy

A SMOKING GUN Can we hate people for being who they are? It can be hard watching people remain their worst selves when you can see their highest potential. It's difficult finding pettiness, rage, envy, weakness in those you know to be wise, strong, sensitive. Yesterday I found myself in the blast radius of more than one rageful person. Their rage was not caused by me, yet I got hit by their aggression, their violent self-pity. My every instinct says people who throw pity parties don't deserve anything from me. But what disturbed me most was the memory of last week when I found myself in the throes of rage. I hated the feeling then because I judge it so harshly. It's a vile emotion. Righteous rage is a step worse since it weaponises victim mentality & lets the enraged person justify their abuse of other people. I felt like yesterday I was being forced to confront something I try to avoid, face it over & over again to learn - what? Anger is an emotion that makes us feel powerless & overwhelmed. I guess righteousness is a way to feel powerful again, to feel like we're back in the driver's seat of our lives, wielding the kind of instant power that rage has. But that is an illusion. Rage is a smoking gun. You hold responsibility for who you point it to, who you fire at. And it really does not protect you from being fired at yourself. I'd say righteousness is even more dangerous for this, since it blinds us, already foggy-headed from anger. How do we deal with someone carrying a smoking gun? Carefully, very carefully. And by getting the hell out of the way as soon as we can. It is not my place to talk a rage-maddened one into putting down the gun. Yet, this is so hard when one is made to connect with people, to heal & accept & inspire. A person with a gun is still a person. Someone who loves, laughs, cries. It's hardest to remember that people have their own journeys when you see them go to dark places. Maybe that's because it feels like they're dragging you there too. Maybe the smoking gun is a test of fire for people on both sides of it. 🎶: BANG BANG (MY BABY SHOT ME DOWN): Nancy Sinatra #theideasmithy https://www.instagram.com/p/CIFfRiEpKKh/?igshid=xjz0b6ami9gl

THE SELF ESTEEM PROJECT When I was 22, a boyfriend called me dark & ugly. He said I was the classic beautiful girl's ugly best friend. He said the only reason a guy would be with me was because I looked desperate & easy. For months after, I bathed in scalding hot water, trying desperately to scratch out memories, insults, wounds he had inflicted. My classmates, people who had copied my notes, called themselves my friends watched & did nothing. Some of them even cheered. I decided that day that no man would be allowed an opinion on my body. I had been a creature of the mind. Even if my body was the least important part of my identity, it would be mine to possess & protect. I didn't know I was embarking on something that would become a lifelong project - a commitment to self. In the years since, I've examined other wounds people have inflicted on my body. Insults, shaming, body standards, moral policing. Not one had my interests at heart. Every single one wanted to take me down. Should such people be allowed to matter? Not in my body, not in the kingdom of my self. It struck me when @devansheedidwhat commented on my remark "I know I look good today". It wasn't flippant but it has become habit. I pay myself generous compliments to offset the heavy-duty hatred piled on me by the media, beauty complex, patriarchy & other people's weakness . Each is a big war to fight. I'd rather fortify my inner reserves. I like who I am so it's harder for gaslighting to make impact. Earlier this year, my classmates (the OG gaslighters) shamed me for my dressing. It didn't land. Their words are just foul-smelling air that passes. To me, activism is about making the world better. You don't do that by making it worse for someone else. You can't heal by inflicting wounds on others. But loving yourself is like shining a beacon. It lights you up from within & maybe it shines a way for others to follow, if they so choose. Love yourself. Make the mirror your best friend. Compliments are a good place to start. 📸/🎥/🎶: @unerasepoetry 📢: Rethink compliments & insults that reference the body. 🔌: HAVE YOU MET MY FEMINISM? - YouTube/UnerasePoetry #theideasmithy #selflove #selfesteem https://www.instagram.com/p/CICu8t5pc93/?igshid=1qddfl1iefvii