The Mystery of Sincerity.

If someone came up to me at any time and they asked what I valued most in any relationship, even if I was half asleep and my brain could barely function enough to remember what day it was, I could answer that particular question without hesitating: SINCERITY. Funny how the word 'sincerity' roles off the tongue quite easily, but how difficult it is for many to actually let the rest of the words rolling off that same tongue be anything but sincere. I don't always get it. Actually, most of the time I think I do, but in those moments when this interesting concept begins to feel like a mystery that can't be solved, I remind myself of another word whose meaning holds enough power to bring about a sense of fear, and that word is...VULNERABILITY.

Sincerity and Vulnerability, they're like fraternal twins, and in order for that comparison to work, they have to be two very distinct ideas that are born at about the same time. First comes Vulnerability, it often follows feelings of timidity; it may even be accompanied by a tad bit of fear...then it decides to show its face ever so slowly. Vulnerability takes awhile to develop. It requires its vessel to be mature enough to abandon any qualms so that it can fully embrace it. Once it is known, Sincerity can then become a verb, though it was only a noun before.

Basically, I think that is how it goes. Oh, yep, I know what you're thinking...and I agree! I left out so many other details, like those that accompany individuality! I'm speaking in general terms, though. Based on observations, and reflections about my own life, I've come to believe that vulnerability and sincerity exist for each other. As I mentioned before, it takes so much time for someone to trust another someone enough before they can allow for vulnerability to enter the relationship. Vulnerability requires us to have faith in people. And often times we come with our own unwritten requirement sheet listing all the tests the other person must pass before we can even entertain the thought of being vulnerable with them. It's a safety mechanism. So, in the meantime, before we can be anywhere near vulnerable, we have to show the parts of ourselves that we feel are 1) easy to handle 2) socially acceptable and 3) far from boring. It's like being the hostess; you must keep the visitor entertained, happy, and comfortable. It's only when you finally invite the visitor to stay forever that you start becoming comfortable enough to let them see the dust bunnies under the furniture (because you really do get tired of having to clean them up, since you normally don't do it anyway). And when that guest takes-up your offer to stay forever, that's when sincerity walks right in without knocking...and you're okay with it.

Doesn't that sound like how it kinda works? You know what cliche's coming to mind right about now, the one that really irks me, even though it tends to hold a lot of truth: "You always hurt the ones you love." How stupid is that? It makes absolutely no sense...and yet, I hate to admit it, in some strange way it does. We know they're going to stick around. They're not visitors anymore, they actually want to stay, but why is it that they get moved from the comfortable guest room to the rat-infested attic? I guess it's because they passed the test that suggested they'd always be accepting of our behavior because they love us? Sad. Isn't it? But this is when it moves from being genuinely sincere to ridiculously wrong.

Now that I've reflected on the idea of relationships a little more, I can see how I was slightly off- target when I started this entry...because what's the point in valuing sincerity in a relationship if there isn't any unconditional love there to sustain its existence in the first place? Basically, going back to the visitor analogy, why is it that when the visitor becomes a permanent resident, we move them into the attic and stop cleaning up the dust bunnies? Why do we become comfortable with their acceptance of our mess? Sure, they should be forgiving of our messes/faults because they love us, but on the same note, our love for them should give us the incentive to vacuum under the sofa, and let them continue to stay in the best room in our home...Because, as another cliche holds, it really is a two way street.

I firmly believe that if any relationship is going to thrive, sincerity, complete vulnerability, and unconditional love must serve as its foundation. Sure, as I mentioned earlier, many people have a hard time being vulnerable and sincere, but what we all struggle with is loving unconditionally. This means, as the word suggests, that we must show it ALL THE TIME, even when the dust bunnies are around. Unconditional love takes on many forms; sometimes it's simply a matter of being more patient, or actively listening, BUT it's definitely always about forgiveness. We have to be willing to fully accept apologies when they are offered to us, because if we don't, we become resentful, cold, and closed-off. Once that happens, there is really no way for sincerity or vulnerability to exist in any current or future relationship. How can it? When we refuse to forgive, we coddle the negative memories; they even consume us to the point that we don't allow ourselves to trust anyone else due to the fear we have of being hurt again.

(Random Side note: This is part of the reason why I write, to learn more about myself, to figure it out...believe me, you, I am a SLOW learner!)

What I learned from a bowl of cereal.

When I was about 9, my grandfather gave me a slightly antiquated wooden treasure chest with old, brass looking hinges. It was the heaviest treasure chest I had ever come across (probably because the only treasure chest I had ever seen up to that point was the not-so-magical, but very plastic one at the dentist office) so I was convinced that it had to be "authentic". My belief in this particular treasure chest's supernatural qualities was unshaken. I imagined that it most likely came from somewhere deep beneath the sea. Definitely from a place where mermaids slept in huge oyster shell beds as they carried on conversations with other under water creatures that were so extravagant looking, not even Disney characters could take them on.

How I viewed my surroundings was very similar to how I viewed that treasure chest, at least as a child. Everything seem so magnified, obviously because I was small. The doorways in my grandparent's house seemed extra big, it always seemed like it would be forever until I could finally look out the window while taking a road trip, and Hello Kitty and her friends at the Sanrio store held the key to my happiness. It was that simple, these represented my youth's perceptions, deepest concerns, and definitions of happiness. Boy, was I happy when I could fit into a pair of high heels, I didn't have to wear the cheap hot-pink ones that only came in the Toys "R" Us brand; it was time to move on to the over-priced-because-they're-blister-producing Kenneth Cole's.

Isn't that how it is when you're young? You can't wait until the Fruit Loops change the milk's color from white to psychedelic I-don't-know-what, but you don't want your cereal to get soggy at the same time. Then, to top it off, Life pulls up a chair right next to you at the breakfast table and says "That's just the way it is! " without even pouring you a glass of orange juice, and you respond by saying, "So much for a balanced breakfast, pal! ". Yep, and right about now I'm just beginning to open my (thank God, not cavity infested from all that sugary cereal) mouth, not for another tasty spoonful of rainbow colored Os, but to make that same exact disappointed declaration.

Well, I'm not that bitter all the time, but it happens to the best of us.

These days, when I go back to visit my grandparents, everything is so much smaller than it used to be. It almost amazes me. Now it's like I can hold all of the beliefs from my childhood in the palm of my hand as I closely examine all the tiny details under a microscope of knowledge and experience. I realize that there never really was treasure in that treasure box, despite the fact that I wanted it to be true. I realize other things too, though...

I had this perfect view of my family. There were so many things that were shielded from me as a child, but there were also things that my ignorance shielded me from fully seeing and understanding. As the cliche holds, ignorance is bliss...but it's temporary. Every year, I see more and more details, I can hold more things in my hand; see more things under that microscope, even when I don't want to. At the same time, and this is true for many of us, life was not easy for me growing-up. I had ways of coping with difficulty so that I could hope for better things; I used my imagination as a tool to keep me safe. But there were also the definite realities outside of my imagination that encapsulated my hope for the future as they became the pleasant memories from my past. They were the times when I became familiar with something beyond what my imagination could offer, love. Each of those moments was a genuine treasure, and I collected them like pearls as they held together the necklace of my true happiness.

Isn't it fascinating how good memories serve to strengthen us when we're suddenly taken back in time by another memory we'd rather not keep? Our childlike imaginations can only shield us from so much, especially when knowledge unveils the truth. Even our imaginations cannot create something truly sustaining as hope and love, only an experience can allow for that. But we have to let the cereal get soggy in order to see its magic work on the milk :).

Tie a knot and hold on.

Lately it's been hard for me to put down the crochet needle. It's become a new addiction, crocheting. It keeps my fingers busy while my mind works on sorting through things. For some reason, though, I've failed at trying to make a scarf that doesn't resemble an indecisive politician. Sometimes, the edges go one way, sometimes they go the other; it's tough. I think I've started over on this project about 8 times. Oh well, like I said, it keeps me busy and it's a form of therapy. I don't mind too much. Anyhow, I noticed that some parts of the scarf looked pretty bad, while other parts looked more put together. Funny thing is, they're just a bunch of knots, and they're the same kind of knot, except some of the knots are more secure than the others...I know it seems I'm spending more time than necessary just observing the little twists and turns of the yarn, but I really want to do it right this time around. I'm determined.

But while closely taking note of every movement my crochet needle takes as it magically pulls the green yarn that will eventually become part of a scarf, I realize that crocheting a scarf is a lot like living life. We tie knots, one right after the other, some of us have cleaner looking knots, some of our knots barely hold, but, in the end, we all have a scarf that works, somehow. We're given a ball of yarn at the beginning of our lives, but it's really up to us to make something useful of it. Sure, we're gonna have moments where the loops start unlooping, but at least we're still moving our fingers along. It's ok. When the scarf is finished, if it still works, it doesn't really matter what it looks like close-up, with all the little mistakes that taught us something new. From far away, it's a scarf.