“I just came in from a walk, slightly rainy, but with a sweater and thick jacket. I’m feeling a bit overheated. While out, I put on the Charismatic Singer on YouTube, listening to Elizabeth Zharoff, a professional opera singer share her experience of “Sound of Silence” by Disturbed. I love that song. What’s funny is that listening to her break down the vocals and her experience offers nuance and interest in the song I didn’t have before. What a cool and rewarding 20 minutes that was.
Anyway, thank you for having us. We had such a great time. Evelyn and I were talking about having you at our home sometime. Would that be something you’d be interested in? We, too, have a guest room. I only have a few minutes before my next client, but just wanted to thank you again and appreciate you seeing in Evelyn what we do. She is a joy, you’re right, and I’m so happy the two of you met.
I hope your new year is going well so far. Mine sure is. I’m focusing on physical health, and it’s my third day of journeying towards getting 10,000 steps in. So far, I’m feeling good, slightly sore, but I anticipate this will be a sustainable change. Especially if I have good music, videos, or podcasts to check in.”
Above is a response email to a friend. While on the walk, I thought of blogging and how it’s me talking to myself and also to you. But as I was preparing a response to my friend, I noticed myself more open and okay with expressing myself in a way that felt really authentic. This then got me thinking, how do I take that intimacy to the page?
There’s a card game with questions like “The time I felt the most free was…” and “A rule I love to secretly break is” that had a few friends and me sharing secrets we’d never told anyone. I’m thinking of the things said, like my friend’s hour alone on a road trip, and my other friend peeing in a bottle he keeps on a shelf at work. That level of intimacy is what I imagine treeing a fox is to a foxhound is like, or connecting the final dot for a monocle-holding detective.
There’s this desire to slip into a silky negligee, nipples hardened against the cool sleekness of the fabric, and with a gaze connecting to the eyes in the crowd, walking barefoot and bare-souled onto a stage in front of millions.
That image I just created reminded me of someone I met in a one-time acting class I took in my free time one summer. The woman, a ballerina, far more secure in her body than I, and the teacher, went through the motions of removing her shoes, placing on her ballet shoes, and warming up. The class exercise had us doing something we normally did in our day-to-day life, only in front of the class. I brought a full-length mirror and put on my makeup. Man was I anxious! Such an interesting switch from me doing my normal everyday thing to knowing people are watching. So with a bent knee, the ballerina rolled down her sock, and snugly set her shoe to foot, all while her bare-legged and barely covered nether regions left little not to be seen. It was only after, in the teacher’s feedback, that perhaps she should be a bit more mindful of her body and the audience.
I’ll see you here tomorrow. Love, Jaclynn
Going On 40 