Limelight

     "Look what I can do!" I might not ever say those words, and I may not have worn my tap shoes in well over a decade, but the windmilling, jazz-hands, shuffle-ball-changing glory hog in me is by no means dead. It's just living under an assumed name. I, my friends, am a closet megalomaniac. No, seriously. There are few things I ever do without an absurd amount of consideration about, what else, how it will make me look. And half the time it doesn't even matter how it makes me look, so long as it makes you look at me. How else could I enjoy my weekly Lip-Sync for Liberty? Why else would I have a blog? And that seems innocuous enough, right? But it isn't harmless, not really. When I stop to take a real close look at myself (and what self-obsessed person doesn't enjoy looking at themselves?), I find that the varied manifestations of this need for top billing often have a way of cutting me off from the world around me. 

     Do you know what my stepson does that absolutely drives me up the wall? He corrects me. All the time. Me and anyone else he finds in error, be it grammatical, factual, trivial... it doesn't matter. And do you know why I find it the single most irksome quality he possesses? Because I do the same damn thing. I always have, because I have always found it necessary to be right, or, when I could manage it, superior. And when he corrects me there's a moment where some strange ID-like structure deep inside me is angry at being challenged. As if that's what matters. It doesn't matter to him, not like it does to that bit of me, which is, let's face it, not the prettiest truth to acknowledge about oneself. 

     In school, I'm truly ridiculous in my quest to find favor with my instructors. My friend Tina is in the honors program at MJC, and this semester I'm taking a course with the director, Eva Mo. Now, knowing the effort Tina has poured into her honors courses, I have no time for that much extra energy, and as I'm going to attend University locally I don't even need any competitive edge. But still, I did my best to impress, and in doing so drove a wedge between myself and the other students and made out that I knew what I was doing in that incredibly tough class when I clearly don't. Because I needed her to ask me to join, so I can turn it down but know that I could have done it. And now that she has, I can relax. Isn't that insane?

     And I'm no better in church. This past Sunday I went to my first bible study at Saint Paul's where we discussed Psalm 27. The man who was informally leading the group (Nick?) incisively pointed out the beautiful human tension of doubt and faith and second-guessing God and ultimately advising patience from the writer's experience. I love the Psalms, and when asked how I found the community at St. Paul's I answered that reading a book about the Benedictines and their reading of the daily office led me to get a copy of the Book of Common Prayer. And reading the daily office stirred a yearning for a spiritual community with a strong scriptural presence and a nurturing atmosphere, which I do think I've found there. As the conversation went on, it became clear that these folks were analytical powerhouses, though not in any sort of showy or detached way, and I got intimidated. Briefly. Very briefly. But enough that I tried to tie the Episcopal church's participation in the ecumenical movement to something said about community and it didn't make any  sense, though they kindly didn't point this out. More than that, it wasn't genuine, which is the important thing. It was something said to mark me as in the know or brilliant. I said it to set me apart, when I was trying to be a part of. 

     For some reason, I need you to look at me as an object of wonder. I need you to walk away from our interactions impressed by my sharp wit, stunned at the breadth of knowledge I command. I need you to marvel at the insurmountable obstacles I've vaulted over, admire the perseverance with which I pursue my ambitions. I need you to note my warm heart and generosity, praise my saintly virtue. I need you to love me.