ACCEPTANCE

          I’m reading a fascinating memoir, Unorthodox,  by Deborah Feldman. I’ve always had an interest in people from other cultures - in this case she was raised as a Hassidic Jew – because I like to see what we have in common and how we differ. Today, doing laundry I thought about how women (and some men, or course) all over the world wash clothes and that it isn’t so much what we do that makes us different from each other, but what we think.  And even then, what we think is pretty similar. We want to live up to our own expectations, and we want to please those we respect (or fear), we want to be acknowledged, accepted, praised, loved. 

          In Feldman’s case she had to act according to a strict code of behavior that discouraged her from reading, something she loved. Circumstances beyond her control meant she was raised by her grandparents out of sense of duty, so she never felt truly loved or wanted.  And yet a fire burned within her which ultimately produced her wonderful book.

          I know that growing up I was always seeking my father’s approval and most of the time I thought I fell short.  He was a stickler for perfection, from the way he wanted me to make my bed, in the military style, to remembering to turn off lights when I left the room.   He had certain standards of what he considered beautiful and explained that beauty meant a symmetrical face, wide cheekbones, a long neck.  I fell short in the cheekbone department but fortunately I had big eyes and after years of orthodontic torture, straight teeth.

          As I got older my mother let me know how proud she and my father were that I had become a poet, a noble calling that I had in common with my father’s petite English mother.  And they were proud of me when they saw me working at the Sand & Sea Club, organizing and coordinating events.  I’m glad I made my parents proud.  And yet, I still remember the dozens of times my father asked incredulously why I would ever want to leave Santa Monica, where the weather was rarely too hot or too cold. Did he really not understand that weather wasn’t that important to me?

          I’ve always wanted to please the people in my life – family members, teachers, boyfriends, girlfriends, co-workers. I want to be liked. I want to feel needed. I like being part of a group, a team. I liked being in Brownies when I was little, and in the Duprees in high school. Tomorrow I get to emcee at our church talent show, and read two poems. I’m happy to feel that I’m “one of them.”

          I’m not a risk taker. I’m not a rebel.  My mother had to “kick me out” of the house when I was nineteen, saying, “Little bird, fly out of the nest!”  She was dealing with my father and his affair, she didn’t want to be wondering where I was at two in the morning.

          I didn’t voluntarily leave my first house in Topanga either. When I returned from having my wisdom teeth out my roommate’s dogs had trashed the house – my bed was a muddy mess.  In her defense she was stranded in Santa Monica and PCH was closed due to landslides, but the point is, I might have stayed there forever if I hadn’t been forced to get away from her and her druggie friends.

          Most big changes in my life came involuntarily – having to leave Ten Speed Press when I got hepatitis from Roger; divorcing Roger because he chose to go to Israel and live on a kibbutz; staying until the very last day when the Sand & Sea Club closed; leaving our home on Quartz Mountain to move to Texas because we couldn’t afford it anymore.

          And yet, with each change came new people, new experiences and new things and people to love. Oh, I suppose if I really scrutinized the choices in my life I might see that in some instances I was the one to initiate change. But not often.  This is why it’s so hard for me to be an independent writer and teacher, sending out proposals and crossing my fingers that someone will want me and my skills.

          I think of my friends, who of course are all intelligent, kind, enlightened individuals I admire – otherwise they would not be my friends. I want them to get the praise and recognition they deserve for their humor, determination and myriad talents.     I really do have the best, most interesting friends. I include in this group my husband who sees the world through such different eyes, it’s amazing we can communicate at all.

          The Unity church is big on stressing that we’re all one in this world together, bound by our humanity.  To emphasize this, we were divided into two groups and sang two different songs simultaneously. But as we did, I kept thinking that being part of a group automatically separates you from the other groups.

          So is my need to be accepted by my group really a desire to separate myself from the big, ugly, scary world of nasty mean, narrow-minded people who think differently than I do? 

          I hope not. If you put me in a room with any person on the planet I’ll sure I can find something in common with her (him?) because after all, we’re only human.