Peter

When I was a teenager, I would often listen to people. I'm not a genius listener: I can be pretty absent-minded in a conversation, and I can lecture when the other person in the conversation strikes a vein of geek-gold. But I listen a lot because I want to know things about people, about their lives and their opinions, and what they learned at school today. I want to hear them geek out and get excited, or articulate some personal philosophy they've just discovered. I like listening. When my mother found me a counselor when I was going through a hard time, I spent most of our sessions listening to him. That made me a little upset, but it was helpful in some ways to begin understanding myself. I learn a lot from listening. If you wait long enough, you will probably hear me repeat everything you've ever told me. My memory is Elephantine.

When I was a teenager, I also invented an imaginary friend. It didn't happen naturally: I had never had an imaginary friend as a kid (Good grief! There wouldn't have been room for him in the house!). I was a little jealous of kids who did have imaginary friends. So I invented one. First, I had an imaginary boyfriend (the constellation Orion), but he was only good for admiring and blowing kisses to. So I invented Peter. Peter was my best friend. I used to write him letters on Sundays. He has an e-mail address that I still use sometimes.

I asked my ex-friend Katie (my own personal proof that Scrabble can start a war) why I would do that, and although Katie has never been particularly insightful (I'm sure she would be - she's extremely intelligent - she just never bothered), she did suggest that I write to Peter because I have something to say. True to her dasein, she was only half correct. I do have something to say: that's why I have four blogs. But I wrote to Peter not out of some Ancient Mariner's curse to speak my story, but rather because there were things I had to say to which nobody should listen.

Even knowing that my reading audience is minimal-to-imaginary and very much sympathetic, I think carefully about what I want to say. I self-edit, as is only right in any instance of communication. That self-editing leaves large, even uglier pieces of myself that remain silent. These are the things I wrote to Peter. Peter never minded if I was being emotional. He never complained that I pitied myself, or expressed irrational anger. I could suck my thumb, and he wouldn't call me childish. I could talk about my pain, my anxiety, my teen angst (what little of that I had), or my intolerance. I could be frustrated, or nit-picky. A lot of what I wrote to Peter I wouldn't care to have read by anyone whose opinion of me matters. But I have a dark side.

I still have a dark side. I didn't outgrow it like I did my jeans. My inner child throws tantrums. She cries a lot. She's afraid of the dark. But she doesn't write to Peter anymore, because I'm too old for an imaginary friend.

So what do I do with all those silent slices of myself? Mostly, they leak out in small moments with good friends. I'll mention that I cried, or I'll say I'm frustrated, or tell them I'm having a bad day. If I say it with a smile, they understand that they don't have to listen. I don't want to take advantage of kindness. I don't want to lose acquaintances who aren't invested enough in our association to have any use for too much personal information. I don't need to. It's okay if nobody listens. And it's okay for three reasons:

1) God is not imaginary, and He always listens. Unlike Peter, God responds. He answers needs and thoughts. He speaks. I can be my ugliest in prayer, and find myself calmed. He can take my ugliest and change it into something useful.

2) There is always someone, even if I can't tell her my story, who will remind me that I am loved. I am surrounded by huggers, by smilers, by people who will sit with me. And if I can't tell them all my story, it is still enough.

3) I know very deeply how much people want to share. And I know how to be the one who will listen, because people are always more important than time.

Unfortunately, I'm not always the one who knows how to leave somebody in silence. Feel free to remind me.