Easy

I told Meryl how it was to talk to this guy who’d only read my writing, yet he knew me. Well, he was a writer too. I guess he could read between the lines. He talked to me as though he was aware that I had no hidden agenda. That he could take what I said as what I meant. I almost danced with energy as I related the freeing feeling. I was able to be myself without worrying that I was being mistaken, misunderstood, mistrusted. It was as if my brain could come out to play without worrying. Playing is such a good thing.

She said, “Girl, that guy had you figured out and wrapped up with a bow in 20 seconds. That must have been scary.”

“No, it was thrilling and so much fun. I kept saying things like ‘That’s so smart,’ and ‘Whoa, that’s cool.’ It was like being on an equal playing field with someone you can learn a lot from.”

Then I told Duncan about the same thing. To him I added, “He reminded me of you—his voice patterns, the way he spoke to me. It was distracting. I had to stop him to tell him that he reminded me of a dear friend from college.”

“I thought that was just a tumor I have,” Duncan said sweetly.

“Maybe he has a tumor, too.” I threw back.

“No seriously, it’s like he understood that my heart and head are transparent. He helped me when I didn’t know what I meant.”

“That’s good,” Duncan told me. “I’ve seen people fight your lack of guile for the longest time and get really frustrated trying to find a way to change it—or to prove it isn’t so.”

“Hey,” I said, “If they thought they were frustrated, imagine how frustrated I was.”

Sometimes its so hard to be myself, but once in a million times it’s easy.

Easy and fun to be myself. Imagine that.

−me strauss Letting me be