by tashmcgill | Oct 7, 2015 | Culture & Ideas
I can hardly breathe when she’s in the room. I’m overwhelmed with a sense of envy and admiration for this woman.
She is intoxicating, infuriating, complex and yet astonishingly simple. A walking paradox. She is loved – loved so hard, and by so many. I’m envious of how I imagine she is loved.
Perhaps because I’m the only one who really knows her, where to trace lines of invisible ache, where to find hidden tattoos – I love her and loathe her. I’m compelled by her presence but it’s a bad romance – one I need to leave but can’t walk away from.
She is I, yet not I.
She is only the projection of the woman I’d like to be; the False Self magnified in perfection. She is just who I imagined I would become instead of who I am. When I see glimpses of her in others; I’m filled with love and contempt at once. She’s good, so good. She’s less selfish than I am, better and smarter than I am.
People invite her to dinner and are proud to have her in their company. They listen to the words that fall from her lips, longing for one of her smiles or her embrace. They find her wise and life-giving and the work of her hands bring richness and joy to their lives. She is content with herself, utterly at home in her skin and her own sense of self-assurance invites people into comfort with themselves.
I’m the jealous type – envious of the woman I always wanted to be. Envious of the woman some people think I am. I’m envious because I know the truth. I’m jealous of her because when she is present I am all too aware of my own failings. I am not the best at what I do. I am not selfless in the way she is, I am not as innately good as she is, I am a shadow in comparison to her.
She is phenomenal. Most importantly, she has earned the goodwill of those whom I admire. I am average. I have not earned it. I know the truth of my failings. I know the difference between my aspirations and my reality.
My true self is not as I thought I was. I thought I was funnier, smarter, stronger, more desirable and ultimately – I thought I was better than I am.
The True Self.
It’s easy to change the projection of ourselves we share with the world. A change of hair colour or clothing style, even the application of a little lipstick here and there – it’s a little smoke and mirrors magic we use to sway opinion, to create a little power here and there.
But living well is only found in authenticity. We can only grow what’s true, what’s grafted to the vine – that which has true life. So despite our best intentions, you can’t ‘fake it til you make it’ when it comes to yourself. You can only embrace the truth and grow from there, no matter how uncomfortable or unpleasant or disappointing it may be.
It is not the end. I am not finished becoming. But my true self is not as I thought I was. I thought I was funnier, smarter, stronger, more desirable and ultimately – I thought I was better than I am. My starting point is not what I thought it was.
I live with jealousy and envy of the woman I thought I would become and wanted to be. In embracing my True Self, I have to let her go but I find she lives on in my imagination day after day. She follows me into conversations and meetings, on adventures and into real life.
That’s when I realise – She is the shadow and I am the True Self. I breathe, she does not. She is static – only ever in two dimensions because she is not true, therefore she cannot grow. She is not real nor authentic. I am the living one. I turn my envy to anticipation of who this True Self, average woman will become. I have not imagined her yet and therefore I desire to meet her.
by tashmcgill | Aug 19, 2015 | Culture & Ideas, Spirituality
On the corner of my street there’s a street lamp shining bright on the intersection of suburban roads. There’s barely a car parked in sight; from the end of my driveway I can count just three. But there under the spotlight, is the corner dairy (a 7-Eleven of sorts), the bus stop and an Indian take-out store. In which the lights are blazing and the door wide open despite being 12 degrees celcius. ‘Well, they’re optimistic,’ I think to myself, my inner monologue dripping with cyncism.
It’s 9.00pm on a Tuesday night and I’m crawling inside to finish a fraction of what needed to get done today and the remnants of a to-do list going back to Friday 2 weeks ago. I’m feeling deflated and empty; I have been for days actually. Everything feels like a fight in which I keep getting ‘No’ for an answer and while I’m not losing – not yet defeated, I’m desperate for a ‘Yes’. For a win, for a step closer to the dream.
I’m close to throwing a tantrum in the face of the Universe. A grown-up one, with big words and everything.
I go out to dinner, to movies, for a wine or three, parties for kids and friends come for dinner and all of it’s good for a moment, until I’m back left with myself. I’d just like a ceasefire in the warzone I’m in, a truce where the Red Cross comes storming in to simply bandage the wounds and nurse me along a little. I’m so hungry for kindness and connection I’m almost like a child who wants to be indulged simply – because I do. I’m close to throwing a tantrum in the face of the Universe. A grown-up one, with big words and everything.
Not for anything trivial like love or biology or even the politics of sexuality and refugees, although I can make a pretty good case there. No, bigger things – like ‘why is meaning so hard to grasp and so much of life filled with meaninglessness’ and ‘why do we live with a sense of displacement and crave belonging’?
I’m almost convinced I could make a winning case to demand answers but the biggest battle I’m fighting is Me. Fighting to let go, to hold on, to give love and stay soft-hearted when I’d rather put up defensive offense. Battling to submit to other people’s methods, to collaborate when I love independence, fighting not to let go of my love of excellence and fighting the urge to say many times over, I call ‘bullshit’.
(I’m sorely tempted to call bullshit on inspirational social media posts, on mindfulness and yoga mantras, especially on religious politics and the politics of religion. I want to remind everyone that you’re just an entertainer on Facebook for an audience you determine and that the strong, independent woman is as much of a Unicorn as winning can be without someone having to lose.)
The biggest battle I’m fighting is Me. To find peace in the midst of ambition, a little give in a world of take.
Most of this could be solved by hibernating for a weekend or three, resting in good company that doesn’t mind taking care of me a little. Strong, capable, independent as I am – I need a little reminder of what it’s like to play. To laugh. To feel good. To feel alive. A gentle reminder that work isn’t everything, even when it seems like it’s the only thing. I probably just need some good sex in good company, with a laugh or two.
And all this probably has nothing to do with the Indian take-out store on the corner.
Except the flashing neon ‘OPEN’ sign now flashes in the front window and sometime in the last week they’ve added twinkling fairy lights. Where the door used to remain closed it’s open to the street and there’s even a sign on the curb of the road. There’s a bus that stops across the road once every 80mins or so, and a tinny house on the opposite corner which is probably mutually beneficial. I’m not sure who they’re hoping will turn up. I’ve lived here five years looking at that same corner, same tinny house, same Indian store and all of sudden they’ve opened the door. The hopeful audacity of it. Open doors, defying belief and daring the neighbourhood to place an order. That if you try, they will come. If you stay open and welcoming, people will turn around and look after you. If you fight just a little more, ‘No’ might turn to ‘Yes’.
It’s easy to turn my cynicism audacious, to make the bullshit calls loud and clear. To turn up the volume on everything but hope. It’s harder to choose a hopeful audacity. A plucky bleeding courage that keeps on playing anyway. A hopeful audacity that compells me to put on my unicorn panties and rise again tomorrow. To keep on battling for a yes.
by tashmcgill | Jul 15, 2015 | Bodies, Culture & Ideas
From the archive: A few years I lost a lot of weight and noticed some interesting changes in the way people responded to me. Here’s a snippet of what I reflected on back then.
I don’t make any secret of the fact that I’m as single as a single person comes – never been on a date, never held hands, never been kissed. I do consider myself to be in possession of a fairly healthy sexuality. I’ve certainly met my fair share of men who, in possession of depth, character and a sense of humour have won my affection. In other words – I’ve never been not open to the idea. In fact – if there is one thing in this world that I know how to do.. it’s crush. I’mreally good at seeing the beauty, goodness and wonder in the people around me.
Still – something in the wind has changed.
The only thing that’s changed is my physical appearance. And I’m not offended by it. It’s the most honest thing to acknowledge. Sometimes love and romance needs a trigger; sex certainly does.
Whatever the threshold of commonly accepted desirability/eligibility is – I think I’ve passed it. For the first time in my adult life, people are taking an interest in my love life. They’re suggesting people to connect with. It’s intensely strange to experience something that feels so adolescent at this stage of my life. Some in jest, some in resolute seriousness, have begun to talk about my relationship status, potential mates. From the most unusual places, comes commentary, speculation and suggestion.
The only thing that’s changed is my physical appearance. And I’m not offended by it. It’s the most honest thing to acknowledge. No more of that, true love loves regardless stuff. Sometimes love and romance needs a trigger, and sex definitely does. Chemistry might still exist but it has a hard time getting out there when you’re carrying extra kilos than you should. There’s no issue in that for me. I’m so different now to how I was and so much the same. I’m no more or less sexually aware or available than I ever was… but others’ awareness of me has changed.
In fact, it’s almost a rewarding gratification. It’s a relief to be noticed at last. It’s a relief to have my sexuality, my gender recognised and attributed to my attractiveness. It’s confirming and affirming my identity and participation within the species. I am no more woman than ever I was, but oh, you should hear me roar now.
What I wonder is – to what extent does physicality impact our overall perception of sexuality/eligibility and attraction? I’m not really that different in mind or heart than I was 10 months ago, but still I think a friend said it best, when he said “You’ll be married any minute now – just look at you!” I’m thinking it impacts us quite a lot. In fact, more so the group and community dynamic than the individual. After all, in years past – the art of matchmaking has always had a place in community ritual. So, community affirmation of sexuality and gender identity is important.
So, is there a threshold at which we subconsciously categorize people and attribute a certain level of asexuality to their persona? A point at which we stop considering the attributes of sexuality in the consideration of a whole person?
From Another Side
I’ve always felt guilty of failure, as if there was a part of my understanding of human nature that was simply underdeveloped, unqualified due to my inexperience. I’ve had to consciously shirk off feelings of “less-than” and the looks that suggested a sub-text I’d only understand once I’d had a relationship of my own.
I can agree that there are many nuances of human behaviour that I have not experienced for myself. Still, my observation skills seem to increase exponentially as the years tick by. Last night around drinks, there was a refreshing and unheard of perspective shared for the first time ever. With it, a bit of a bubble broke and I felt somehow released.
“Still,” he said (being the recipient of a recently shattered heart), “you’ve got to be thankful that you don’t have any of that baggage of poor relationships to carry into the future. Everything’s a fresh clean slate.”
Yes – there is something delightful about that. Whatever tragedies I have suffered on my own or lived vicariously through my friends … I have no significant love wounds. All unnecessary and unfounded conjecture on love may abound – but I can believe the best of love between a man and a woman. I can believe in soulmates, in connection as deep of the deepest oceans. I can believe in patience and appreciating someone for who they are, not how they make me feel. I can love freely out of knowing myself. I can believe the best of love and how it is.
Now, the world says I am qualified for love; acceptably attractive. The community expects it of me. Isn’t that strange?
This was written more than five years ago. I’m slightly heavier now than I was writing this, but just as single. A few stolen kisses and plenty of confirmation of my robust, vital sexuality. Still unscarred from love and yet, not without wounds. My community has changed expectation too. Now, those who speak say it’s my intelligence and independence. Others nod sympathetically, I just nod. I am more myself now than I was then but I have always been me.
by tashmcgill | Mar 2, 2015 | Culture & Ideas, Leadership
There is no such thing as broken, not when it comes to human beings.
It’s a lie. The logic follows that if a man or woman can be broken or have brokenness, then a man or woman might also obtain ‘perfection’. I am determined to rid us of this language that separates our humanity and divinity in such a way.
I have no desire for an overly virtuous piety. I want wholeness; a kind of rugged holiness that is my body, mind and soul integrated. The darkness and the light of me, entwined together. Piety alone cannot give me freedom, it can not bring me home to myself. If I fall and scrape my knee, if my blood spills on the earth – I heal, but I am not left unmarked. The scar is evidence itself of that which is wounded and that which is whole being woven together through the act of living.
Wholeness is not the opposite of brokenness. Wholeness is accepting myself, both good and bad. Accepting the divinity and humanity within me. No man is wholly good, but he might find his true self in accepting what is shadow and what is glorious. Accepting your true self perhaps the largest obstacle to embracing and living/being the person you dream (or have not yet dreamed of being) with real freedom. Whether that is making money, developing the third world, pursuing art – whatever it is that is within you; you were made to impact the world. More of us than we like to think, were made to spend our energies in the pursuit of bringing others and whole communities to wholeness.
Living defined by your rights and wrongs is a flawed and fractured mirror of who you are. If we see others through that same lens, our lens is the only broken thing. An object can be broken; a person cannot. My friend Greg works in a church and he would call it ‘living defined by your sin’.
To be ‘fixed’ or ‘unbroken’ is as much of a lie as it is to believe you are broken. Wounded, perhaps. Scarred, likely. There is only to be yourself or to be some other version of yourself. This is crucial identity work – the process of becoming; wholeness. Where what is graceful, clumsy, beautiful, ugly, brave, cowardly, truthful, deceitful, wise, foolish and fragile is woven together into a single, true being.
Every wound is an opportunity to dig deeper into the darkness and light within you. The damages we do, the things we suffer, the furies we endure and the passions that push and pursue us. This mosaic of contrasts battling and dancing within each of us, that is the truest self. Fragments of light and hope, pieces of darkness and shadow – this work of coming home to myself and all that I am, is the most important task.
I’ll tell you why. It is too easy to live in this world by category of right and wrong. When we do that to ourselves and we do it to each other; we step so easily into a warped view of justice. Justice becomes blurred into self-focus. We become criminals or victims, instead of both. We categorize ourselves and one another; this one is good, this one is bad.
We make our worlds smaller by defining each other within such small boundaries. We limit God and the universe with concrete lines. We crush the imagination of what might be and we take our eyes off the true prize, which is to live as our true selves.
Some of us are afraid of our true selves, because we categorize so ruthlessly into right and wrong. Ambition might be always considered selfish by those who work for charity, while poverty for the sake of development might be seen as irresponsible or wrong by those who hold self-sufficiency as a virtue. So we try again, to get it right. Few of us are so confident to live completely as ourselves, lest we be called Narcissist. The world is rarely blessed with those who walk completely in their own skin.
We relinquish our creative power, becoming obsessed with doing what is right. In our desire to be perfect, to be right, to be good (or to be sinless) we take our eyes off the bigger creative work in the Universe. There is no hero in fairytale or real life that does not bear some shadow or flaw. We are unconvincing humans without them.
Whatever good you can and will accomplish in your life, will occur in the company of your demons too. You cannot eradicate yourself of much, but in the pursuit of your true self, more of your light will come to the surface than you realise.
If only people would give as much energy, thought and love to their gifts (the true self) and the work of their hands today; as they gave to pursuing perfection yesterday in order to begin tomorrow.
If you cannot look at the moon and see how she leans into the darkness each night, you do not yet understand how important the weaving, the juxtaposition of light and dark truly is.
Seek yourself out, so that you might see the creative force of the Universe, the Creator at work. If you will simply look, it will not take you long to become acquainted with that self. Then you can continue with the important work; that of Being.
The poet Rumi captured it well here; the process of coming home to yourself;
“For ages you have come and gone
courting this delusion.
For ages you have run from the pain
and forfeited the ecstasy.
So come, return to the root of the root
of your own soul.
Although you appear in earthly form
Your essence is pure Consciousness.
You are the fearless guardian
of Divine Light.
So come, return to the root of the root
of your own soul.
When you lose all sense of self
the bonds of a thousand chains will vanish.
Lose yourself completely,
Return to the root of the root
of your own soul.
You descended from Adam, by the pure Word of God,
but you turned your sight
to the empty show of this world.
Alas, how can you be satisfied with so little?
So come, return to the root of the root
of your own soul.
Why are you so enchanted by this world
when a mine of gold lies within you?
Open your eyes and come —
Return to the root of the root
of your own soul.
You were born from the rays of God’s Majesty
when the stars were in their perfect place.
How long will you suffer from the blows
of a nonexistent hand?
So come, return to the root of the root
of your own soul.
You are a ruby encased in granite.
How long will you decieve Us with this outer show?
O friend, We can see the truth in your eyes!
So come, return to the root of the root
of your own soul.
After one moment with that glorious Friend
you became loving, radiant, and ecstatic.
Your eyes were sweet and full of fire.
Come, return to the root of the root
of your own soul.
Shams-e Tabriz, the King of the Tavern
has handed you an eternal cup,
And God in all His glory is pouring the wine.
So come! Drink!
Return to the root of the root
of your own soul.
Soul of all souls, life of all life – you are That.
Seen and unseen, moving and unmoving – you are That.
The road that leads to the City is endless;
Go without head and feet
and you’ll already be there.
What else could you be? – you are That.”
by tashmcgill | Feb 8, 2015 | Culture & Ideas, Health, Youth Work
Real Sex & Emotional Intimacy – These Stories Are Not My Secrets.
I’m able to put words to it now, I think – what I’ve been learning is that the healthy and whole sexual expression I crave is both physical and emotional. It should be clear by now. Therefore, my definition of sexuality has become much bigger. My sexuality is the expression of physical, emotional and spiritual intimacy.
If we want to have good, great sex (and great relationships, I suppose) then we need to learn to have true emotional intimacy with each other. Well, crap. Here’s the truth of it. I’m terrible at emotional intimacy. I think many of us are, but I’ll share with you my perspective.
*This article is part of a series; I recommend reading Part One: A Modern Virgin, Part Two: What I Learned About Sex From An Older Man, Part Three: Trying To Lose My Virginity first. I’m welcoming feedback and contributions so please email me here.
My primary love languages are physical touch and quality time. So it’s no wonder that much of my desire for love is about the physical connection. Still, that shouldn’t mean I ignore the need to share my whole emotional self and find a partner who will receive and accept me well, someone who can and will encourage me in emotional intimacy, not just physical.
I share some pretty personal thoughts on the internet most days so you might find it hard to believe that I’m not good at emotional honesty. But those are just my stories. They are things I’ve processed, thought about, discussed and then finessed ready for publishing. They are not my secrets or my truest self.
Filtering.
Somewhere in my youth and young adult years, I learned to filter. I learned to filter because my thoughts and feelings could push people away. If I said or asked for the wrong thing, expressed the wrong feeling – rejection came swiftly. Sometimes a little rejection or humiliation, sometimes total abandonment. I learned that my feelings weren’t to be trusted and should rarely be expressed. I think we all learn this filtering, to some degree or another.
Don’t think for a minute that you see all of me here on the Internet. I’ve got a collection of stories I’m comfortable enough to share and that no longer pose a risk in sharing. My bravery is in continuing to think through what I’m learning offline, in hopes one day I can share it.
Beyond the amusing anecdotes, the generous dinner parties and the many people who cross my threshold, I hide my deepest parts away. My heart is frequently hidden behind a thick concrete wall. It’s not easy to get in there. My fear is exposing my truest self to the ones I care about most. Emotional intimacy, the one thing I’m looking for is something I’m terrible at it because it actually requires more than one person.
Emotional intimacy isn’t just sharing part of yourself, it’s also having that part of you accepted and acknowledged by another person. Immediately, the connection between the emotional and physical acts of intimacy should be obvious. However, if I’ve been living behind a concrete wall, I don’t necessarily have great skills for learning to trust or making good choices around trust.
On one hand, we’re told to guard our hearts and only let the trustworthy ones in. On the other hand, we’re told to be bold and go after what we want. But the earliest lessons we learn in love can be the most dangerous. If I learn that men aren’t interested in my thoughts or feelings, or that I must be all about meeting his needs rather than my own, everything else becomes coloured.
So these days, when I bravely reveal parts of myself, I immediately start waiting for the rejection to come. Or, if a small part of who I am is accepted and not rejected, I can’t help but want to share more and more (or even all of myself), because the feeling is so rare. Neither of those places is particularly healthy. So I live with a lot of people close to me, like a party at the gates of the secret garden. Few have the key to the garden and even fewer still step inside.
It’s easy to know that I like whisky, for example. Or even how I like to drink it. A few might even share whisky with me under the stars or in a favourite alcove. But there is so much more under my skin and inside my mind than what translates to Facebook or Instagram. The fleeting, silly stupid thoughts and the beautiful, sacred ones; most of these thoughts never leave my lips. Most people have never seen the true extent of my generosity, my warmth or my kindness. The things I do are nothing in comparison to what I think of doing – but these secrets, I keep for myself for now, in a secret place.
Emotional intimacy in the future will require that at some point, I’ll have to risk letting someone inside the garden wall. I might even have to risk asking someone to come inside the garden wall.
I’ve heard too many people talk about the loneliness of the marriage bed, where physical intimacy and emotional intimacy are rarely connected. And I can see how this becomes true – after all, touch is such an easy way of expressing pleasure and approval, but without words or supporting actions it’s not always enough.
My friend Karl has some great thoughts here, largely from the perspective of a man trying to raise 4 sons, 1 daughter and with a long-standing commitment to youth work.
“Intimacy (In- to -me -see..) is an internal desire expressed so often externally. The modern expression of relationships misses the point of intimacy and encourages sexual expression as a means to an end. As I teach my sons…intimacy is often better expressed with clothes on. Our young men need to be coached on intimacy within the context of male relationship too, so sex doesn’t interfere in the early development of knowing how to be strong while laid bare. If we breed shallow men afraid of openness and transparency, they’re unable to meet emotional needs as a lover.
Unfortunately most men are lazy relational lovers. Preferring to love by touch with their hands. It’s learned behaviour from following childlike lust fuelled by curiosity and infatuation. It’s easy, like a takeaway diet. To love and be loved (intimacy) is to go to the farmers market having written a menu formed on knowing the dinner guest, not defined by the produce available at the time, but a meal crafted on tangible knowledge of the invited. (Their needs, desires etc – Ed.) Learning to be lovers, friends, companions, partners is a dance worth learning before the uncomplicated-complicated dance of sex.
To know the chef within, to add the knowledge of produce then the skill, talent of cooking is to form Michelin chefs. Society has formed men great at BBQ but poor in the kitchen. I’d love the focus to shift for our youth to becoming great lovers.. first with clothes on.. to develop a knowledge of themselves. Once the clothes come off, the heart beats too fast for the heart to listen and a language of love is dulled and hard to define. The focus of intimacy then becomes now how I feel at a muddled physical level. “
I think there’s a lot of merit in what Karl is talking about, not just for young men but young women as well. The key is learning to express love through more than just physical touch and connection. So how do we overcome the hurdle of learning to share our real selves and welcome another whole self?
I long to hear somebody ask for a key to the garden. Tell me more, show me more of yourself, is what I long to hear. Intimacy is an unending mystery, you can never fully know another person. There is always another discovery, another question, another thought or feeling to explore. I believe intimacy is both learning how to enjoy and unravel the endless mystery and then habitually engaging in the mystery.
My desire to share all of my secret self the moment I connect with someone who feels trustworthy is pretty flawed. The point is to discover those things, not to lay them out all at once. It’s helpful to observe those who are willing to do the work of discovery. Those who want to unpack the hidden woman behind the Facebook feed. Previously, I’ve thought that intimacy was to be known, but now I see that true intimacy is to be in the knowing. An ongoing process – where two people choose to continue to discover each other. Upon entering the gated, secret garden they discover it is in fact, endless. Over time, some flowers, trees and ponds might become familiar, much-loved features but there is always something new to see or discover.
