Thou Shalt Not Tiptoe

I’ve had mornings on my mind lately.  I wrote about some memories a few weeks ago, but I think there’s more to it than that. It is a quiet, reflective, coffee-infused time of day for me that I get to enjoy more than I used to.  One of the things that has changed is that there are fewer people in my house, and I’m the only early riser. I have the living room to myself, I make my coffee, scroll through the stupid phone for a bit and then stare into the abyss.

            It’s nice.

            Another big change is that I have decided not to tiptoe anymore.  Not just literally, but figuratively, too.  It started with my early morning creeps through the house to brew some caffeinated love or turn on the lights of the house to do so.  It has been two solid decades, nearly three, since I began to keep it quiet.  Kids are in bed.  The wife is sleeping late.  The world is still in bed and I’m up making noise with my lumbering footsteps and clanking of dishes in the kitchen.  I gave myself back problems by developing a hunch from so much tiptoeing and silencing of my very being.

            (The dumbest part is that my family sleeps like logs.  They didn’t require tiptoeing.  I did it anyway.)

            So now I just do my thing.  I don’t go out of my way to make my presence known.  I just…am.  I get up early.  I’m bigger than everyone.  The dogs will bark or scurry around.  Water will run and the Café Verona will brew. That’s me. It sounds easy but it took forever for me to let it all go.

            Stopping the tiptoe thing is also a must when it comes to my writing.  Whether I’m engaging in the fruitless endeavor of blog writing or working something out for a book, I cannot tiptoe.  I can’t let outside influences creep in.  What will people think?  Will they think I’m a shitty person because my story took a shitty turn? Am I just another white guy writing about white guy problems?  What if my mom reads this?

            I can’t care.  It’s all an expression and since I’m still just doing it all for me, I can’t let that be tainted by my people-pleasing horseshit.  I need reviews on Amazon to get anything off the ground but I dread getting any.  I don’t wan t read the good ones or the bad ones.  I just need them to exist.

            My kids saw me do this a few times and I can’t imagine what their reactions were.  Couldn’t have been great to see their dad shrink away when it was just fine to stay.  It’s a big pile of shame or guilt, or a cocktail of both, that I’m dumping in the sink.  I swear I wanted to do better, guys.  I was just built out of toothpicks and glue.

            So, I’ve given up the tiptoeing and I’m going to see where that goes. I’m bigger than a lot of people, I’m a little taller than average and I’ve been told I have an intimidating presence when I’m in the mood. Maybe I’ll be a little louder.  Talk more.  Make a little more eye contact.  I don’t want to turn away from anyone because I feel invisible.  It sucks. It’s too painful to dwell on what I’ve missed in my life because I felt that I didn’t deserve, didn’t belong, didn’t qualify… I’d rather rub a few people the wrong way than go through my entire life feeling unworthy, tiny, and insignificant. I just can’t do that anymore.   

            Just being me, nothing more.  And absolutely nothing less.