I had a dream last night that for whatever reason has lingered in the recesses of my pillows.
I won't bore you with the extraneous details, those little side streets that betray logic and reason that dreams tend to take freely, but needless to say this dream centered around a wedding. A couple I know in real life played a part, but in my dream the boy was marrying someone other than his girlfriend (the bride had brown hair- a detail that seemed quite important) for religious and cultural reasons. His girlfriend is real life was forced to attend and watch the whole thing. I, being the observer (and perpetrator), half expected the girlfriend to drink and smash her champagne glass, make a big ill-advised speech, at least do something to voice her displeasure. Instead, she had a calm conversation with her boyfriend, conveyed her respect for his decision, and exited. End dream.
Though it's painful to admit, I've judged this couple largely because the girlfriend is a type that I can't abide. The boyfriend is a kind rarely found in Los Angeles- tall, handsome, charismatic, straight. Yet when I met his girlfriend, I couldn't understand what he found so fascinating. She was and is quiet- a mortal sin in my book. Being quiet is a slippery slope toward being boring.
She, my holier-than-thou brain rationalized, was the archetypal passive female, content to let her mate revel in the spotlight rather than challenge it. Her boyfriend, I thought, didn't want to be challenged by his significant other- he wanted someone simple (another mortal sin). At least I, my smug thoughts grew even smugger, speak my mind, let my presence be known.
However, once you peel away the arrogance and the judgement, you'll find my greatest fear. That my attributes on which I hang my hat- my passion, my opinions, my voice- are my worst attribute. Take for instance, that woman that you inevitably encounter at any party. The loud girl who blathers on stupidly. The obnoxious one who won't just shut the fuck up. The quiet one at least, you'll never know quite what she's thinking. Whereas the loud girl invades your space, the quiet one pulls you into her orbit.
My way isn't always the right way. There is a grace in politeness, in not speaking your mind whenever the thoughts pop into your head. There is a mystery in the unsaid. There is something to be said about withholding.
