Fat Aura
I once had someone tell me I had a "wide aura". Apparently, this means I'll often feel what others are feeling and am influenced by their moods. Unfortunately, I don't know just how "wide" my aura is, which makes blaming my bitchiness on someone in the next state a little challenging.
I don't know that I really feel the effects of a wide aura. Certainly, there are very significant times when I'm sad because a friend's sad or stressed when Bee's stressed; but I don't often suddenly feel upset around someone and then find out they're upset, too. So, I figure I'm reacting to an emotion I'm aware of, instead of my aura reacting to it.
However, I've come to realize that perhaps it's not peoples' emotions I react to: rather, it's their possible emotions due to something I'm contemplating doing that I react to. In other words: I feel guilt. A lot. Usually for something I haven't even done.
Now, those of you who weren't raised Catholic may not know the power of guilt. But it can be quite debilitating. For instance, I nearly didn't rent to perfectly good (and willing) tenants because I felt bad that they were in school full-time and worked until the wee-hours at a restaurant to pay all their bills. Also, we nearly didn't spend $3,000 and a full day in flight to the east coast this summer because we then had to ask our friends to go 45 minutes out of their way to collect us at the airport.
Of course, guilt for a good reason is perfectly fine. Feeling regret because one's actions caused a negative reaction is as it should be. But that's not my problem. I don't even get as far as acting on an action, and I already feel bad about it.
This is why, for instance, I'll remain parched at a restaurant with an empty water glass: I feel too bad for the (possibly) over-worked waitstaff to wave them over with their pitchers.
This is why I'd rather run myself ragged getting ready for parties: I could ask Bee or S.B. for help, but then I'd feel bad that they have to work when hosting the party was my idea in the first place.
This is why just this week, in fact, I skipped going out for my normal Tuesday evening "me time" because I had an appointment today that required Bee to watch Mr. C in the middle of the day, and I felt bad disrupting him twice.
(Oddly-enough, I'd rather get frazzled and bitchy from working myself too hard and then feel bad about that than ask Bee for an hour's help earlier. Which is -- I think -- what he'd prefer.)
This is also a big part of the reason why I had no friends my last two years of high school: a painfully shy trans-Atlantic transplant to a school where everyone knew everyone else, I decided it would be best not to try to push myself into any of the established circles because I'd feel bad making my possible new friends shuttle me around and help me out.
How sick is that?
Actually, the truly sick part to all of this is that I am absolutely thrilled when friends ask for favors. I love being on good-enough terms, for instance, to watch a friend's kids for the afternoon: this lets me know that my friend feels comfortable and close to me. But heaven forbid I ask them to return the favor and potentially re-arrange their schedule for my benefit! That would make me feel bad.
Bee hates this charming quality of mine. Which means I have to make up some lame excuse for not doing something, rather than admit that I won't do it because I feel bad putting someone else out.
It also means -- rather than work on my deep and twisted issues -- I choose instead to get defensive about them. I mean, is it really so wrong to look out for your fellow beings? Why should I knowingly do something that would make someone else uncomfortable or unhappy? Certainly, they're in charge of their own feelings, but how on earth am I to feel relaxed about an action of mine that caused a ripple in the life of someone else?
Bee does not have a problem with this. As a rowdy teen, for instance, he used to hide out near a golf course and dart onto the fairway to steal outraged golfers' balls before -- maniacally laughing -- darting back into the woods. Slightly more recently, on our second date he hailed down a waitress to inquire if she "had any bacon someone would actually want to eat?" And -- just today -- he left the house twenty minutes late for a meeting, figuring everyone could start without him ("everyone", it turns out, had the same idea, leaving one person waiting at the meeting spot by herself). I would be horrified, but Bee isn't going to let something like that keep him up at night.
I don't know if Bee's or my method of looking at the world is better. I suppose Bee is happier, at least, since he isn't affected by others' negative reactions. Then again, you hear more and more about how the world and everything in it is connected (see the movie I Am) (or talk to someone who practices reiki) (or read up on any other number of hippy-type philosophies).
And if that's the case -- if we're all connected -- then isn't it my duty as a member of this planet to be mindful of my fellow beings and bacterial processes?
At least, that's what my fat aura seems to think.
I don't know that I really feel the effects of a wide aura. Certainly, there are very significant times when I'm sad because a friend's sad or stressed when Bee's stressed; but I don't often suddenly feel upset around someone and then find out they're upset, too. So, I figure I'm reacting to an emotion I'm aware of, instead of my aura reacting to it.
However, I've come to realize that perhaps it's not peoples' emotions I react to: rather, it's their possible emotions due to something I'm contemplating doing that I react to. In other words: I feel guilt. A lot. Usually for something I haven't even done.
Now, those of you who weren't raised Catholic may not know the power of guilt. But it can be quite debilitating. For instance, I nearly didn't rent to perfectly good (and willing) tenants because I felt bad that they were in school full-time and worked until the wee-hours at a restaurant to pay all their bills. Also, we nearly didn't spend $3,000 and a full day in flight to the east coast this summer because we then had to ask our friends to go 45 minutes out of their way to collect us at the airport.
Of course, guilt for a good reason is perfectly fine. Feeling regret because one's actions caused a negative reaction is as it should be. But that's not my problem. I don't even get as far as acting on an action, and I already feel bad about it.
This is why, for instance, I'll remain parched at a restaurant with an empty water glass: I feel too bad for the (possibly) over-worked waitstaff to wave them over with their pitchers.
This is why I'd rather run myself ragged getting ready for parties: I could ask Bee or S.B. for help, but then I'd feel bad that they have to work when hosting the party was my idea in the first place.
This is why just this week, in fact, I skipped going out for my normal Tuesday evening "me time" because I had an appointment today that required Bee to watch Mr. C in the middle of the day, and I felt bad disrupting him twice.
(Oddly-enough, I'd rather get frazzled and bitchy from working myself too hard and then feel bad about that than ask Bee for an hour's help earlier. Which is -- I think -- what he'd prefer.)
This is also a big part of the reason why I had no friends my last two years of high school: a painfully shy trans-Atlantic transplant to a school where everyone knew everyone else, I decided it would be best not to try to push myself into any of the established circles because I'd feel bad making my possible new friends shuttle me around and help me out.
How sick is that?
Actually, the truly sick part to all of this is that I am absolutely thrilled when friends ask for favors. I love being on good-enough terms, for instance, to watch a friend's kids for the afternoon: this lets me know that my friend feels comfortable and close to me. But heaven forbid I ask them to return the favor and potentially re-arrange their schedule for my benefit! That would make me feel bad.
Bee hates this charming quality of mine. Which means I have to make up some lame excuse for not doing something, rather than admit that I won't do it because I feel bad putting someone else out.
It also means -- rather than work on my deep and twisted issues -- I choose instead to get defensive about them. I mean, is it really so wrong to look out for your fellow beings? Why should I knowingly do something that would make someone else uncomfortable or unhappy? Certainly, they're in charge of their own feelings, but how on earth am I to feel relaxed about an action of mine that caused a ripple in the life of someone else?
Bee does not have a problem with this. As a rowdy teen, for instance, he used to hide out near a golf course and dart onto the fairway to steal outraged golfers' balls before -- maniacally laughing -- darting back into the woods. Slightly more recently, on our second date he hailed down a waitress to inquire if she "had any bacon someone would actually want to eat?" And -- just today -- he left the house twenty minutes late for a meeting, figuring everyone could start without him ("everyone", it turns out, had the same idea, leaving one person waiting at the meeting spot by herself). I would be horrified, but Bee isn't going to let something like that keep him up at night.
I don't know if Bee's or my method of looking at the world is better. I suppose Bee is happier, at least, since he isn't affected by others' negative reactions. Then again, you hear more and more about how the world and everything in it is connected (see the movie I Am) (or talk to someone who practices reiki) (or read up on any other number of hippy-type philosophies).
And if that's the case -- if we're all connected -- then isn't it my duty as a member of this planet to be mindful of my fellow beings and bacterial processes?
At least, that's what my fat aura seems to think.
Preach it sister! After many a parched meal, I know how you feel. Now your aura should feel vindicated a bit- right?
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