The problem with penance

1 July 2009

I've been feeling guilty about this stupid purse for days. I've been trolling the internet, looking for prices, hoping that if I find I got a tremendous deal on it, it would help assuage the veil that comes over my eyes whenever I look at it. I've even identified a shop to take it to that might buy it from me. Everyone within earshot has heard of my angst over my purchase of this purse. I titled this post the way I did because I felt I needed to make up for my lapse in judgement by withholding something from myself. Like a quicker and more comfortable 10 minute cab ride home instead of 2 hours on trains and buses. The problem with penance isn't paying for your sins, it's not knowing how much they cost. For some people, it works out in their favor as they have a tendency to lowball. For people inclined to round up (yours truly), it never ends.

At the center of this knot producing silliness are two things. One, I'm not the girl who carries this purse. The purse matches nothing about my personality or dress. Sure it's brown and brown goes with everything but it is stylish in a way I'm just not, no matter what I have on. When I get dressed in the morning my goal is to leave the house with clothing on. On rare days, my hair, clothes and suggestion of make-up come together for the best version of me that I know how to be. That purse barely goes with that girl, much less the one who is normally falling out the door. The purse is lipstick on the the otherwise slovenly presentation that is me most days.

The second thing, and both things are simply scratching at the surface of stuff I just need to grow into or out of, is that I can't give myself permission to purchase things like that or go places that aren't attached to an obligation or do anything really, without permission or external influence. I read something in a short story* over the weekend that nearly knocked the wind out of me, it convicted me so. "After that night, I thought a lot about why he never went out to Arizona and finally decided it was fear-of having the experience fall short, of realizing too late that he should have made a different choice. For him it was better to not know for sure what the Grand Canyon looked like, to retain the splendor of his dreams."

Not only do I retain the splendor of my dreams, I retain the terror of my fears by letting them go unchallenged and unsubstantiated. I'm afraid of the real thing. I don't like making mistakes. One of the things I treasure in many of the people I love is the ability to disagree and voice their needs. I'm not very good at reciprocating but I love that they can be so much less agreeable than me and still accept and expect love. Another line from the same story, "He lets me do what I know best: acquiesce, accommodate, allow my desires to melt like wax around someone else's life." I'm light years different in countless ways from the woman I was 10 years ago at 24, but I can still read my journals from when I was 13/14 and see fundamental me. Many of my habits, attitudes, and behaviors have changed but I really haven't. I still keep looking for a pat on the head, a boy to like me, and a place I fit in.

*Laura van den Berg, Where We Must Be.