Nerves are crazy.
I recent met up with a friend of mine to have a conversation of significant magnitude and my body was extremely aware of what it was about to get itself into.
I was confident in what I knew I needed to express and ready to listen to his end with both ears wide open, but nerves don’t really take any of that into consideration. They tend to have a mind of their own. Seemingly, one that makes little to no sense at all.
Case in point: My dominant hand decided to malfunction as it listened to the nerves speaking inside of me rather than just acting like a normal part of my body. It was so shaky — out of commission shaky — when I went to use it for anything at all. This was terribly embarrassing in the moment, but sort of wholeheartedly hilarious in retrospect.
I found my friend and sat down at the bar next to him. Shortly into the conversation I ordered a beer. At these moments, I think life likes to be extra witty.
As luck would have it, this particular bar gives you a taste-tester to start; so now I was challenged with trying a swig – in front of my friend and the waitress — before actually ordering. I held my glass with both hands. TWO HANDS. Like a child holds a sippy cup. And, without having really accomplished tasting anything, I quickly okayed my first choice hoping for the best. I just knew my one hand was too weak on its own and it needed support for a little bit.
Between the negative thoughts we all struggle to silence and the palpable fear of an imagined outcome, we can so easily shut down.
What’s interesting though is how easily we allow our nerves to take over — our small, but fierce anxieties – even subconsciously. Between the negative thoughts we all struggle to silence and the palpable fear of an imagined outcome, we can so easily shut down. I had dove so hard into my nerves leading up to this moment, that even when I was mentally past them, my body physically still needed to shake them out.
The truth was, allowing the conversation to flow naturally, there was no reason at all to shake. To waver. To be anything, but myself.
Witty life strikes again when I think back to how our conversation played out.
We talked confidence and insecurity. We looked directly at one another and rarely allowed our eyes to stray. That’s the thing though about real communication – it’s too beautiful to look away from.
That’s the thing though about real communication – it’s too beautiful to look away from.
I wish this upon every person that walks this insanely gorgeous, imperfect world. Being wholehearted and real is such a gift in itself. And having someone respond in kind — well that’s true freedom right there.
It’s incredible to me how every real conversation is a captured moment in time. It’s an instant polaroid, a beautifully written letter, a slow dance that those involved get to keep. Things going forward can falter, but that moment is solidified as an authentic width of time.
And for that moment, it was undeniably what it was.