There are various websites devoted to how women over analyze everything and anything that someone says to them. They go on to say how “whatever” is dismissive, or “fine” is the just something said to shut them up. I happen to loathe both of those words, especially when used in conversations, and even more so when used in arguments. If you don’t know what I’m talking about, Google “men and women conversations”. Or you can click that link, or this link. Scientists have done experiments on the conversations and how women think differently than men. Basically, in summary, men say things and women analyze the shit out of it. I’d like to think that I’m not in this category, despite my being a woman, and that I just over analyze everything because I’m an English Major and therefore required to dig deeper into the meanings of things.
It was last night, in my poetry class, when I realized that sometimes it’s really not worth it to know “the answer”. A lot of us were over analyzing the words on the page (I know I definitely was) but it was because I had this overwhelming desire to know the meaning behind the poem. I felt like most of us were trying to find the meaning, and then I thought, “what is the point of knowing the intentions of words?” They are going to be there whether or not we understand them, or know them, or feel them…isn’t it just enough to admire them? I’m OCD as hell, I know this, I embrace it – and I always try to understand everything going on around me. I think I’m going to try and take the stance of not needing to know about everything…
The assignment for last nights poems were “Post Secrets“, which turned out to be a very interesting exercise. Post Secrets are confessions, written on post cards,mailed to a P.O. Box and then posted online anonymously. It’s a place to confess whatever it is you feel like confessing. It’s breathtakingly beautiful to see the honesty protruding through the words written, or taped, or printed on these post cards. Maybe it’s just the crazy in me, but I find them to be enthralling and exonerating. There are some that are absolutely haunting, like the one about 9/11, which oddly enough, two people wrote on for their poems. There are others that are simply maddening, like the person who wrote “I like the way my finger tastes better than food.” Or about the confession I wrote on, which is, “I am a man, married to a woman, sleeping with a man, and I can’t say no”. I found another one, oddly, which is very similar to the Post Secret that I wrote on.
Regardless of my ability to go off on a tangent about how mesmerizing these confessions are, this was our assignment, and we were to write on a Post Secret that we found. It was great because it enabled me the freedom to write on something from another perspective that I don’t relate to. I’m definitely not a man, married to a woman, sleeping with a man.
What I found interesting was how I reacted to my classmates poems. I began over analyzing every word, searching for that deeper or hidden message, and desperately searching for what it was they were hiding. Hiding? Are emotions and thoughts really hidden under the guise of beautiful words? There are some poems written that I have zero desire to know the meaning of simply because they leave me jaw dropped and mystified with their words. Those are the poems that I love. The poems that I don’t care about the meaning, because I fall in love with every words used, are the poems that make me gleam. It was then that I realized that sometimes, simply, I care too much about the meaning of things. Words, despite the popular nursery rhyme from my child hood, can cut very deeply. They covet. Yet, for what purpose? I think that I’m going to start taking a stance on words – I’m going to just try and find them beautiful – and not aggressively annoying or tortuously terrifying. I’ve got to stop over analyzing every little thing that is said to me, because I really think that it’s tormenting. There are those that I admire for their inability to let peoples vicious words cut them deep to the core; I want to be like that. But as my confession, or post secret, I know that I’ll never be able to lessen the blows of peoples words and how they can swarm my head like angry bees. I know that I’ll never be able to take the things that people say about me with a grain of salt. I know that I’m afraid, of judgement, of gossip, and of nasty things that people may say about me. I don’t want to know the words people use to describe me, this I am sure of.