To be or not to be confused . . .

Is it better to always be confused, or to always be confusing others?

When I was younger it was me who was always confused, the person that made others laugh at a comment, something said that was somehow unintentionally funny.

 There are so many other ways to communicate that are not verbal. That means that there are a lot of ways to be confused, or to be confusing.

 My Mother’s career was in the Special Ed Dept. as a hearing impaired interpreter. As a result she would, and still does, sign what she is saying to you as she speaks. As I got older, more independent, I would go away with friends. We always hand signed “I love you”. There was one time when it was still legal, however unsafe, to ride in the back of a truck, many kids at a time. This particular time the truck was pulling away, and I was riding in the back squeezed in between two other friends.  I lifted my middle finger up, “flipping the bird.” She started laughing, and I looked at my hands in confusion and made my middle finger go back down, and lifted the other four. She laughed because she understood me. She got me, as mothers often do, (if you’re lucky).

Now I am a better communicator. I am sure that it comes with age. Definitely we spoke a different language when we were teens, just like they do now, when something is good, “it’s sick.” It was cool back then. I’m not even sure if it’s still cool to say something is cool. But I don’t really care. That is something that also comes with age, others’ opinion of you is not as important. I had a unique blend of friends in High-School. Many of them are still friends with me on Facebook. I remember one term that was said frequently, “Mary” as an endearment, however gay. And I mean that in the literal sense. Words can mean so many different things. Now at this stage of my life I am more comfortable sitting back, sometimes in reflection, or to absorb what is being said verbally, or with body language if in a group of people. It’s like what was commonly said in the 70’s, you know “feeling the vibes” in a room. Wow, how 70’s is that phrase?!  As a parent I repeat myself over and over again the same things. There is no misinterpretation between us; there is a choice not to listen to what I am saying. Our language in America is so infused with puns, with popular sayings meaning something else entirely. I’ve been recently thinking of the one “bees knees.” It’s an old phrase that means something is good. I’m not sure why that would be good. Maybe it is because they pollinate and do their thing with their knees. The phrase comes to my mind a lot lately because my body has been acting weird ever since a surgery I had. It changed me chemically, and I am now hyperthyroid. I had no idea what it meant. It just seemed like there’s something wrong with a person, a small thing. Well it’s not. My body feels like there are actual bees in my knees, and they are stinging. And that is not good. My body is in confusion, it is not communicating well with itself. When I walk around I feel like a Sumo wrestler lugging his body, moving his heavy legs and arms, bumbling about, tired just from walking. I’ve never seen a female Sumo wrestler, and don’t know if they exist. They should because we are in the 21^st century. I would like to say that my life right now is “the bees’ knees” but I’d like it to be figuratively and not literally. Also I would like to remind everyone of something that they probably already know, but may have forgotten. A smile can say so much, in any language. I think it is appropriate in any situation. I welcome anyone to question me on that. Here’s an example, my child three years ago was five years old. She just signed up to play soccer. She was at practice and fell, and another child fell on top of her. This resulted in a broken leg, the tibia bone, the one we call the shin bone, I think. We smiled when she got her neon pink cast, and so many signatures and doodles that it looked like an art piece. In fact she kept it on her shelf later when she got it off. I smiled at her in the hospital and said she would be okay. There are sad smiles that offer condolences when a loved one has passed away, with funny talks, and fond memories shared about that person. We communicate when we smile, when we give someone a hug, or share a kind word. A simple smile can make all the difference. The receiver will smile back. Even babies smile back. It is not gas, as some books say.  A smile speaks clearly. And I would like to say that most of the time these days I am understood. The only time I am not is when I go in to get a new haircut. I bring in concrete examples, pictures printed off, or torn from a magazine and I come out baffled and with something completely different. That may be because I don’t stick with someone who is good, and I make last minute hormonally induced decisions and go to Supercuts or Great Clips, not that there’s anything wrong with either establishments. Even with what I think is a bad haircut I still get compliments. Those nice things said to me override my insecurities. Even insecurity, in itself can be called a type of confusion. It’s like not seeing oneself as others see them, as they truly are. We should all take compliments gracefully, and believe the nice things that are being said about us. Words do matter. The old “sticks and stones” school yard theory is bogus. It’s bunk. It’s messed up. They do hurt.

What is the answer to the beginning of this? Is it better to be confused or to confuse others? Before thinking about it, I would say neither. But now I think the answer is this, they are both opportunities. If you are confused, you can get more information to clear things up. If you are confusing others it is probably because you see life differently, and may be a very unique or creative person. Or I could be confused about that.

So to wrap up this fortune cookie ramble:

Confusion says: There is opportunity for growth here.

And smile, even when life hurts.