Am I Boring Are You Listening

I often feel like the ambient music of people. This scared me for a while–“boring” is death for young women.

An ambient-music-person, who makes everything slightly more pleasant, but whose absence goes unnoticed. This was me. Calling no attention–making conversation for others easier, simply by being neutrally present.

For so long I didn’t want to be this; I wanted to be loud and impressive and captivating. Always. But God.

There’s artistry here, in the ambient-person, if you listen. If, with intention you turn an ear, you can hear that we have been meticulously crafted for this moment. That we aren’t bland repetition but something made to hold space for thoughts–to encourage creation.

Soft encouragement–holding space for people–these are the things in this life that bring me the most joy and satisfaction. I will proudly accept an ambient presence in your life, dear reader. I will do this so happily.

All this and still, when the metaphor ends, I am a human woman with a voice and dreams and an ass that won’t quit.

All this and still, the very nature of writing means that I am demanding attention–that with intention I am bringing something new into the world. I am, at once, the space, and the loud, fist-pumping anthem.

There are ambient-music people in my life too, dear reader–those people who exist in my space with love and encouragement. But they, too, take up glorious space when they choose into. They aren’t neutral, but fluid–and thank God for this. We wouldn’t have artists otherwise.

The flaw in this metaphor is that we constantly change–make choices. The way I exist in one space does not dictate how I exist in another.

Dear reader, it’s both.

It’s always both.

Take care, sweet reader.