Cringe: Might Delete Later

Poetry by The Irrational Sage

Apparently in Human Design I’m born to be hated, except when someone needs help or a problem solved then come on over…and then when that’s finished you can return to hating me.

Why the heck did my higher-self sign up for this, she ‘aint right!

I have what’s called the Heretic Investigator Human Design, which means people love to project onto me things that are not about me, it’s so fun.  Honestly, discovering this was a relief that explained a lot of strange experiences I’ve had throughout life. It’s like being a living trigger button for the betterment of humanity just by existing, YaY! Seriously, need a soul growth lesson, be my friend. A year from now we’ll just be sipping coffee on the porch one day and you’ll decide to see something in yourself that you know you need to face and you’ll look at me and decide to either run away, self-sabotage or stay around and alchemize it, knowing it’s not about me…It’s a strange spiritual gift… a big old humbling, a placeholder for expansion, nothing glamourous here, just a two-way mirror that has witnessed a lot of pain. Twas a slap in the face from early on to get tough and get soft, (you heard that right), door-slamming lessons of setting boundaries and ultimately learning to love deeply anyway without attachment to an outcome.

I know the Human Design people know what I’m talking about. It might not always be as “harsh” as the language implied above, but during major shifts of personal challenges that has felt like, to me, an initiation of some kind, not in losing relationships, but a slow unfolding of learning to be ok with being disliked for reasons not always understood in the moment…learning to be ok with the living mystery.

Misconstrued for being too loving or a total bitch is a weird seat to choose in the cosmic play of musical chairs. I’m convinced this is why my initials spell AM and ARM, better armor up…ironically, I know this is two-fold, requiring both Armoring up and AMour(ing) up (the paradox of the Uni-Verse asking me to both love others close-up and sometimes from many arm lengths apart). 

I thought it was just me, until I found a group on FB of those with the same human design and realized we share a lot of the same challenges and disappointments. A little camaraderie of shared misery is actually quite healing, who knew?

I’m getting better at spotting those who share this…just look for those you know that everyone loves to hate (can’t live with, can’t live without).

It’s a very villainesque responsibility to maintain while attempting The Great Work: scapegoat, villain, rebel, black sheep, extremist, loner, hermit, etc. (I’m no gambler, but I’d bet many reading this, even if not of the same cosmic blueprint can share the sentiment in one way or another)

Then there is the investigator part of me who wants to learn everything I can about something before making a decision. The part of me that feeds my fears and gives me imposter syndrome where I make excuses for not doing something. It makes me very indecisive until I have enough information to make a decision, but once I make it, I’m all-in…no turning back.

When it comes to writing here on Substack, every time I post something I immediately want to delete it. I want to dissect it, over-analyze it, edit it, think of everything I missed, over-stated, over-shared, over-worded (what does that even mean). I open the page and ponder if I should go back and add or change… and dream up every reason imaginable to delete it.

It’s the same way with Instagram, social media, and many other things in general…texts, emails…should I have not said that, did I put my foot in my mouth again?

The conversation in my head goes something like this, all in a matter of 2 minutes:

Maybe I’ll delete this?

Self, should I delete this?

Universe, should I delete this?

Is anyone out there, why aren’t you answering.

Ok, I’ll leave it for 8 hours, no 24, then I might delete it?

Ok, I won’t delete it.

I might delete it, but I’ll decide later.

What is wrong with my brain, shut up?

I’m just looking out for you.

Are you though? Feels like fear and self-sabotage.

Whatever, you would know, wouldn’t you?

Yes, find your courage AGAIN, I’m tired of you losing it.

I never lose it, you’re a liar.

Yes, I lie because I’m trying to keep you safe.

Safe from what?

Good point, I thought we already went through that at length and healed it all up, didn’t we?

Yes…but you know that spiral thing that happens sometimes… LOL. Onward.
____________________

Deciding to post online is like plucking rose petals…to post or not to post, that is the question? Perhaps the determination of cringe is that of the viewer to decide because no matter the medium the soul selects to come out from hiding, it’s certainly not an intellectual undertaking, but that of an open heart and creative mind…where are the free thinking feelers…not the soul selling dealers? There’s a difference in short form content meant to suck your attention into a dark hole of meaningless distractions and people who genuinely are expressing themselves (that’s what this is about…not the prior where mainstream cringe is the norm…talking heads intentionally manipulating for hits, usually in a short window of time since attention spans of longer length have become almost extinct).

____________________

Then if I post something with poetry in it, gah, painful, unnerving, what is wrong with me, I ask myself? I don’t consider myself a poet, I just hear things in rhyme (A LOT) except for now when talking about hearing things in rhyme, then it escapes, me WTF…rhyming isn’t really poetry, it’s just words that rhyme….(Truthfully, It seems like I’ve got Dr. Seuss for a Spirit Guide and I quite like it because it enables me to bring a lightness or inner child view into serious topics or observations of nature)…but seriously, I just hear things in this sing-songy way in my brain and sometimes it just comes out of me in my writing. I don’t know what to call it when that happens, it just is (and of course this isn’t the only way I write, but if you follow my work you may notice this general type of flow in a lot of my posts).

Many artistic expressions expose the soul and in a world blanketed by falsity and metaphysical masks, it’s no wonder the “you’re not good enough” monster pops up. It’s not even about anything being good, but the anxiety that comes from revealing parts of the self, which can result in an overwhelming desire to either not post something publicly, hide it away under the mattress, or want to delete it.

As you are moved by another’s resonance, so too is someone by yours, but they must be given the glimpse and opportunity to find you for those frequencies to make contact with one another. No doubt, your expression, however the medium in which you communicate, will evoke something in some and not others. The only way to improve ourselves, our art, our communication, our soul expression is to keep doing it right where we stand, no matter how good or bad.

Think about works from well known artists (writers, musicians, painters, architects, etc.) in history that had secret works never shown to the public until after their deaths. Could they have had the same fears long before the digital age, despite being masters of their craft?

Which is worse: being misunderstood, being banished, being disliked, or being ignored? Is it worth any of these for the peace that comes from giving yourself permission to be you! Why is being a beginner seen so negatively in our society? Can pure self expression even be “mastered?”

A million memes circle the interwebs with taglines like “felt cute, might delete later” and I feel that every day of my life with everything I post in any format. And I don’t mean in the “felt cute” aspect, but in the moment it felt right and in the moment after…EXISTENTIAL DREAD washes over me!

Maybe because it’s so unnatural? or is it?
Maybe because it’s so permanent? or is it?
Maybe because it’s so visible? or is it?
Maybe it’s a self-worth issue? or is it?
Maybe it’s un-healed trauma? or is it?
Maybe it’s Maybelline? (dumb, irrelevant, but I couldn’t resist including this…get out of my head 1980’s propaganda to make me feel not good-enough …crap, maybe it is relevant) or is it?

In real life if you say something stupid it can’t be deleted. If you wear an outfit you aren’t comfortable in, you can’t change clothes until your return home. If you hang your art in a gallery, that’s that. If you print something and distribute it, there it is, discoverable and un-deletable. What if we treated the internet this way? Would our art, shares, communication, and experience be the same if we pretended it was tangible and held in a sort of permanence?

Why is it this interweb configuration is so confronting?

I don’t even mind confronting. I put myself in situations that are that way so I can grow stronger.  I’m no stranger to doing the inner work and diving into self-contemplation from a number of avenues…but this is something else entirely.

I crashed my bike in front of a school bus and the only thing I could think of was, “Damn I hope no one captured that on a cell phone.” HOW IS THIS THE WORLD WE LIVE IN? Privacy Please! (Kid on the bus, first off, why do you have a phone? Secondly, you better delete that! Third, probably not the most embarassing thing I’ve done.)

These are not things I had to think of as a kid, thank goodness. If my childhood had included the internet bearing witness, I probably wouldn’t still be here.

Without knowing one another on a personal level, we peek into the minds and lives of those around us brave enough to share in some way.

When it’s genuinely from the heart and soul, the creative essence being exposed, it feels so much more vulnerable, genuine, real…and that is both terrifying and invokes a feeling of purpose that it must be done for some unexplainable reason, if only for myself.

The old me wanted everything to be perfect, rehearsed, not to offend, and that never felt as scary to be seen as it was a mask, not the true me.

Now, here I am, saying things on the internet I often consider deleting later. Sometimes I do.

Why is it that people with a lot of hot air, spending hours talking about things that are not thought provoking or seemingly relevant at all (my opinion), like handbags, better yet hand-bag strap length comparisons, have a gazillion followers and seemingly not a moment in their mind of self-doubt, worry, or wanting to delete anything?

For me, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time, be a talking head or full of hot air. I want to bring value by writing from the inside out, not to fit into a box or prove anything…not to appease or cater to someone for the sake of attention, but to challenge my own integrity and ability to stay true to who I am, why I’m here and in acceptance of the ever-changing state of the pace of things unfolding that need voices…because I am inspired by those that do the same.

I’m not the same person as when I started this blog last year and that wasn’t that long ago. Maybe someone needs to read what I wrote. maybe not. This can apply to so many things because the road we all walk is not linear, but an ever-circling spiral coming ‘round the mountain, up and down, side to side, as above, so below, as within so without.

While they can be helpful at times, I don’t believe we need affirmations to try to fool or convince ourselves of anything when we’re continuously seeking deeper insight into knowing ourselves, understanding all the parts (good and bad) and accepting our role and purpose alongside our trusting companions of both fate and will.

In some ways everything we ever do will feel like cringe to a future version of ourselves looking back.

Maybe it is accepting that we are always the fool, always beginning, where we can hit send, laugh and say to ourselves…” Felt cute, might delete later” …. but this time we fight the urge to go back and do it.

Maybe everything gets recorded in the Akash whether we delete it or not, what the hell do I know, I’m just Angela the agitator here to point out the wisdom of being irrational inside a world that claims to be sane and rational, when all I see are clowns and jokers.

Can we go back to the 80’s please…the 1780’s that is… LOL, what a dork…. see how this works? S.O.S. Save me from myself, I’m GenX, I had to learn how to entertain myself, a victim produced by seatbeltless station wagons, tang chemical koolaid, and baby-sitters that went missing for long periods of time.

No matter who you are, what you do, or how competent and/or confident you become, you’re always going to be somebody’s favorite cringe to hate, love, critize and/or all of the above, so you might as well focus on being you. 

And if you want to delete something, do it and forget it, there is no room for regret.

Remember, the masses idea of what matters probably doesn’t line up with your truest expression. The status quo will always reinforce what makes them comfortable and,as such, authenticity will make them triggered…even if you’re not a Heretic Investigator in Human Design. (And I’m not talking about woke fake attention seeking mental disorders type of horrid cringe either so don’t mix my words)

Some days are better than others.

Some things hit home more than others.

And sometimes, maybe it’s not cringe at all, just the essence of you in a moment awaiting the appointed hour to be witnessed by someone (or many someone’s) who needed what you gave deep down in the soul…maybe by not deleting that cringe, you saved someone or something from the existential dread of them, too, fearing the feeling of criticism, projection, or being misunderstood…. until then, are you ready to receive the expansion and depths of being seen?

Are you afraid of losing your creativity, self-control, integrity and authenticity if you are asked to hold that much more witness and power inside the container of your being (I AM)? These are the questions I ask myself. What is the core of my limitations that I self impose versus my real limitations? Why do I really want to delete something that I post, ever how silly, insightful, wise, or cringe and what do I need to see or change in order to move past this?

Our mind tries to protect us from alienation because its focus is more on survival than thriving, so it manufactures all kinds of stories and seeks confirmation bias to keep us in resistance and surrounded by people that back up those stories. This is why change is so hard. Letting go of things we love in order to be more fully ourselves is hard. It’s easier to make excuses than to step forward, to go through the fire. It does seem that, like it or not, there is a level of sacrifice requested by the Divine for us to honor the purpose of our innate gifts and often it is not what we may think.

There’s enough censorship out there already, especially towards those who go against the status quo, so think about that before censoring yourself.

I’ll be over here if you need a catalyst, because I’m right there beside you trying so hard not to hit that button that is so tempting. Am I the only one?

I get in my own way, maybe you do too. What does it matter if a hundred people see a post or none? Whatever you feel in a moment that you post something from a photo of nature to a video rant to a controversial blog post, what would happen if you just left it up long enough to overcome the fear of it not being accepted or perfect or how you might express it dfferently another day, another time? Maybe you were being a total jerk having a shit day and deleting it is actually the right thing? I don’t know, I just know this is a battle within me and I can’t be the only one with this urge.

There is true cringe like people supporting tyranny as a badge of virtue (look at my bandaid - if you haven’t repressed 2020), Doctor’s doing dances, or folks wearing their masks (legit cringe, please delete). There are people expressing themselves in every possibility under the sun from doing something for the first time to exquisite displays of excellence, bravo, keep going, don’t delete… it’s awesome, let’s encourage more weird…we need more of this realness and less of the nonsense.

There is room for us all on these interwebs, no matter what labels are used to try to bring someone down. 😉

I’ve done a lot of work to unblock these fears, to open up and release, to allow energy to flow and trust in myself and something greater than me as guide instead of worry. I’m also fully aware that these challenges, that my own design or blueprint for being fully me is available by walking through things instead of trying to go around it. Growth is the heroine’s journey that happens when jumping off the cliff and feeling the pit in the stomach rise…and then dissolve…but you’ll never know if you don’t leap.

Life is a spiritual quest, the practicality of it is a sacred dance, a push-pull inviting us to relax into, instead of resist…to be the warrior for our own soul…to put blinders on the ways of the world and keep going inside our own lane, our own calling. It’s beautifully challenging. The easier it gets the more doors open for the next hurdle, the goal is being comfortable in the uncomfortable, not pretending it’s not there.
__________________

Might Delete Later

don't recognize myself in pixels
tiny squares pieced together 
staring back in a miniature window
does anybody care what I wrote?
words spilled from heart and mind
sharing meant growing a new spine
does anyone have to care but me?
hardened tears gave me the strength
staring out bathroom windows to think
not unlike looking through a black screen
why am I so afraid of being seen?
why does it matter if I swim or sink?
as long as I remain true to myself
each tiny fragment is freed from the shelf
released from inside the storage chamber
vessel of pain converted into a word painter
washed away in a transmuting transfer
communicated on strings alive in the aether
is anyone on the other side of our art?
can anyone really see into another’s heart?
the Most High dares us to let the wheel go
assimilate, create, know, then give it a throw
can it be undone or erased from the record?
isn’t what matters in the middle of the tether
not the start or end, but the ride up the escalator
either way, i choose, and i might delete it later

That’s amore,

~ Angela