I Radiate & Emanate Stoicism

Every so often, I will do something that causes any witnesses to raise an eyebrow, at the very least. Not "say something," because I do that frequently enough as it is. A breeze might surprise me, or an unexpected shriek from a random source could cause my ears to perk up. At this point (and I've mentioned this before), nearly anything in any forum, and consequently everything, gets disregarded. Unfortunately this fatalism does not apply to emotional ramifications, so I have to be especially vigilant with some bits of my unfiltered internal monologue.

More often than I could exaggerate, I'm sure, I say something that offends somebody who hears it. This doesn't mean that what I say is xenophobic or irrational in any way. If anything, it elucidates the latent caveat that should be inferred, like when I scoff at hair gel. That's about 20% of the time--for the other 80%, I'm probably bitching about the Bears or talking randomly about Nicolas Cage's aimless career, which reads more arbitrarily than a U2 discography (seriously, they all need fearless management to tell them when they have a bad idea).

My bumbling attempts at rudimentary tasks could reduce even the most stone-faced codger to a heap of gasps. In a certain way, my halted actions do just that--they halt--and I/everyone should be grateful for my deliberation in this regard. However, I'm still rash. Don't exaggerate my apparent laziness when it comes to certain things. I refuse to sit still when Fox News lingers on a television screen for too long, and nothing can impede my body as it hurdles toward an untouched remote control if it, or some programming that's similar, stays on the screen.

Sometimes my movements, though, don't go as planned. I could be doing nothing (and anything, again--it's fascinating how one does not abrogate the other) and I could lose my balance. This renders any accusation of inebriation laughable and wholly absurd. I could simply be walking a few dozen feet to a waiting car when I'll begin to pitch to either the left or the right. In this regard, I'm decidedly not partisan.

Rather than emit some form of high-pitched squeal that only dogs can hear, I do nothing. Up to now, nothing unexpected of note has happened. I could imagine that I'd be more skittish if I had something comparable to measure it against, but alas, I have never broken a bone. I have torn my ACL in my left knee, so I recreate the paralyzed feeling of utter abandon that accompanies such a fast traumatic event that a wince is a mere afterthought. All this happens in my head, though. I've never freaked out verbally. At least not by wailing or bursting out.

The fortunate thing about my own personal brand of stoicism is that I can easily separate the voice from the panic. I have dealt with hysterics constantly throughout my life, and so I've learned not to shout or utter a nonsensical emanation. In these situations. Any other time, this could be fair game. When I start to tip and have to summon someone's attention, volume and timbre must be controlled, lest they modulate alarmingly.

This gets transferred. Usually, I'd expect someone to yelp at certain, infrequent, points when my body forgets where it is in space and my brain notices its lapse and reminds the body to compensate. This happens from time to time. I'll be walking simply and then my sense of balance will fail me. I view such instances in a positive light, and think that it's simply an indication of confidence creeping back into my muscle memory. So I've gotten used to occasional moments of faulty movement and see them as a good sign, like my body is trying to recalibrate its place in space. It reminds me of when Robocop had to use his partner's aim to adjust his own. He had to rely on her uncorrupted sight and targeting prowess in order to know where to point, and I do the same thing when it comes to moving. Sometimes I just need a little freedom afforded by relying on someone else's senses.

By doing this, I learn how to move. It feels like I'm taking my first steps sometimes, and in a certain sense I am. It's not as dramatic as a paraplegic standing up, but the sentiment feels similar, although greatly diminished, obviously. You'd never know it, though, because I will never display any sort of satisfactory expression on my face. And when I trip, I won't grimace or pout. The internal frustration suffices. Plus, a tantrum could lead to further abandon, manifested externally and internally.

R