Aaacck! Don’t watch me!

by Patty K on January 11, 2010

I was chatting with Betty, a woman I met here in the marina. She was talking about her routine and my ears perked up when I heard “yoga class.” I immediately asked: “Are you telling me there is someplace to take yoga classes around here?” And before the words had completely left my mouth, the alarm bells were going off. (Mistake! Mistake!)

“You want to do yoga?” she asks me. (Earth to Patty: “she didn’t answer your question…helloooo…this is a trap…”)
“Sure.” (Damn! Must learn to think before answering.)
Betty: “Oh great. I love yoga! We can do it together.”

Patty: (coming to senses and clarifying a bit) “So…there are classes we can take?”

Betty: “Oh no. I used to take classes back in California. There aren’t any here. We can just do it here on the dock.”

On the dock – like *in public* – with people walking by and gawking. Sorry. No. Even if I was really good at yoga (which I’m not – I took exactly enough yoga to be able to make fun of it in my comedy routine)…it’s not happening.

I have this thing…this issue…where I don’t like people watching me. I suspect it might be related to my issues around being seen.

And I’m feeling a little lonely about this issue right now, because my fellow introvert and boat mate (Joe) is doing something that totally freaks me out.

Joe is practicing martial arts – shadow boxing, skipping and other violent kicking throat gouging entertaining things. And because there is no room on the boat for all this aggression, he is doing so in public. Where people can (and do) gather around and watch him. I can’t do this. I can’t even imagine doing this. (Oh…and get this: now he’s talking about recording his workouts on video and posting them online.)

So I invite him to talk about this over lunch. I ask him how he can do this.

And he asks me why I’m bothered by being watched. Actually, he *tells* me why I’m bothered about being watched: It is all about judgment. Isn’t it? You’re worried that people will judge you.

And then he says things that make me feel worse very sensible things. Things like:

I have a goal and my goal is more important than my discomfort
I don’t care what other people might think, I just tune them out
I don’t think what I’m doing is really all that interesting to other people, it’s like they just walk by, or maybe they’ll stop and watch for a minute or two – then they get on with their day and never give me a second thought.

Then he says something really profound: maybe by watching me work out, I’ll inspire them to work out…

My list of “quirky don’t watch me” things (Things I could do in public to inspire other people?):

Singing
I love to sing. It just feels good. And I tell myself that I *can’t* sing. So I only sing in the car. By myself. When no one is watching. (Or when I think no one is watching). Which means I stop when I get to traffic lights – or when I’m in traffic. Mainly it means only when driving on the highway – at night when it is dark. And sometimes in my house (back when I had house) – but only by myself – and only when drunk. (Actually, there’s a longer list of exceptions once we factor in “drunk”)

I’m still working on this one. 2 years ago I actually took singing lessons with my sister and 2 friends. As one of them observed: “we should call our band the Screeching Cats.” I so admire people who unselfconsciously sing in public. And anyone who sings as part of a speech. Especially if they are not particularly talented. I once heard some advice about singing during a speech/comedy act: “If you can’t sing, sing *louder* – the power is in the commitment.”

Dancing
When I was in grade 5, a nasty bitch from hell mean little girl pointed at me and laughed, chanting (in that sing-song evil little girl way) “Patty can’t dance…Patty can’t dance…” That was one of the defining days of my childhood, where I realized that there was a group of kids that fit in…and then there was me and a few other “losers” as they so affectionately called us. I also completely bought into her judgment, decided that she was right – I couldn’t dance – and I refused to even try.

Except for times when I felt exceptionally courageous drunk I didn’t dance as an adult. Until I wrote a speech about this for my Toastmasters club (Toastmasters as therapy – highly recommended and cheaper than counseling). Getting it out in the open, saying it out loud – while it didn’t make it go away instantly – it did make me realize that I was missing out on something that was potentially fun because of the opinion of some little girl.

So the next time I had an opportunity, I danced. I was a tad self conscious at first (mainly because I was stone cold sober) – but I got over it. Now I dance and I don’t care if I don’t know how. If other people have nothing better to do than watch and judge me…well, then they’re missing out on the fun and I kinda feel sorry for them.

Exercise of any sort
Which is kind of tricky, because the only time I ever exercise (aside from the occasional walk) is when I sign up for a class. I seem to worry less about others in the class watching me. Ideally, the class has to be closed off from the public. I loved, loved, loved my bellydance teacher – who would not only draw the drapes around the room, she would chase off anyone who tried to peek in (and she would constantly remind us not to judge ourselves or compare ourselves to others, but just to enjoy ourselves). It almost made up for the entire wall of mirror right in front of us. Yoga in a small class with the door closed: YES. Yoga on a public dock in a marina with people watching: HELL, NO!

Trying on clothes
Ack! The horrible lighting and mirrors are bad enough. The last thing I need is an audience. I am not a “come out of the dressing room and ask everyone in the store for their opinion” kind of girl. I’m the try stuff on and if I don’t think I look too horribly fat in it, shyly beckon the best friend/lover/sister I brought for a second opinion. But mainly I’m a “go shopping by myself and never ask the salespeople for help” kind of girl. And more recently, I’m a “fuck the whole idea of clothes shopping and order pajamas online” kind of girl. I’m also the “yes I know I’m 43, but I can still refer to myself as a girl if I want to” sort of girl. (Even if by “girl” I don’t mean “girly girl frou frou makeup dress me up like a Barbie kind of girl”…more of the “way too immature to really be a woman (and OMG “woman” sounds so old)” kind of girl.

Grocery shopping
Are they judging my food selections? I think people can learn a great deal about us by looking at the content of our grocery carts. (I always look in other people’s carts.) When I make virtuous selections, I don’t mind being watched. And this is way easier to do in Canada – because you can’t buy liquor in the grocery stores. Here in Mexico (or in the US) I can have my cart loaded up with fresh veggies – but the 12 pack of beer and 3 litres of rum (it was on sale!) well…I guess that reveals something about me.

Oh. This is a great place to insert my (semi off topic) inspirational grocery shopping story. This happened in Victoria this past summer. The guy in front of me had all sorts of healthy, organic food in his cart (to the point where I was feeling a bit guilty about some of my non-organic purchases). The cashier rung up his grapes and he stopped and corrected her. “Those are the *organic* grapes.” She made the correction. His purchase went from $8 to $11. Then he announced: “as long as you’re willing to stock organic produce, I’m willing to pay for it.” I love to see people live by their values – especially out loud.

Cooking
While we’re on the subject of food. This was a problem for many years (but I’m actually past this one now – yay me!). Not just about watching me cook…but cooking for other people, inviting them for dinner, bringing a dish to a pot luck, etc. I used to think I was being judged on what I cooked, how I cooked it, my kitchen, my plates, my mis-matched cutlery, you name it…I figured it was inadequate.

When it all comes down to it…the things I’m OK with people watching/judging are the things I’m OK with myself. I like my own cooking. And I’m OK with the idea that others might not. And more importantly, I’ve discovered that the enjoyment of having a dinner party outweighs the discomfort of “being watched” while I make food. (Of course, I also prepare as much of it ahead of time as possible – both to reduce the “watching” time and to increase the drinking “enjoying my guests” time.)

Writing
I have to have my back to a wall, where no one can sneak up on me. Right now, Joe and I are facing each other – he on his computer, me on my own. He has to walk past me to use the head. When he does, I minimize my document. The other day he came over for a hug – and I snapped at him to not read over my shoulder.

This too, goes right back to when I was a little kid in school. I would hide my paper with my body when the teacher came up behind me. I just didn’t want anyone looking at what I was working on until I thought it was done. When I’m first “figuring out” an idea, I write a bunch of crap aka – the Shitty First and Second, Third and Fourth Draft. It’s raw – and quite often it just doesn’t say what I want it to say. Therefore it makes sense for me to withhold it until it passes some sort of a “Patty thinks this is reasonably OK and probably says what she means” test I’m drunk and therefore brave enough to hit the Publish Button.

I’ve been writing for *years* – this blog is the first time I’ve ever put what I’ve written up for public scrutiny consumption.

I am writing this blog for a number of (extremely selfish) reasons: I’m practicing writing, I’m using it to get past my “stuff” around being seen…and I’m trying to overcome perfectionism. And in doing so, I hope that I might lead by example and inspire others to do the same.

I’ve been working on this post for about 3 days now…it’s still not perfect quite right…and I’m going to post it anyhow. Take that, Perfectionism!

Now I’m off to bellydance and sing in the parking lot. Watch for the upcoming videos.