Well, let me clarify that. I'm not a Loudmouth as defined by the brilliant Sherri Slater. But I hope to be..... one day.
I am... a Loudmouth by the definition of some. I had a bartender tell me I was loud once... which could be considered a Loudmouth of sorts.... but he had really big ears... so I am certain I wasnt't loud- he just had an uncanny ability to hear me better than most- and I told him so.
I might also be considered a Loudmouth by anyone within three blocks of one of my girls' soccer games. Again... not exactly the definition I'm referencing here. (although- I LOVE being a loudmouth-soccer mom)
I have been known to belt out the songs at church louder than the average pew-participant; much to the sha-grin of my children.... still.... this doesn't qualify me for the new Loudmouth category I have been inspired by.
So here's what happened:
My mom invited me to a girl's night with her friends to attend the debut performance of her friend Sheri's production, 'Loudmouths.' No brainier- if you know my Mom, or her friends, or Sheri, or Sheri's history of performances... there was no question. This was the perfect storm of perfected-ness.... all in one evening.
I. Had. To. Go.
I was not disappointed. There was amazing conversation. There were shared meals and shared wine as we responsibly considered our budgets. In-between yummy food and yummy wine were introductions to new people as they passed through our enchanted evening destined for their own mediocre evening.
Behind the scenes glance: there was a deliberate avoidance of eye contact with an individual that played a recent role in my professional turmoil- I'm not proud that I avoided the encounter, but I don't regret protecting that enchanted evening. It happened. I acknowledge it; for better or worse.
Back to the high light reel:
I didn't exactly know what I was getting myself in to after shared meals and shared wine. I knew it was a stage production that was conceived in, grown in and given birth by a friend.
Not just a friend. A friend I admire and look up to as a relevant, compelling woman of integrity and compassion. Oh- and brilliant. Did I mention she's brilliant? Well- she is..... especially on stage. Oh how she is brilliant on stage.
So, after shared meals and shared wine, I went. We went. The marketing materials were brilliant. There were even lapel pins... we took one and added them to our outfits immediately.
There were books for sale. I didn't look. I don't really have time to read anything that isn't necessary... I'm just too.... 50 shades of busy for all of that ;)
Dim the house lights.
Spot light center stage.
Enter Sherri.
Classically cool.
Simplistically fashionable.
Cute as a button, Sherri.
And 3....2....1....
Wait?!?! What?!?!
This is a college project?!?!
I've! Been! Duped!!
The books should have been a clue. Damn that shared wine. My awareness had been compromised.
And thank God it had ......
The next two hours were filled with a large group of women portraying other women and quoting from their chosen form of truth-articulation. I don't remember the names of these authors, poets and musicians... but that's not the point. At least it wasn't the point for me. (Sorry, Sherri, if I am completely off base here)
The point was... the point is.... that our story, our truth, isn't meant to dwell solely in our brains or in our hearts. Our stories, our truths, are meant to be shared. They are meant to offer hope. They are meant to instigate change. They are meant to build community. They are meant to tear down antiquated establishments of classism, racism and genderism. They are meant to extend love. They are meant to extend grace.
I hate to think of how much I spent trying to hide my story, in hopes of convincing others that my plot was far more note-worthy than my true story. In hopes, perhaps, that I could convince myself my projected plot was, actually, the truth of my story.
As I read the pages of time lost, I am not proud of every page. I am not proud of most pages. I want to rip them out. I want to ban them from the library of life. I want to burn them.
I won't: it wouldn't do any good. The ashes would be put back together so the black-market hater's society could still gorge themselves on every page.
Instead, I make peace with the pages that can't be unwritten. I give thanks for the torturous lessons learned from those pages. I commit to writing a new story from here on out, and I commit to sharing my story: all of it.
My story sharing desire is not to undo unfair treatment of individuals in the workplace, or overthrow government structures that prevent national unity and growth. Well, not yet at least.
My desire is for one person,that carries the guilt and shame of pages already written, to find courage, strength, peace and love as they write new pages and change their story. Maybe, if we all become truth-telling Loudmouths, the healing and acceptance shared and sought would present the perfect storm for life-giving change world-wide.
You may say I'm dreamer.... but I'm not the only one.
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