Flinch

I just woke up because my 14 year-old basset began panting in my face. Naive, I'm not. She's old, overweight, and it's probably her heart. But I must confess, it's not the only reason I've been tossing and turning all night.

When Kevin set up a blog for me, I warned him that I wanted to be completely honest. What would be the point in recounting tales of warm breezes and blossoming trees? If you want excessive description, pick up Victor Hugo. Quite frankly, being forthright is as necessary for me as it is to breathe. I think we misuse the term "confrontational". It's one thing to be direct and quite another to be cruel. Cruel, I am not.

But how to marry (excuse the pun) this with a husband who is excessively private by nature?

You got me.

My wise Toronto friend M articulated it best. We all have filters through which we view and process our experiences. I believe these filters are made up of our past, those we surround ourselves with and our genetics. My childhood was shrouded in secrecy. There is little I know about my father, although there is much I can guess at. How I wish it was all on the table-the good, the bad and the ugly. There is nothing to be gained from hiding the truth away. Only a desperate longing to know more. And a resentment that grows over time.

As Kevin once said, "You're always fighting". True enough. Fighting for my health. Fighting for the truth. Fighting for a ridiculous career. Perhaps this is what attracted me to acting, storytelling and now writing. Unclogging my filter. Ambitious? Yes.

And with that ambition comes friction and tension. Others' filters have a different view from mine. Gloriously different. I welcome the outbursts and the opinions. Without them, I would never be forced to think. To analyze or mull. And after the storm, there comes a growth. A deepening of friendship and a broadening of respect. And if there doesn't, there wasn't much of a relationship to begin with.

This is what I believe.