Running over.
I come from a family of passionate, deeply emotional people.
There’s a saying that the Irish forget everything except the grudge.
Yes, this is true. I can name nearly every slight and injustice I’ve ever received. But I can also remember every pain I’ve caused another person, and either kind of memory can break my heart.
I’ve been accused at times of feeling too deeply, and I do. I feel everything with intensity. Happiness, sadness, disappointment, rage, I feel each with equal depth. But what’s wrong with that? I would rather feel everything than feel nothing at all.
What is the point of holding it in, of living a muted life?
My family is open, out there, quick to laugh until we cry, or even to openly mock you until you weep. My brother will send me an email outlining each time I’ve punched him in the face (there are five that he can remember from high school alone), my sister and I can walk into a room and either explode into hysterical laughter (always fun for her husband) or into a fit of rage (doubly fun for her husband). My dad will call me a vacant, vacuous retard and then tell me I can do anything with my life. They’ve taught me what I know about life and love, about how to experience everything in full color even when it feels gray.
These are my people, this sack of Irish nuts, and as my mother will tell you, the day for remembrance approaches.
My great aunt Betty was an endless fountain of love in my life. When she was happy, and she was happy all the time, she would exclaim "my cup runneth over."
Her cup constantly runneth over, filling others with the joy she had in surplus. Because she wasn't afraid to love and to feel very deeply. For her husband. For myself. For my little brother, to make room in her home and her heart for everyone who passed through her door. I brought friends and boyfriends over, not only for the food and the conversation, but to give someone else a chance to feel that warmth, to be loved so freely by another person.
So I strive to follow that example, to let it all overrun, to give other people in my life what I have received from Betty and everyone else whose blood runs through my veins.
To live and live and live while I can. To indulge in a life of emotional excess. To let it all run over.
.
"My cup runneth over" was an inside joke that Betty had with her sister, Vivian. Every day they would talk on the phone, frequently dissolving into fits of laughter. All I can say is that it had to do with a bra with a broken strap.
Yes, the family is an intense tribe. All the way back several generations. Visitors are often frightened by their first visit to our house. Not for the timid. But we are also quick to embrace people--that is,if they can stand the noise.
All this and while listening to my man, E.S.? Can I please be adopted in? I think I'd really fit in ... C'mon - can't I be like the dark-haired Irish people? I could do the accent and everything. And I'll celebrate St. Patty's Day - I'll wear green and everything. Well - I don't really have green, but I'll get some. And Kermit could be my favorite muppet. Please? Am I pleading a good enough case?
LOVE LOVE LOVE YOU!!!
Is it nature or nurture? Sometimes I wonder whether we can actually control whether we live a "life of emotional excess" or a "muted life." Maybe our emotional approach to life is just part of our genetic makeup, like my amazing sense of humor, which no human could ever expect to learn on his or her own. It's God-given, baby.
On the other hand, maybe some people just avoid "feeling too deeply" because it is hard. So they just mask everything with humor. Not that I would know anything about that. No way.
Heh. This might help explain why that apartment in Astoria was too small. David's Irish nutsack of origin has a family mantra more along the lines of "No Drama Please." Not that exciting events don't occur. We just prefer to greet them with a shrug. Maybe even a raised eyebrow if we feel particularly strongly.
It's really hard for me to relate to this post, because my family... Well, we generally try very hard to keep any emotions from showing. We bury them, deep inside, only releasing them in small passive-aggressive increments. Of course, sometimes in the midst of a Thanksgiving dinner 20 years of emotions are released at once, which always makes for good drama.
One thing I can certainly relate to is that nice gentleman Eric's comment above. I don't generally express feelings. Ever. I can talk about them, when forced, from an academic point of view. I rarely express them by other, standard means.
"Aren't you excited?!" people will ask.
"Yes. Quite."
And humor as a defense mechanism? I wouldn't know anything about that. I'm not very funny.
our families have a lot in common. especially the whole punching part.
i really liked this one nora...almost as much as the one where you almost died....almost.i teared up a bit, when you brought up betty, then i punched my computor thinking about how often you punched me in highskool....1.25 times per year