Participation Trophy goes to Princess Sparkle Pony
My life is a plight of bystander syndrome. Non-participant, observer, don’t mind me, just passing through. Bad at team games, weird kid in the corner, looks angry, approach with caution.
Let’s define some terms.
“A Sparkle Pony is someone who take Radical Self-Reliance and tosses it out the window. Who expects to be able to use the community as a crutch, and there be nothing wrong with that (when there most definitely is).” -Mosaic Experiment
“[A sparkle pony is] A high maintenance person at the Burning Man Festival who is unprepared for the harsh camping environment and becomes a burden to their camp-mates.” Urban Dictionary
“Princess Syndrome” — An increasingly prevalent condition found primarily in young heterosexual American women. Characterized by (1) unrealistically high expectations; (2) materialistic conduct; (3) a sense of entitlement; (4) exploitative behavior; (5) feelings of superiority; and (6) a lack of regard for society’s rules and mores.” -Urban Dictionary
“Princess Syndrome, or Princess Energy, is the symptoms displayed by a woman who is very accustomed to things being done her, by both sexes but primarily men. She views relationship through the lens of utility- what can you do for me?- and is not quick to help when she is not fully confident in the assistance she is offering. She is under-skilled as far as practicality and likes to play dumb, instead of going through the natural learning curve of an adult, trialing and erroring ones way through life. She detests the uncomfortable beginning phase of learning, while overall she does appreciate learning and expanding her mind. Her excuses range from, someone else can probably do it better than me, just do it for me so it can be done quicker, and, I like needing help. She retains some sense of innocence and naivety, which is extremely important to her, in her efforts to remain helpless. She has surrounded herself with do-ers and people who seek approval of others by tasking as she’s asking. She does not care to know how to set up the tent, drill the hole, train the dog, fill in the blank. Can’t someone do this for me? Not only that, someone should be HONORED to do this for me, observe how charming and endearing I am. Daddy did it for me with pride- why aren’t you my dad? There is a strange desire to be cared for, when she could just as easily care for herself. She lives an independant and responsible life, however derives little joy or satisfaction from these qualities. She used to; what happened? She has come to resent her independence and in the same breathe, will resist authority. She refuses to fully identify herself as a functioning adult and truly does not know why and is getting kind of tired of it but at least she’s recognizing it?”- Natalie Wiarda.
I spend a lot of energy on believing in the lack; in the scarcity. Scared of the not enough. I’m not a very exciting guest in that way. I’m not as bad as I could be, but I’m not the one who is known to distribute snacks at 3am or show up with a calculated and thoughtful party favour . Sometimes I do that. But it’s rare. I enjoy making personalized gifts for occasions and that helps me sleep at night? Is it having grown up in a family of 7? Is it pot-luck anxiety, always?
(During pot-lucks and line-ups, I always go last. I have such angst that there won’t be enough, and it doesn’t matter if I don’t eat, I’m fine. (Martyr.) I can’t handle people being disappointed about not enough. I’d rather fall on that sword on purpose than watch someone suffer vulnerably.)
These are the things that keep me up at night?
I think at my deepest core I believe that
there is not enough.
I have such desire to be generous but it is perverted by a painful admission that sharing is dangerous. I become uncomfortable when faced with the choice to share- especially if it is a mood altering substance. Lest I be left alone with my sobriety.
Yet, my expectation of reception, while rarely stated out-loud and always played off cool- is ever present. I will hardly ask out right and will even practise acting surprised and flippant when offered, but I wanted it. I expected it. I banked on it? These are embarrassing admissions.
There is something to be said about boundaries within generosity. One can be open-handed in a group setting, quietly aware that they have a private, solo stash of whatever it is (food, supplies, drinks, attention, energy ) and this I must remember.
I pity my brain in all her extremes and rundown excuses.
You can be big hearted while also covering your bases. It’s really just a mind-set, a chosen attitude. A daily practice that makes permanent.
I want to stop wondering why I’m like this and just, be different! Dammit! This curse of an in-depth self awareness with minimal drive to change or dopamine to do it.
Do I believe I will be taken care of, by this time-space reality, within this moment in this particular pattern of the universe? If I believe this, as a given, as an objective truth, regardless of circumstance — then I will breathe deeply and easily, offering my overflowing cup to whoever is thirsty. (The power of belief is all God is?)
But — and- but
this beautiful, esoteric belief system has an ugly flip-side, a literal interpretation that is not serving me well. It’s ‘serving me’, I suppose, selfishly, but it is limiting my growth, and blemishing my personhood. This belief system has can summon a manipulative mindset , innocent & insidious.
I am longing to be taken care of and provided for, in all ways practical and monetary. But not in the ‘abundance’ way - I think I genuinely still believe that someone, cough , my dad, is going to take care of everything.
What do I mean by dad- dad is an archetype of someone (usually a man but not necessarily) who has a bigger tool box and more tools, doing for me what needs to get done so that I can- what? Sit on the couch? Not have to worry about it? Is dad God? Does he still have the whole world in his hands?
I play stupid and small. I am neither stupid nor small. I resent my independence. I am very independent.
I believe I will be taken care of in the Grander Scheme of Things but that doesn’t mean I can’t help serve the cake or wash the dishes or plan the event or offer support or feedback. As I take care of others I take care of myself. I simply take care. Instead of constantly seeking support and feedback. I stand consumed with self.
The universe will take care of me. I am the universe. We are the universe taking care of itself. We are all we have. Gag.
Better it be a constant attitude, and not something you turn on and off. You don’t clock in and out of a framework.
(O, but I do.)
What you do with little, you will do with a lot. Biblical.
Because how you do anything is how you do everything. Rohr.
(I don’t do anything.)
I used to be so proactive, I used to seek out leadership. I used to comb my hair. I used to know my place.
When I do not know my place, I am not quick to volunteer. I stand in fear. It’s fear- it can be perceived, by myself and others, as laziness, as cheap, as withheld, as selfish- maybe it is all that, but underneath it all- it is fear. I don’t want to mess it up or piss you off. So I stand there, sparkling in all my pony glory, claiming ignorance and craving comfort.
It’s not cute anymore. It probably never was.
Maybe I’m still reacting to five years as a support worker. Maybe the idea of serving scares me now; maybe I would just rather not.
When will my body catch up to the rest of me; when will I find the Garden.
Resolve:
Get more involved, get into the mess of life, make mistakes and learn from them. You are not a passive passenger on this planet- participate! The effort IS the reward — that is it. A life lived on and with purpose is all anyone can do.
The effort IS the reward- what honest efforts am I putting in right now?
I want to be generous, within the bounds of integrity and honestly. I want to receive generosity just as much as I want to give it. I want to honour my limits and only I know what they are. I do not want to be scared to help. I do not want to be scared at all. I am free to fuck up. At least I tried, I made the effort, THAT IS THE ONLY REWARD.
Take this infantile, immature dependance on my friends who have become place-holder father figures- and morph it into the mold in which it belongs. It’s a collective mindset; climb out of your small, repetitive story. It’s predictable and boring. Enter into the Bigger Picture. You are taken care of- not as your personality, with your curated curses and issues, you and your blood vows to fear- YOU are taken care of in abundance, because we all are. You are unique- you are not special. You are the We.
The painful crisis of ‘getting over yourself’- my special little plight.
Look, I wrote a poem.
Dear Pre-Trans Fallacy:
I don’t want to transcend and include, I just wanna transcend.
I don’t wanna get into it, I just wanna hit Send.
To tell you the truth I just talk a big talk (I’m not vulnerable)
I just pretend.
can’t say, I care, at all, to be,
in te gra
ted —
I don’t
want to transcend and include, I just want to transcend.
(oh my god i am so guarded- put me back in the Garden)
(don’t look directly at the Wound- put me back in the Womb)
but i know i have to, i know i have to, clarity and grief as my heart skips a beat-
I know that I have to include. All of it, all the time, continue including.
This is the Path of Inclusion. Without which, this path is circles.
The parts of me of which I’m ashamed, the ugly, the rude, the profane, the buried;
transcend and include, transcend and include
to compartmentalize — just serves as a disguise, beating around the Burning Bush
you say you want the Path of Wise?
You sit around and
- daydream of an existence punctuated
only by innocence and the passivity of freedom-
sorry, kid. You’re not a kid anymore. I’m sorry it was taken from you so early on, you can cry and you can write and you can muse and you can fight but
you have to
transcend
and include.
transcend
&
include. Look at the wound, it is part of you, blend it in with the rest and trust the process.
