Amber Bird | Blog

If you haven’t already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

I suppose this ties into the last two weeks’ posts. I mean, maybe this is because I’m an introvert and I’m reclusive.

When I was younger, I scrambled for friendships. I think that I did it because society taught me that having loads of friends was normal and a measure of just how well I was doing in life. I think that I did it because I thought that enough friends would prove (to others and to myself) that I had worth. I think that I did it because I was afraid of what I might find if I were alone with myself.

But I…I want to say I outgrew that, but I don’t want to imply that there was anything wrong with wanting loads of friends. In fact, I think it probably is normal to want that. That the majority of people, for at least part of their lives, want that. I don’t look down on people for wanting it.

But as I grew to really like myself and not be afraid to be alone with me. As I spent time alone with me and found that I really, really loved being alone. As I learned that “normal” didn’t necessarily mean “better” or “best for everyone.” As I had some really incredible friends who helped me see that that was the level of friendship I wanted if I were going to put aside the art I was making or the beauty of solitude and give time and attention to other people. As that all happened, I grew into a self who had rather high standards for friendship.

Now, I understand that what I consider my bottom line for friendship is higher than what others consider that line. I know what you probably mean when you call someone a friend. And I don’t judge you for that. What right is it of mine to judge? Friendships are personal things, aren’t they?

And I use the word “friend” the way that you do when I talk to you, because I don’t see the value in having to preface every use with an explanation and with, I’ve learned from experience, trying to help you not feel hurt that, whilst I like you as much as people that you like and call “friend,” I don’t use that word the same way and…Yeah, it gets a bit much.

It’s been very clearly communicated to me, by people who I do consider friends, who meet my unusually strict and odd standards, that I ought to be ashamed of myself for having such high standards. (Or even for knowing clearly when people fall in my concentric circles of relationships.) They claim it means I’m unfriendly and cold and…Well, you get the point.

As with some of the other topics about which I’ve written, I’m sorry, sincerely, if this one hurts your feelings. And I couldn’t tell you precisely why my brain has a very different picture for “friend” than yours does. (Mine probably looks more like what you consider your best friends.) Maybe I actually took to heart those idealised descriptions of what friends are in programmes, films, and books.

But you’ll see that I still treat you kindly; I don’t automatically treat people who aren’t my friends poorly. And I can still enjoy your company. And I won’t correct you if you call us “friends.” (Not unless I feel like what you are to me is less than what typical people would consider a friend. And, even then, I don’t correct to be mean. I believe in being honest and that knowing where we stand with each other is the best for both of us.)

Anyway, in case you can’t tell from this post or what section of the site it’s in, I’m not ashamed. Even if I didn’t have a different bar, I wouldn’t be ashamed. I don’t say this about everything on my Not Ashamed list, but: I believe we’d all profit from being very selective about our friends. We should all have only friends who are truly well-intentioned when it comes to us. Who set aside their jealousy to celebrate our victories. Who kindly, and without turning it into gossip fodder or finding some perverse satisfaction in it, hold each other in defeats. Who can be trusted with our vulnerable parts and our secrets. (And, let’s be honest, I have trust issues, so it’s not necessarily an insult if you don’t get my trust.)

Everybody ought to feel loved and supported by their friends. If your friends make you feel uneasy or attacked or unsupported, maybe you ought to join me in being very selective.

And, like me, don’t be ashamed of that. It’s better to be selective, to walk alone if you must, until you find those who deserve your goodness.

(One more note: I’m sure the world has many great people who could be my good friends. But I’m also sure that finding and being friends with all of them would lead me to neglect my arts and the sanity that comes to me from solitude. I don’t feel like I “gotta catch ‘em all.” And no shame if you can’t catch me, even if you are super awesome and we are well-suited. I’m actually a difficult friend. No, really. Have you read the other posts here? I might adore you madly and think of you constantly, but that won’t be enough to get me to find nearly as much time for you as most people seem to want. Consider this so-called shameful quirk of mine your saving.)

Now, go out and be selective! You deserve it.

Cross-posted to the Not Ashamed section of my site (so that it’s all tidy).

If you haven’t already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

This one dovetails nicely with last week’s post on being an introvert. My reclusive nature is similar (there’s overlap), but it’s not quite the same thing.

Last month, I was talking with an older, mothering sort of friend. I said something about being a hermit, and she got a little upset with me. There are a lot of connotations that spring into mind with that word, and none of them, to a casual eye, apply to me. I tried to convince her to let me call myself reclusive, because they’re pretty much the same thing. She didn’t like that much either for similar reasons.

When you see me, I’m not dirty or unkempt. I don’t have twigs in my hair. I’m not afraid of you or gibbering madly. I know how to be polite and hold up my end of a conversation. My home isn’t a little hut in the forest. Etc etc etc.

So a lot of people think I’m joking or speaking really hyperbolically when I say I’m reclusive or that I’m an urban hermit. Look at me on stage! Look at me chatting with some stranger at a bar! Look at me managing the food shopping without breaking down in fear! (If they can’t believe I’m an introvert, they definitely can’t believe that I’m reclusive. That’s a step further.)

The thing is there’s nothing in either the definition of “reclusive” or “hermit” that requires me to be afraid (or dirty or gibbering or living in a hut). Nope. In fact, in examining myself, I don’t even think I have any real social anxiety. I mean, maybe; I might be deluding myself. But I have plenty of friends who struggle with social anxiety, and close enough friends that they’ve described it to me, and I don’t think I’m having the same experience as they are.

For me, it’s kind of like you asking me, “Amber, would you like vanilla or chocolate ice cream?” and I’m really not hungry for vanilla, so I shrug and say, “Chocolate, please.” No big deal. And, sure, I’ll usually choose chocolate. But it’s not because I fear vanilla. There are even some times I enjoy a little vanilla.

“Amber, would you like to leave the flat today?” I’m not afraid of it. And, sure, there are times I enjoy seeing family or friends. But, mostly, I’ll just shrug and say, “No, thanks.”

Now, my reclusiveness is certainly at least partly there to satisfy the introvert need for time alone and the autistic appreciation for being apart so that I can prevent sensory overload. But it’s not a burden for me. I really, truly, madly, deeply love solitude. I need hours of it daily. Even from the person I love most in the whole world. (Need. I’ve tried going without and it doesn’t end well.)

I know I touched on this last week, but I want to be clear here that there is a part of this that isn’t motivated by needing to recharge or by needing to cut down on stimulus. There is a part of this that’s a deep hunger of solitude. For days or weeks of no in-person contact with other humans.

There was a day I was having a mad craving for Thai food. My cravings can be ridiculously strong. And there’s a really tasty place nearby that I can get to in under 5 minutes. Or that can deliver to me. Massive craving and kind of busy and all I had to do was interact with a delivery person (I can order online) and I just shrugged and thought, “No, thanks.” My craving was mad at me, but the thing deep in me that strongly prefers solitude was just beaming with contentment.

For those who worry, no, I never neglect myself. Beyond the occasional craving denied. I never go hungry, I’ve never risked a job or messed up a gig, and I’ve never let the cat go hungry or missed a vet appointment. I’ve left the house to do kind things for others. I even drag myself out in the middle of the night sometimes to catch a film that I’d really rather see at the cinema instead of on my TV.

I live in a city. On purpose. I love being near the things I want. Especially with this fortress of solitude into which I can retreat within minutes of being done.

And I honestly don’t mean to confuse anyone. Nor do I like how often people think I must be lying about being reclusive in order to spare their feelings. If I were going to lie about myself or my motivations, I’d make up better stories.

Societies are, by nature, social. So, of course, my desire to stay tucked away in my cosy flat is seen as a shameful desire. Especially this part of it that I can’t even blame on a validated thing like introversion or autism. And I’m flattered by those who, in trying to shame me out of being myself, demand to know what right I have to deny people the awesomeness of my company. Hey, I hear you; it must be hellish to live without me as your constant companion.

But I’m not ashamed.

And, someday, when it turns out that what I’ve put out into the world instead of a lot of social nights is albums and books and blogs and some killer live shows, I will feel like I’ve put more than enough of myself outside of this flat. If it weren’t for my love of solitude, I couldn’t do the work to create those albums and books and blogs…I suspect I wouldn’t even have enough sense of myself and my emotional space to put on shows that are half so authentic.

I’m not the first or the last reclusive artist. It’s a fine tradition. No shame here.

Cross-posted to the Not Ashamed section of my site (so that it’s all tidy).

If you haven’t already, please read the introduction post. That will give you context for this page.

Ambition has its pitfalls. I’m not going to pretend it doesn’t. For the sake of fulfilling ambitions, people have lied, cheated, stolen, and done all manner of other immoral and unethical things. They’ve thoughtlessly ruined relationships. They’ve lived with only their own personal glory in mind.

I’m not here to say that all ambitious pursuit ought to be free of shame. Nope. I fully advocate shame for some people and the way they pursue what they do.

But I’ve examined both my dreams and my intentions. I don’t just know what I want, but I also know why I want those things. And I see no shame in wanting success with my music or my writing, nor do I see shame in the reasons I want that success. (I won’t elaborate here, but there’s a list of reasons, and they have nothing to do with personal glory.)

There are two ways in which my pursuits of my ambitions are seen as a reason for shame, in addition to the reasons listed in my rock musician and scifi writer essays.

First, some people look at what they see as the personal cost of my pursuit. Working hard takes time and resources. How can I “waste” those on what I do? As I explain, I believe that talents are like divine callings. If you have a talent, there is something you are meant to do with it. I think that the purpose doesn’t just vary talent to talent, but person to person. I’ve done what I can to figure out how my talents are best spent. And, in the past, I have tried to live a life where I didn’t give that my all, but spent my time and resources on more “normal” and less-criticised things. I felt…hollow and incomplete.

I don’t take lightly the impact of my actions on others. I try to be mindful. But I also recognise I won’t do it perfectly; none of us can make it through life without causing some upset, hurting some feelings. I do my best. I’m sorry that not everyone approves. But I feel no shame. (The only time I feel shame, a shame that sits deep in me and can’t be talked away, is when I don’t give everything I can to making the best of my talents. And then I am miserable. So those whose judgement seems rooted in the fact that I’m not social with them as often as they’d like, I’d say you either aren’t a true friend—cos you’d rather I be miserable so you can hang out with me—or you haven’t thought this through.)

The other way in which my pursuits are seen as a reason for shame have specifically to do with the realm of my ambitions. If I were ambitious to the same degree but it were business, law, medicine, and things like that, I’d be spared this particular set of judgements. Because there are those, including those amoungst my friends, who believe that the only pure ambitions in the arts are those that have to do with making your best art. The instant you also admit that you wouldn’t mind if you got paid for it (you know, being paid to do what I love, like non-artistic people can do without judgement…being able to focus all my time on the art instead of having to give my whole day to a “day job” and cramming bits of art into my evening…) or that you see benefits in being known by people other than your friends, you’re suspect and a sell-out and a defiler of art.

Ehm, no. I’m working to make authentic art that speaks to me and is high quality. Your limited capacity to conceive of a situation where one can be true to art and hope that truth helps pay the rent doesn’t sound like a cause for me to feel shame…(It’s okay. Pause a moment, reassess, change your mind. See, now you’re good? Didn’t change your mind? Well, now you know a topic you’re best not pressing me on.)

Because I continue to work hard towards my dreams and to do that without shame.

Cross-posted to the Not Ashamed section of my site (so that it’s all tidy).