When I was in graduate school completing my MA in English (and half of another in History before depression settled in and ruined all the things), I worked at the university I was attending and one of my professors would walk past my desk and say, “FASTER! BIGGER! BETTER!” He thought he was funny.
I was thinking about this today as I was thinking about this blog.
And I was thinking about writing this blog when I realized something pretty big on the tennis court the other day.
Or I should say that I observed it on the tennis court and really felt it. It’s something I’ve realized before but you know… it was in my brain and not in my body.
The tennis court as school
I’ve said this before and of course I believe it most deeply about dance but the movement thing that you love enough to really commit to? It’s the thing that will teach you everything you need to know about life. For today’s example…
There are often these moments when Craig and I are playing and he is getting a stray ball and making his way back to the baseline to start up play again and I end up yelling, “Hey! Let’s pick up the pace!”
When I pick up dead balls, I do it with a bounce in my step. I HURRY. Because someone is waiting.
And it hit me suddenly a few days ago: rushing is one of my most deeply embedded trauma responses. I am always making sure to do what’s been asked of me as fast as possible so there is no anger.
But there are layers
Of course, there are.
I rush so I don’t anger anyone, but I also rush so I don’t inconvenience anyone. I rush so I am not a bother. I rush so my presence is not clocked as anything but helpful.
Trauma born for sure.
But also? Patriarchy born.
Craig doesn’t rush. Like EVER. For anything.
Because he’s been taught that his time is his. That whatever he’s doing is to be done for himself at his own pace. (We talked about this and though some of these things can be hard, he does get it when it’s pointed out.)
As a white, cishet male, the world is meant to rush for him. He’s meant to take his time. However he likes it.
The middle ground
I would like to rush less, and I would like him to rush more. I don’t want him to feel the fucking anxiety that I live with thinking I have to do every damn thing as fast as possible — from my work to the dishes in the sink to whatever.
I would like to rush less. And I would like men who are slow-privileged to pick up their pace sometimes. To maybe actually think about the person waiting for/on them.
And yeah, maybe, I would like men to feel some of that anxiety that I think a lot of us feel who don’t have that privilege. Just to grow their empathy, ya know?