What is it about too much that strikes fear into me, can spin my wheels in ruts of old, run my mind into the ground with worry, anxiety, self-loathing? Too much manifests in many ways, of course: too much emotion; affect more intensive than one expects; logic overridden by intuition; extension of self or desires in appropriate or inappropriate ways, connection to another felt whether desired by either involved or not. Too much drives my mind into cycles of self-analysis that wear me out, not to mention those who love me, choose to share time and space with me. I think this is one of the things that Clarissa Pinkola Estés soothes in me. She’s way more than my simple too much…and she seems to relish it. One of these days, that will be me.
Given the energies involved, "family of origin" must certainly be involved. I am my family and my family is me, but whoa, are we verbal and intellectual. Affective, yes, but always controlled. Contained. Proud of being so contained. I remember my parents arguing when I was growing up, and while it scared me, it was also explained to me. They wanted me to see that adults could disagree and remain in relationship. They were angry with each other. They did what angry humans do—silent treatments, guarded outbursts, and more. But it was still anger-with-a-purpose. A lesson. Controlled. A blessing for which I’m thankful.
I did learn in such trajectory, however, that emotion has its place, direction, purpose. It’s educational, restrained, channeled. It never just is. Which means, perhaps, that any emotion that simply is what it is? Well…that kind is simply too much. It must be pared into its cognitive pieces until each one has its purpose and the too-much-ness can be contained, rationalized, understood. I remember one of my uncles watching a favorite movie of mine with me: Romero. I love the movie for several reasons—a bookworm believed to be harmless becomes a gospel-steeped leader, a poignant & difficult portrayal of polarizing ecclesiologies, more. But mostly I love it because it highlights the strength-in-weakness that liturgy offers.
The American military has taken over a cathedral to be a barracks in one of the Salvadoran cities. Already Archbishop, Romero comes simply to retrieve the consecrated host. The hostilities he endures for even this small rescue of the sacred open way for full liturgical dress, clear ritual action that signals he is about to perform a Mass, and the evicted Salvadoran people joining him as they walk peaceably but surely into the cathedral. They approach the armed soldiers, shoulder to shoulder, and with regret but realization, the soldiers make room for the people to enter the sanctuary. A Christian mass proceeds and participants & viewers receive proclamation of liberation theological hue.
When my uncle and I watched it, however, we spent over an hour debriefing the movie until he could parse his own emotional reaction to it enough to be able to sleep that night. To this day, I don’t know what the governing emotions were—anger, even outrage, sadness, fear, guilt? I don’t remember ever addressing the emotional realities present for him. But we spent a lot of time in Latin American politics, that’s for sure. I was exhausted and relieved when he had finally sorted out his “too-much-ness” in the ways he knew how.
I’ve done similar things with my own too muchness for as long as I can remember. Find the presenting cause. Assess it. Discern it with compassionate listeners. Resolve it with care and attention, perhaps a little courage and risk. Allow myself to feel it, just feel it, and let it shape my life for a time? Unacceptable.
The analytical behavior serves a good purpose sometimes, of course. There are times when I have shared too much, or emoted too much, or hoped for affirmation too much and from the wrong sources. One learns from these over-extensions and, if willing, befriends them into a narrative of “Oh well. Live and learn.” But then if they shape our learnings, or if they communicate a too-muchness of something beautiful, are they really too much in the end? Can one receive too much grace, for instance? Or listening? Or compassion? What if the too much serves a purpose of ratcheting open something that had become closed? Charting a possibility that it really can be as good as all that, if we but allow the possibility and sustain the learning to receive it?
I have served for years now in one of the most emotionally-emaciated ‘businesses’ or ‘callings’ I know: higher education. I have learned to translate an intensive emotional capacity into channels of acceptable creativity, comprehensible institutional innovations, and effusively poetic prose that drives establishment-press editors batty. I have internalized my own too muchness as an Achilles heel, a weakness for which I must compensate. What if there’s a new way to re-frame this anxiety-whirlwind that is too muchness? What would it take to befriend one’s own too muchness and welcome the confrontation with others’ preferences, norms, boundaries as teaching/learning tool—for me and for others? Would this new friend have something new to tell me, a new story?
I’m on the cusp of believing in a new writing project that would terrify my family, for instance. It's way too 'naked' but it's probably the liveliest thing about my life right now. As such, I’m experimenting with sharing glimpses more broadly, but not so much so as to take my legs out from underneath me. I’m alert for self-sabotage—which I can specialize in—while I’m intentionally listening for how to broaden the circles for discerning directions, listening to this ‘naked-writing-prose.’ For example, I’ve recently shared a couple links of this writing with a woman I do not know, nor know whether I can trust. Good risk? Self-sabotage? Time will tell. Will the too-much-ness overwhelm or will it instruct…me and others? Will it expand my abilities to continue to write or will it confront them (and me) with new (difficult) learnings?
Maybe it comes down to a willing foolishness in the end. Befriended too-much-ness suggests that the only way to grow into new voice, to leave one’s chrysalis of new-becoming, is to fall out of it and see what’s received, what wings we can stretch into the air. A friend of mine assured me recently, “Artists love the intensity, the too-much-ness. They can handle it. So don’t worry about it.” Pursuing further artistry of my own requires I learn how to handle it, me, this gift of too muchness.
This gift. That's a good way to start...
