3.5
July 6, 2015

We Don’t Always Do it Right the First Time.

image

He is wearing a top hat full of feathers, wearing blacks and blues and flip flops and brown shoes.

He walks amongst a sea of people.

He seems colourful and strange in comparison to his surroundings.

In my grief I have worn whatever feels good each day.

I sometimes look like a child, in mismatched bright colorful non complimenting outfits.

Today I am wearing pink pants with orange flowers, a mustard yellow shirt, a big crystal necklace, my sun hat and a bamboo kimono that is grey and blue. My hair is curl-free and blown out from a French braid I slept in.

I do not flow. I do not look cool, I promise. I also don’t care.

He looks back, and smiles.

In my color today I acknowledge that I probably look like one of him…one who wanders barefoot, drums, dances, talks of the moon and the stars, drinks tea, reads Eckhart Tolle, goes religiously to Burning Man, does yoga.

My color is actually just the chaos I feel inside.

Ten steps onto the ferry, I have a moment of disassociation. It’s the same ferry I usually take to the Sunshine Coast.

I wasn’t paying much attention and am in a daze from coffee and writing, so I panic slightly.

In this moment the hat with a smile shows up curiously in front of me.

“I really love your hair,” he says, eyes gleaming.

I, in my “oh fuck” confusion, step over him quickly saying “thanks” and bolt to find an employee.

I was on the right ferry.

As soon as I know I am headed to Vancouver, I exhale and realize how beautiful and vulnerable and brave that man was.

Seeking me out to see if I was an other, a connection to be held, a sister to walk beside, a possible partner to know.

I love that. I do that.

More of us need to listen to our curiosity and boldly tap the shoulders of strangers.

It’s scary. It’s vulnerable. It’s hard.

So I seek him. I walk until I find him in a booth, working with head phones in.

I step over the part of me that says:

“He doesn’t need an explanation. He might think you’re over sharing by explaining your reaction.”

I tap his shoulder.

He focuses out of his laptop and in on me.

“Hi. I just wanted to apologize for my reaction and running off when you came over. I’m grieving and for a moment was worried I was on the wrong boat. I love that you came to say hello. I usually am the one to do that. Thanks for reaching out. What’s your name?”

So I did a do over. I went back. I got to be the vulnerable one this time.

I got to be the one who may be rejected.

I got to do it right the second time.

 

 

 

Relephant: 

Talking to Strangers: The 85-year-old Hitchhiker.

 

 

Author: Janne Robinson

Editor: Renée Picard

Image: via the author

 

 

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Janne Robinson

Janne Robinson is a 21st-century feminist beat poet. Her voice haunts with the legacy of early feminists and poets such as Gloria Steinem, Charles Bukowski, and Jack Kerouac. Her no sugar shit prose cuts with the honesty and simplicity of Bukowski and the romantic reliability of Kerouac. Her poetry leads like a woman, walking with fire in the footprints of Steinem—breathing sexual liberation, choice, and overall championing women to their birthright of not only equality but leadership.

Robinson notoriously states that her career is to “share slabs of her heart for a living.” Her ability to capture the human experience with unrefined sincerity makes her an incredible force in the modern landscape of personal expression.

Her loyal following of enthusiasts on social media are there not only for her brutal honesty and lyrical grace but also for her lifestyle, which is a mirror of her devotion to joy and refusal to work to work to work to die. Robinson’s films and art shit on the societal “shoulds” and norms and encourage people to ‘build their own box’. She is an outrageous idealist and master at effortlessly marrying the life she wishes to live with her work, and this enrages and inspires many who believe they are trapped.

Robinson’s foray into directing and the multimedia world was in directing a spoken word poetry film in NYC involving 18 women reading the lines from her poem, “This Is For The Women Who Don’t Give a Fuck.” The film was a viral sensation online and was nominated for the 2016 Cannes Corporate Media & TV Awards.

Janne is very much so crowning at the beginning of what is and will be a triumphant career, and she has begun so with the hearts of millions indebted and watching as it is rare to stumble upon a woman who makes revolution nature.

You can connect with her on Instagram or at her website.