POWER

One of the most satisfying experiences of my waitressing career was driving into the kitchen staff parking lot in a Porsche 911 Carrera 4 S. Every male human within a half-mile radius teleported to the door of the kitchen and had maxed the volume on Appreciative Heckling Mode before I’d pulled the parking break.

It went this way for a whole work week, since my Volvo hatchback (also fast, I would have you know, an in-line turbo 5-cylinder) was in the shop, and the aforementioned Porsche is what was available to me as an absurdly generous loaner. The enthusiasm and awe of those around me while I was driving the famous temp car never ebbed, from Wednesday to Sunday, and neither did my gratification in my sense of the outsized energetic impression I was making on people. For a little while, I wasn’t just “give it to Caroline, she’ll eat anything,” but “yeah she’s the one with the Porsche” <respectful silence / slow nod>.

*

I live with two four-year-olds full-time, so I think I’m something of a reliable correspondent, if not expert, on bad behavior. And it occurs to me that some of the most destructive behaviors in the human repertoire arise because of a fear of powerlessness. As usual, whatever I’m figuring out about my kids is just the epicenter of an understanding that spreads to my concept of all humans, adults included and perhaps especially. So it makes good sense to me that part of my utility on this day is to offer you a way to feel more powerful.

When my smart, fun, and extremely musically intuitive and skilled aunt proposed that I might like a band called Nothing but Thieves, I mentally added it to my list of to-listens as a matter of course. But what really caught my attention, like one of those porch bug-zapper thingies, was when she started actively hedging, rocking from foot to foot and leaning back as if trying to avoid getting punched in the face.

“They’re not for everyone, but…” / “You probably won’t like it, but…” / “You may just need to give it some time and see…” / “I’m probably the only one but…” — see, these are the kinds of red flags I love spotting, because, for instance, among my students during class discussion, their equivalents (“I don’t know what I’m talking about, but…” or “this is probably way off track but…”) almost always precede an excellent if not brilliant insight.

[It’s been my experience as a teacher that people often ease up on the gas when they start to sense their own power.]

I got to work listening. My aunt wasn’t wrong that the occasional abrasiveness of the band’s sound can be disconcerting for anyone used to the dulcet-to-soporific variety of daily sound-scape.

But here’s the thing: when you’re powerful, and you own it and sustain the force that’s carrying you forward, with integrity, a little abrasion might happen along the way. SO BE IT.

So many of us, I think especially women, spend our precious energy attending to all the imagined permutations of the ways in which what we have to say or do or be or feel *might possibly* rub someone else the wrong way.

Consider where else that energy might go.

[*note: editor recommends listening to but not viewing the video associated with the following links right away. THERE ARE JUST SO MANY DAMN LAYERS FOLKS. Start with the sound only, if you’re able.]

—That energy might go towards connection

(Reaching, hoping without apology, offering with clarity.)

—It might go into tenderness

(Depth, gentleness, restraint, exactitude)

—It might go to a fully-fledged imagination

(The aggression necessary to create; the precision it takes to set other minds to work; the explosive energy that can begin to loosen the ways in which we’re bound.)

—Or how about the fullness of a life?

(In which we luxuriate in honesty about what we’re experiencing?)

—Then there’s kicking ass on a run, too.

(We don’t absolutely *have* to get philosophical and bottom-of-the-Mariana-Trench earnest, though this group has plenty of bandwidth —yes I just did that— to support any exploration of sincerity we might dare to haul forward.)

*

Let me relay to you a fable by a waitress I know— a little ditty about why we should not fear power.

So I was driving home from a shift in which I’d likely been both delighted and demeaned by customers (EVERYONE SHOULD HAVE TO WORK IN THE SERVICE INDUSTRY), you know, just enjoying Route 34 at night in a Porsche, as waitresses do, and some dude coming from the other direction decides to pull INTO MY LANE going 60+mph less than a quarter-mile from me.

It was not my good manners that saved my life.

It was not how considerate or thoughtful I am, or how palatable I can make myself to the rest of the world for no pay and little reward.

It was how fast I can drive a fucking car.

It was the obscene amount of power I had at my command, the hair-trigger tightness of the suspension, the ruthless acuity of the steering, and my complete lack of hesitation that saved my life.

So yes. I’ll be listening to some intense and powerful music over here, soaking it up until I reach saturation, and then I will push on the gas a bit more and see what lies beyond. I’ll be remembering that power isn’t a dirty word. Power does not preclude gentleness, or curiosity, or connection, or love. I’d argue it fuels them all. It’s not to be apologized for, but embraced—maybe even as if my life depended on it. Because, of course, it does.