When I was very young and the urge to be someplace else was on me, I was assured by mature people that maturity would cure this itch.
They lied. There’ve been many times when I wished the floor would open up and I would disappear, preferably to some beach in Hawaii. When I was younger, I suffered terribly from shame over any mistake, either real or imagined. My body’s response was to blush the most vivid red from my chest to the top of my head. I had no control over this vascular flush and felt so many eyes on me, judging me. My body was my enemy. It betrayed me.
With age I had a better understanding of the way culture determines our behaviour, and how shame was a necessary means of control for family, religion, politics and society, I could manage my thoughts and so my body. But, with maturity came menopause and hot flushes and then I wanted to be someplace else, preferably somewhere cold. Somewhere “the change” would not be so evident.
Going back to university as a mature age student, was a nightmare. Since I was paying for my classes I resented the tutors waiting for some twenty year-old to finally speak up and answer a question. I saw this as a waste of time as many did not read the assigned papers or do their homework. I would, in my frustration, burst out with some comment only to be told the university was a democratic institution. The result, an overwhelming flush that not only left its mark but left me wet with sweat.
I wanted to be in Tasmania and not facing a hostile lecturer or the inquisitive looks from the under-aged class. That itch to escape has not left me. Anytime I make a mistake, that old voice of judgement speaks to me and I blush red and think of a ticket to…
Burnside Writers Group 