I love the story of the Velveteen Rabbit, written by Margery Williams and published in 1922, in England. This first section, below, is for those of you wishing to know the gist of the story without getting the book. Otherwise, you might skip this first part and scroll down to “The Velveteen Rabbit And Me.”
My Abridged Version Of The Velveteen Rabbit
A stuffed rabbit made from velveteen is given at Christmas to a little boy. The boy also gets other toys, newer, more modern, and they ignore the Velveteen Rabbit.
An older, wiser toy, called “The Skin Horse,” feels sorry for the little rabbit and tells the rabbit about toys being made Real by the love of children: “Real isn’t how you are made… It’s a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time – not just to play with, but REALLY loves you – then you become Real.” The rabbit is awed by this idea, but his chances of achieving this wish are slight. – From Wikipedia
Short version, the rabbit becomes the boy’s favorite toy. Not long after, the boy gets scarlet fever. His doctor says everything in his room is to be thrown out or quarantined… including the velveteen rabbit, which is tossed into a sack and thrown out into the garden.
The rabbit is sad; it cries, and a real tear drops to the ground. A flower grows out of the tear, a magical fairy comes out of the flower, telling the rabbit that he has become Real, and takes him away, to become a real rabbit with all the other bunnies.
Probably most of you know this story to one degree or another. I have found it to be wonderful perspective on a human condition, mine included, and I want to share my little epiphany, in hopes it might jog something inside you as well.
The Velveteen Rabbit And Me
For much of my life I wanted to be Real… I mean really Real. Because, you see, I wasn’t… not all the time, anyway. If a person is fairly perceptive, (and I am) that person learns to know how others feel regarding him, what they might expect of him. And the person, often in spite of themselves, becomes the person he thinks they expect… because he can be that person. His personality is diverse enough to read that expectation and deliver it, probably for approval, maybe to impress, to promote a new friendship, maybe even to dodge any confrontation, potential argument, or to avoid any unpleasantness at all. Whatever, that was me.
Here’s a short poem by Brian Bilston that hits the nail on my head –
First Date
We’d so much in common, that was clear to me from the start:
A marriage of souls, like de Beauvoir and Sartre.
The connection was instant, almost irrational:
Simply simpatico, fully compatible.
You confessed you loved winter, North Yorkshire, and cats.
‘Me, too!’ I responded. ‘How amazing is that?’
You were wild about Wharton; you loved Ethan Frome.
‘His best,’ I said, thinking I’d read him when home.
You praised a revival of Pinter’s Dumb Waiter.
I nodded along. I should google that later.
The discussion then turned to things that you hated.
Pulp Fiction, you thought, was quite over-rated.
‘You make some good points,’ I eventually said.
I could always hide that poster under my bed.
You spoke of a loathing of poetry that rhymed
And I said, yes,
That stuff’s awful.
Brian Bilston
Yup. I didn’t even think about it, I just did it, all the time. My life was busy enough, social enough that I had daily opportunities to not be the real me, and mostly I took them. Occasionally I could be Real, but too often I was the person that I seemed required to be, expected to be. I began to see that trait in others, and didn’t like it… or them, as I felt they weren’t to be trusted. And finally, after many years, I realized that I must have been seen by others in the very same way.
Enter the Velveteen Rabbit
The Velveteen Rabbit wanted to be Real. So did I. At 66 years old, retired and living in Montana in my cabin at the time, I later realized that it was the perfect place to exercise my new realization, and its ensuing new persona.
I had been a composer, an arranger, a pianist in Atlanta for 31 years. Retirement and divorce came almost simultaneously, and I found myself living alone, in my cabin, my safe haven. As long as those Montana winters were, they proved to be the petri dish for my discoveries of who I had been, and who I was to become.
It was during one of those long winter nights, a blizzard howling outside, the fire inside crackling, and me, sitting under a blanket, hearing the wind, knowing the temp was falling below zero out there. But I was inside, brandy in hand, thinking, searching, realizing that i was no longer a composer, no longer a piano player,
What was I going to tell someone who might ask what I did, who I was. And who was I, anyway, really? I wasn’t a piano player any more, and I wasn’t a jingle writer. What the hell was I? What had I become? What could I be recognized for, what made me different, unique? Well shit… nothing. NO – THING. Nothing. All that was in the past, that’s who I used to be. But not now. So who the hell was I, tonight, on this hillside in SW Montana, snow blowing outside, piling up in the driveway?
And then it hit me. I was just a guy now. Just a guy! I know how funny this has to sound, but it’s true… I laughed out loud, having just had a strange, honest and wonderful realization of who I was now! Because, honest to god, I hadn’t known until that moment. And looking back, it was that moment, that little epiphany, that I became Real! And from that moment on, I knew I was finally going to be… just me.
********************************
It became the best of times, the worst of times. It was a much-needed positive growth, it was a depressing realization. I felt great… about finally being really me, being Real, the same way VR wanted to be. And I felt initially terrible, on first realizing that most of the outside world didn’t care for the real me. That was a hard pill to swallow, as I’d spent my whole life not being really me, and being generally liked for that And worse, it was really hard to consistently break that lifelong habit of being appropriately me. I remembered the Velveteen Rabbit asking the skin horse, “Does it hurt?”
“Sometimes,” said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. “When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.” I had a fairly high degree of difficulty with that one. It did hurt, at first, and that hurt translated into questions about how important was it, really, to finally be Real.
“Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,” asked the Velveteen Rabbit, “or bit by bit?”
“It doesn’t happen all at once,” said the Skin Horse. “You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.”
Aside – I didn’t have a bunny, I had the typical teddy bear. Well, not typical to me… he was fluffy white with a red corduroy vest. His little black button of a nose had long ago been loved off, and his mouth was gone, making it possible for me to surmise whether he was happy or sad on any giving day. His black eyes were always calm, and in later years I almost resented him for that. I don’t know what became of him, but I know he was loved.
Anyway, the Skin Horse was honest indeed, and he was right. For me, learning the truth about being Real came slowly, but at least it came. Yes, most of my hair was gone, my eyes were droopy and I was loose in the joints and very shabby. I needed a skin horse to guide me, for one thing. The fog around the new me was thick, nearly impossible to see through, to see where all this might be heading. As that fog slowly cleared, it became evident that the new me was not being sought out by anyone, for any reason, thereby leaving me alone with my thoughts and little projects… every day, every night.
So I read about it, thought about it, wrote a little about it. And in that process, along with my newfound aloneness, the fog began to clear…even without the Skin Horse. In asking the question, “who am I missing? Who doesn’t like the new me?” The answers were surprising. “Almost no one!” And, “Almost everyone!”
“Okay. But now help me with this.” I would have asked the Skin Horse, if I’d had him, “Where do I go from here?”
I’m guessing he would have answered, “Why simple, dweeb. Go to the ones who accept you and love you for who you really are!”
“Oh, you mean those few I can count on one hand?”
“That’s right. They already know who you really are. They’ve already accepted your duality. It’s likely they will appreciate not having to endure your occasional tap dances with your useless need for acceptance.”
Damn. Maybe the Skin Horse was too truthful! Regardless, I followed this new “advice” and lo and behold… my life, my relationships, even my self esteem, began improving dramatically! Life became way simpler, easier, more enjoyable in so many ways. Perhaps the worst part was the realization of how stupid I’d been all those years. But again, it was okay, because I had finally become Real, and could at last run with the rest of the real rabbits!
As a topping on this wonderful dessert, I had accidentally discovered the secret of those whom I had admired all my life… those exceptional few who stuck out to me as unique and strangely powerful individuals. True, they had special skills and were blessed with a personal magnetism that was easily recognized. But more simply put, their strength was in their integrity, and their self-confidence. My self-confidence was soaring, and I could develop integrity, couldn’t I?
I actually thought I heard the Skin Horse answer, “Ha! Well, maybe, Steve. But first things first. Start by being content to be Real, and perhaps later on, integrity might find you. Don’t expect it, don’t wait for it, don’t even search for it, for integrity is a rare and precious gift that comes in the night to only a few.”
Actually, I knew that last part. All my lifelong experiences, all my reading and searching for wisdom, integrity and enoightenment had led me to recognize it only when I read it or heard it, but had never heard it coming out of my mouth or dripping into any of my writing.
What I did notice, however, was that listening more and talking less could be most productive, and enlightening. It became amazing to me, how much I learned by really listening and talking waaay less. Listening and observing is a great way to learn about people, even about the world. Occasionally I caught myself wondering, “Why are they so preoccupied with themselves, so selfishly blind? Why can’t they see??”
And every time I thought I heard the Skin Horse whisper, “Dummy, probably for the same reason you “didn’t see” for most of your life!”
Ah well – perhaps the integrity part is overrated, and maybe it’s much like enlightenment, as the Skin Horse had hinted – you don’t find it, it finds you. At any rate, I have stuck to “being Real,” and it has worked out beyond my wildest dreams. My lady, Betty Ann, told me back at the first of our new relationship, “I’m tired of people who can’t be themselves. Life’s too short. I only want the real you! And all you’re going to get is the real me. So get ready for that!”
Do you have a Skin Horse in your life? I hope you do. And if you do, I hope they keep you Real. It’s so valuable. My Betty Ann keeps me Real, every day. What I’ve gotten from her is total honesty through these years… occasionally tough, always insightful. Hey, it kind of seems like she might have gotten the integrity that I wanted. Yes, I’m sure of it!
This ‘being Real” shit comes with a few emotional barbs. Now where’s that Skin Horse when I need it? Isn’t it finally time for the Integrity part? C’mon, already. I’m bald, droopy-eyed, loose-jointed and shabby. Surely it must be time…
And again I hear that soft whisper, “Ha. Still searching for integrity, are we?”
Steve Hulse
