Life is like a bag of roasted pistachios, as I like to say. Or at least, that’s what I’m starting to say now.
I see myself as having that smooth outer shell; I tend to be a people pleaser in order to keep things going smoothly; I like to have order and set expectations; I love quality boundaries where people respect my (emotional, physical, and mental) space. But I’m also that pistachio with a slightly popped open shell. I like people to know that I can be vulnerable and show my inside pieces. I hope that I am authentic in the balance of showing who I truly am, where I stand with things, and that it’s perfectly acceptable to not have everything put together.
And that greenish, brownish, misshapened piece tucked within the smooth shell? It’s not pretty to look at. But it’s salty, it’s delicious, it’s that chewiness that you can dig your teeth in without being too hard that you crack a molar.
It takes effort to reach my inner chewy, salty pistachio. It’s not a space for everyone. And I don’t want it to be a space for everyone. I’m sure part of that reason is how I grew up, another part is my introverted side, and yet another is the effort it would take to bare all of me to the world. There is a sacredness to only letting in a few. There is an importance to creating boundaries for each level of stranger vs. acquaintance vs. friend vs. inner sacred space.
Leading up to the fall is always a hectic time. We have several birthdays in the family, the demands of school are pressing in upon our household, and there is a fevered attempt to do All The Things before the next sunset is upon us. It’s exhausting. With these heightened times, there also tends to be pressure to expand and expand and expand until you have met the expectations of others and all of those boxes are checked. Am I alone in that feeling? Do you feel yourself pulled so tightly, all with that same pressure to continue to stretch?
The H-G Munchkins Rocking Back to School
Coasting into September, I want to keep my same state of Slightly Popped Shell Pistachio. My closest people are already tucked inside, acquaintances can observe I still have a glimpse of a pistachio inside my shell, and everyone else demanding to pop me fully open and devour my insides can just hold off. My shell is staying just as it is.
What kind of pistachio are you? Maybe you’re that completely unopened shell that is most comfortable staying closed. Maybe you have a sliver of an opening, and the only way to pry you open is by using the shell of another pistachio to pop into your sphere. Maybe you’re that unshelled pistachio that’s been trailing around the bottom of the bag, completely smothered in salt, which makes you a rare gem of a bite.
All this is to say: I am comfortable in my current level of pistachio-ness. The people who are meant to fully see me, know me as I am. Others around me see a glimpse into the heart of who I am, but proper boundaries are in place to protect my self, my space, and my emotional needs. And yet others can see my glossy shell from a distance and know I’m okay showing only my smooth exterior because not everyone gets a glimpse of my deepest heart.
And for those with nut allergies, this is not meant to be discriminatory. Life similes can come to meet any kind of dietary needs. What is life looking like to you?
Go Team Slightly Popped Shell,
~M
EDIT TO ADD: It was brought to my attention by my linguistically enamored brother (we are like-minded in our fascination of language) that calling someone a pistachio in British English, as well as in Turkish, can be slang for a beautiful woman. It doesn’t appear to be overly sexual, but instead synonymous with “very beautiful”, or “awesome”, or “super-hot”. In a world filled with body shaming, an approach to female attractiveness as always being a work in progress, or striving to be an idealized version, I’m leaving the theme of this post just as it is. So in your personality, in your physical presentation, in who you are, I hope you can figure out your pistachio-ness and know we are all beautiful. We are all damn awesome pistachios.