I have a retainer on my top and bottom teeth. They are permanently glued in to my mouth, a remnant from when I had braces when I was in sixth grade. It’s pretty common to find one on the bottom teeth, but the one on the top is a little rarer to come across–usually only when you’re holding bottles of upside down margarita mix over a young collegiate’s open tossed back mouth.
For the last fifteen years, dentists have been begging me to remove these retainers. Plaque builds up around them (because THE FLOSSING IS SO IMPOSSIBLE WITH THESE THINGS) and it makes for quite a chore for the dental hygenists every six months. I absolutely refuse to have them removed though. Why? Why would I refuse to remove something from my mouth that is nothing but an irritation, an obstacle to oral hygiene, a cause for dental harassment, and a place for all sorts of things like strawberry seeds, large spices, rasberry seeds, Sesame seeds (Note: ALL SEEDS ARE EVIL) to get stuck and build little hobbit homes in my retainer?
Because I am too vain. I am vain. I have too many English friends who I silently judge with their perfectly imperfect teeth to risk mine looking any other way. I enjoy the symmetry and order of my mouth. The clean lines, the sharp edges, the remarkable way they match up perfectly to cut things I eat.
This blog feels a bit like the seeds I get stuck in my retainers. There are all of these thoughts and ideas and bits of information stuck in the folds of my brain and I need that room for other things. I am a virtually bottomless source of useless information that must be purged to make more room for more constructive useful thoughts and expression in the world. This blog is the floss for my brain. But I doubt writing it will improve my breath at all.
I’ve resisted blogging publicly for a very very very long time because I loathe the idea that someone might point to an idea or perspective I shared on something once and throw it back in my face to hurt me, hurt someone I love, or limit the possibilities for my life and work in the world. So I have a protected Twitter account, I rarely post to Facebook, and my Instagram is like a Fort Knox for terrible pictures of my kids. I am, in effect, hiding. And while I’ve had incredible professional opportunities and success and never been limited by the way my “profile” shows up in the world, I also haven’t made much of a mark. I have been a cog in a machine. I have been a very happy cog, but a cog. A completely replaceable, interchangeable, reliable cog.
Consider this my retirement.
There will be bits of everything until I figure out what is working. Stories from my past. Research and ideas I’ve found useful. Things I’m still struggling to understand and learn from. Resources I lean on when I feel lost. There will not be any pictures of my children, but there will probably be plenty of essays about my shortcomings as a parent. That subject might need it’s own blog.
My name is Meagen Gibson. I am terrified of what you will think of me once you get to know me, but I’m not going to let that stop me anymore.