Ever been told that? That you are “too much”?

If you never have, then I guess you can skip this rambling.

On second thought, if you never have but you get the concept … or … you have maybe accused someone else of being too much … I implore you to read on.

Because I can tell you unequivocally, as a person who has been labelled “too much” far too many times, it is a useless moniker and quite frankly, one that speaks more to who you are than to who I might be.

My mother used to tell me that I was too loud. I was constantly being admonished. “Quiet down, Vickie,” she whispered … “You are always too loud.”

You know who else gets kind of intense (boisterous? strident? vociferous?) sometimes? My son. Is it in our DNA?  Perhaps. But unless he is disturbing the peace at a funeral (doesn’t happen) I never say a word. Ever. Because I understand what it feels like to be asked to shut up. By your mother!

And I will not do that to him.

(For the record, I have a few girlfriends who get really vocal – especially when they’ve been drinking – and I try to give them free reign as well.)

But too loud and too much are quite different. Because too much suggests that you should be less.

Less what?

Less opinionated? Less emotional? Less forthright? Less colourful?

I don’t get it. Should we all be sheep? Demure? Quiet? Unassuming? Indifferent?

I look to my family and wonder … were we all too much?

Even my blessed mother, who WAS quiet and usually agreeable, was too much. Too much to settle for a local boy and humble life. Too much to accept that her only Grade 8 education could stand in the way of her getting a Master’s degree. Too much to allow old age to stop her from translating and publishing books. She was so much different than her peers. Too much?

My father was also too much. Far too much. Too much to let WWII stand in the way of his desire to study and teach. Too much to allow the harsh realities of starting a new life in America to sidetrack his dream. Too much to shy away from publishing in three languages and starting a brand-new university. Too much to ever stand in awe of anyone. My father was the most too-much person I have ever known.

And then there’s my sister. Also way too much. Not too much loud or rambunctious or brazen like her younger sibling but too much drive. Too much ambition. Too much initiative and enterprise. They probably called her too aggressive, too domineering, maybe even too bitchy … because she was a woman rising to the top of a male-dominated field. Damn, am I ever proud of her.

I guess the problem with my own personal “too much” is that it goes to my emotional attributes. Or flaws, depending on who you are asking. I am often chastised for being too honest, too open, too fervent in my desire to get to the nitty gritty of any person or any situation. I am too hungry for ardent authenticity. Too impatient with posturing and false civility. Too bored by small talk and polite conversation. Too determined to inspire others to reach their full potential as genuine, accountable, passionate humans.

The truth is, some people become instantly attracted to this side of me. Some people long to tap into this raging river of intensity. Some people enthusiastically attach themselves to my frenzied foray through life, eager to sample whatever heightened sensations they have been missing.

Until they waver. Until they rethink. Until they bail.

Because I am too much.

I recently posted a quote on Facebook because it resounded deeply – “Please don’t be attracted to my light and later attempt to dim it.” I suppose I could add, “Please don’t be attracted to my light and then blame my illumination for your blindness.”

This reminds me of my musical youth, when the boys in the band never had any trouble attracting the ladies. Fun fact: women love musicians. Until they marry them. Then, if they are not super-successful, they are desperate for them to STOP being musicians. They want income, stability, a medical plan and a mortgage. I have seen this SO many times.

Fall in love with the light. Then try to dim it.

There will be no dimming with me. I have worked far too long, constructively and consciously to arrive where I now sit comfortably. If I am not your cup of tea, so be it. I am quite certain I am someone else’s champagne.

If I am “too much” then I accept that accolade as the world’s brightest compliment. But the truth is, I do not believe it. And neither should you. If someone … anyone … ever tells you that you are too much, you can take to the bank that it is not true.

They are quite simply … not enough.