Tamriko Sholi Inside a woman. Candid stories about women's destinies, desires and feelings

The young Ukrainian writer and journalist Tamriko Sholi did a great job collecting necessary material. She studied female psychology, as well as the external and internal world, in order to open to us a variety of feelings: experiences, dreams, desires and remorse for her mistakes. Do you think this is a typical female romance? No. This book contains the fate of several women with different views on life, characters and financial situation. At the same time, all stories are not similar and are not interconnected.

The main characters of the book "Inside a Woman" are real and very strong women. What is their strength, you ask? Would you be able to tell a stranger your intimate details? This is their extraordinary strength. While reading a book, we will walk along the corridors of the work and look into the keyhole of each door. In the first we will meet with a kept woman. It may be trite in our time, but don't you wonder why all this happened? The second door will open the pure love of a girl with cancer. Can there be true love between a young man and a woman 12 years older? We learn about this behind the third door. Next, we learn the thoughts of a woman living in a happy marriage, but at the same time her heart is given to another. But it's not yet full list stories… The rest you will find out when you start reading the book Inside the Woman.

Tamriko Sholi wrote a fascinating book that contains romance and sadness, humor and sarcasm, naivety and the harsh truth of life. Also, the author philosophically leads us to bright conclusions. After all, everyone will be interested to learn about the rights of a woman and what it means to be modern woman. Wherein main goal The author is to help his reader through the suggested stories to find their way and be open to their feelings.

The book "Inside a Woman" is written in a beautiful and light style, so reading it is exciting and interesting. She leaves behind a lot of different emotions and feelings, because all the stories are written from the words of real people. This novel will not only open our eyes to the essence of people and human relationships, but we will be able to look at many things that happen in real life in a completely different way.

On our literary site, you can download Tamriko Sholi's book "Inside a Woman" (Fragment) in formats suitable for different devices - epub, fb2, txt, rtf. Do you like to read books and always follow the release of new products? We have a large selection of books of various genres: classics, modern science fiction, literature on psychology and children's editions. In addition, we offer interesting and informative articles for beginner writers and all those who want to learn how to write beautifully. Each of our visitors will be able to find something useful and exciting.

Tamriko Sholi (Shoshiashvili), a journalist and writer, author of the sensational book "Inside a Man", presents its continuation. These are frank stories of different women who did not hesitate to tell the most intimate about themselves.

“I… picked up a voice recorder and traveled through personal stories… – women’s. In the rain and under the sun, in a noisy bar and at home in the kitchen, they confessed to me their mistakes, desires and lust. about him, they re-experienced every detail and every word ... And I was looking for ... among women - myself.

One hundred real women and about the same number of biographies read and documentaries watched. This is not much, but I can still say that each of us has something that we are silent about. It seems that this is exactly the smell, after which men turn around. Wonderful. After all, this means that after every woman one day someone very important will definitely turn around ...

One hundred shades of feelings, one hundred options for life. I have lived each of these stories and I am ready to tell you how they changed me,” Tamriko herself says about this book.

Tamriko Sholi
Inside a woman

I dedicate to the main women in my life - my grandmother, mother, sister

He stood in front of me and didn't change at all. Nice shirt, neat stubble exact words. All the things I used to love him for.

Thanks for agreeing.

He leaned over to kiss my cheek. I allowed: you need to be able to accept your past.

Our table was in the farthest corner of the room. Checkered tablecloth, short menu, green apron waiter. The rain outside the window was really strong, not at all typical for August. I took the recorder out of my bag and put it on the table.

- Why me? - he asked.

“Because I loved you. Remember - everything was short, but very strong.

- That's why too: you still remember.

Yes, we were together and then perfectly understood each other. Each meeting was like the last, and one day it happened. We parted easily, almost without words, even though I cried later, remembering his hands.

I had just published my book Inside the Man, and after two hundred and one intimate interviews, I realized with horror that men are not to blame for anything. The problem was with me. And as a woman, I wasn't even born yet. I changed my dresses, but they did not cause a particular desire to take them off. And I hated dresses. Sunrises, sunsets, rain, sun, a cup on the table, change in your pocket. I woke up in the morning and did not feel like a woman, I went to bed and did not feel like a woman. It was a sure way to lose interest in life. There were rumors in society and among friends that my every day was a French carousel, and I was in no hurry to dispel their beliefs with my sadness. I was not a woman, and even saddened.

There was always red fish and a bottle of white wine in the fridge. I didn't want to cook at all. There were two options: to leave for the East, wrapped in a shawl from a suffocating feeling of loneliness, or to understand oneself. I made the decision lazily and for a long time, still in the hope that someone would do it for me. The closet was still full of dresses that I didn't dare to wear.

Good thoughts usually come to me in the fall, and so it was this time. Among the wet leaves on the cooled ground and empty benches in the parks, I realized that I wanted to finally meet myself. I want to hug, I want to give, I want to hear. For this, I needed a hundred intimate interviews with women.

I picked up the tape recorder again and traveled through personal stories, this time - women's. In the rain and under the sun, in a noisy bar and at home in the kitchen, they confessed to me their mistakes, desires and lusts. And no matter how old their past is, talking about it, they relive every detail and every word. That is why the women's project was much harder for me. And if among men I was looking for my former lovers, whom I once could not, but really wanted to understand, then among women - for myself.

One hundred shades of feelings, one hundred options for life. I have lived each of these stories and am ready to tell you how they changed me. That's why I needed him - to record my story.

Will you tell me what I didn't have time to ask?

- With pleasure.

“And you used to be less warm.”

- I have changed.

- And how did you do it?

I met his gaze and immediately remembered the eyes of women who revealed their intimate thoughts to me. Those were amazing eyes that are now looking at you.

In this book you will not find any appeals, no propaganda, no advice of any kind. These are just a few personal stories and food for thought.

All names have been changed, any similarities are not accidental.

Chapter 1
Daughter

It was a sultry summer. In a long white top with a huge blue butterfly, I listened to Edith Piaf and prepared for the meeting. I tried to imagine what Valeria looks like and pick up something in unison. So, she is twenty-six years old, and her husband is fifty-three. What can a young girl look like who loves a man ripped open with wrinkles and gray hair? What kind of clothes and food can a girl love who goes to bed every night with a man three years older than her father?

She can look like anything. I cut off "La vie en rose" halfway through, put on a creamy sheer dress so long it hit the floor, and booked a table downtown.

Dossier
Name: Valeria
Age: 26
Profession: lawyer
family status: Married
Financial position: comfortable
Housing conditions: three-room apartment
Additional bonuses: the ability to admit your shortcomings

I was 18 years old when a 58-year-old professor became interested in me. He was tall, with gray hair and wore a blue jacket. He told me interesting stories and made uncommon compliments. They sounded so old-fashioned to me, or something. And he touched me only a few times - when he gave me his hand to get out of the car. I kept wanting to call him Yesenin. Of course, I did not match him at all, and I was much younger than him, and everyone was afraid that someone would see me with him. What he saw in me is not clear at all. I have the second course - the time of tight leggings and jam on the fingers. Maybe he was pleased to see me carefully listening to him. And I didn’t just listen - I stuck to his words like double-sided tape. But this was not enough: I stopped responding to his voice as soon as a soul-torn fellow student appeared in my life. I never saw this professor again.

“Great dress,” Lera pulled me out of the sea of memories. - In this heat, all you want is a transparent shawl and cold water. I can't imagine how these girls in jeans even breathe. And also these long hair and gloss on the lips ... But - beauty requires sacrifice. Especially if you want to keep a man close to you.

- You want?

- That's all I do.

“I thought he was trying to keep you.

- Of course, he ... He thinks so, - Lera laughed. “To fight for a man is to make him think that he is fighting for you.

I liked Lera immediately and irrevocably, and I decided that I would talk with her for a long time until we both lost our voices. Because you can’t just let go of a person who you like: it’s such a rarity - a pleasant conversationalist. We must definitely get enough of it, because in a world where there are so many unforeseen circumstances, each meeting can be the last.

“I’ll torment you with questions for a long time, okay?

- Good.

You didn't like him at first, did you? And what is his name?

Tamriko Sholi

Inside a woman

I dedicate to the main women in my life - my grandmother, mother, sister

He stood in front of me and didn't change at all. Beautiful shirt, neat stubble, precise words. All the things I used to love him for.

Thanks for agreeing.

He leaned over to kiss my cheek. I allowed: you need to be able to accept your past.

- Why me? - he asked.

“Because I loved you. Remember - everything was short, but very strong.

- That's why too: you still remember.

It was a strange time.

One hundred shades of feelings, one hundred options for life. I have lived each of these stories and am ready to tell you how they changed me. That's why I needed him - to record my story.

Will you tell me what I didn't have time to ask?

- With pleasure.

“And you used to be less warm.”

- I have changed.

- And how did you do it?

I met his gaze and immediately remembered the eyes of women who revealed their intimate thoughts to me. Those were amazing eyes that are now looking at you.

In this book you will not find any appeals, no propaganda, no advice of any kind. These are just a few personal stories and food for thought.

All names have been changed, any similarities are not accidental.

She can look like anything. I cut off La vie en rose in the middle, put on a creamy sheer dress so long it hit the floor, and booked a table downtown.

The waiter brought ice cream topped with orange chips. And I was afraid that Lera would turn out to be a doll - a fair-haired infantile joy for a wealthy man. In vain.

Her straight hair reached her waist, and a pearl-drop pendant hung around her neck. She was wearing summer colored trousers and a low-cut white silk tank top.

- Of course, I ran away from him at first. She didn’t answer calls, and if she did, she said some kind of nonsense, like that I couldn’t meet him because I needed to buy dried apricots or vacuum the apartment. Then she agreed. Because I was bored that evening and did not want to sit at home. I was ashamed of him, of course: he is twenty-seven years older, and it shows. We drank then, and I began to imagine that he had a shriveled ass and sagging chest. What will my girls say? I immediately lied that I had a cat with meningitis at home and called a taxi. And he came back a few days later and said he loved my sense of humor. And that I should not be afraid of anything, because he will do everything himself. And he kept his promise. A man who keeps his promise - what else does a woman need to be happy?

I glanced down the stuffy street. Ten out of ten. The only reason I won't answer a man's call again is because he's throwing his promises around like plastic frisbees. Yellow, red, green... A man with an eternal plastic plate in his hands looks more like a schoolboy bored during the holidays.

- How did you meet?

- At a friend's wedding. I thought he was someone's father and continued to consider younger candidates. Toward the end of the evening, Sasha nevertheless invited me to dance and began to ask questions. I knew right away that he liked it. The girls feel it, you know, - Lera winked at me. Ice cream melted in our cups, we wanted to plunge into the ice pool. - I don’t remember what he told me there, but I still left him my phone number. All because it was clear that he did not need only sex from me. And it always captivates.

Still captivating. For some reason, most men believe that we are not able to distinguish when they want to drag us into bed, and when they want to drag us into the heart. There are, of course, assholes who with grace have learned to give one for the other, but this is a rare species. The rest is easy to figure out by smell at this moment. Yes, and they whisper not in the ear, but in the eyes. It all depends on the woman's desire to see reality.

- When did he call?

- A week later. I knew that he would definitely call, but I did not wait. Then my escapes from him began, which I already told you about, and finally the meeting. Oh, - Lera exhaled and burst out laughing. He was wearing blue sneakers and a bright shirt. Tried to look younger.

I raised my eyebrows. It was hard to imagine how funny he looked, because I didn't know what he looked like. Lera realized and found in mobile phone picture of Sasha.

His entire head was covered with gray hair. In the corners of the eyes lived "crow's feet" - such wrinkles that appear if you squint a lot. He was ugly, but well-groomed and, damn it, sexy.

“Listen, but he’s very personal. I don't understand why you ran away from him.

"Because it's not supposed to be." Young girls are not supposed to be with middle-aged wealthy men. What will the parents say? What will friends say? What will people say? What will I say myself? What will sex be like in ten years? And can and does he want to have children? And how is his health? You know, being a woman means asking yourself a million questions. It's simple for men: yes or no. And we always have "fifty shades of gray" and "9 1/2 weeks." And this is understandable. Because society always has more questions for a woman than for a man. In any situation. So she tries to find all the answers at once, before uttering even a sound. Our attempt to analyze everything point by point is the instinct of self-preservation.

You dug deep.

- I had to. Do you know how many thoughts I thought before I answered him yes? Lera showed me the engagement ring on her finger. The combination of white and yellow gold looked quite elegant, especially on her thin finger. - It only seems so that then you can always just pick up and leave.

And why did you say yes to him?

– Protection. He gave me a 100% sense of protection. It seems to me that only those men who themselves are not afraid of anything can do this. Their minds are absolutely calm. And not theatrically, but for real. He then told me that he would do everything himself - and he really does.

- I think it comes to a man with age. At eighteen, a man may also not be afraid of anything, but he still does not know what he wants. Everything is for him - with shouting and slogans. He's marking territory, right? And with age, you no longer need to scream. You can show your right to something with a single glance. And I confess to you - my secret idol Leonard Cohen. And in its current incarnation.

It was pure truth. Today there is no greater pleasure for me than listening to old Leonard Cohen. With wrinkles and a hoarse voice, he sings about the love of a woman as if he had an affair with you personally. In the video, he's in his 70s, and I can't take my eyes off the corners of his lips as they say hallelujah. I can't take my eyes off the way he smokes and looks away quite calmly, singing about a thousand deep kisses. Oh my God, the old man in the black double-breasted coat was my personal prelude to heaven.

And then I remembered how I look at Al Pacino, covered with wrinkles. As I read Serge Gainsbourg. Like I listen to Tom Waits or Steve Tyler.

Assholes through whose hands girls and women passed. How many beautiful words have they managed to say in their lifetime? How many times have they parted women's thighs and penetrated inside? How many times they explained something into the phone, how many times they grabbed their hair, how many times they threw and returned and how many they didn’t ... How their body was covered with wrinkles, and their hands became strong and clear: now they know how to touch . And how many words to say, and how many to remain silent. And the cigarette in their hands smokes not from pathos, but from the fact that it is a cigarette. And gray hair becomes not age, but the experience of touch.

Because there is nothing more erotic than listening to a man who knows what he is talking about. Because there is nothing more sensual than a man who knows how to touch. When it does not need to be pushed, but only inspired. When he knows the value of your look and is able to utter hallelujah quite consciously next to you. And you feel from this both Madonna and Marina Tsvetaeva at the same time.

And I absolutely do not understand when twenty-year-old actors or musicians are called sex symbols. They can be beautiful, talented, interesting, cool, but it's definitely not about sex. A sex symbol is first and foremost an experience.

And when young girls connect their lives with men who are fifteen years older than them, there is something in it, in contact with youth and experience.

And I don't quite understand myself. What is this longing for male confidence and classic gender? When you are definitely a woman, and he is definitely a man, without shades and “buts”? Or is it just less of a need for me to listen to Cohen at night looking? Leonardocoeno-overdose - write it down.

Be that as it may, I have already allowed myself to look at men much older than myself without any background or shame. Wow. I allowed myself.

- You are lucky.

Lera twisted her lips with a tube and leaned back in her chair. Our ice cream cups are empty.

“Many say so, Tamriko. But there is also another side.

- What do you mean?

Well, let's start with our loved ones. Every girl dreams of growing up and marrying a handsome prince. But how many girls do you know who are ready to agree to live with an ugly man? Who, in principle, admit such an idea? And now I'm not talking about mercantile prostitutes who are ready to lie under any pig, I'm talking about perfectly decent girls. How many times in their life does each of them turn up their noses in the style of “he is not worthy of me”? To descend from heaven to earth is, you know, not so easy. There were much prettier men around me. After I officially introduced Sasha to my friends for the first time, they didn’t talk to me for a week. My sister has been telling me for a month not to mess with him. It was not easy to decide on this. Everyone is used to the idea that they should only have the best. Both from the facade and inside. It just doesn't always work out that way. And you need to muster up the courage to accept what life gives you and in what form. But that's not all. Then, when everyone got used to Sasha ... If you only knew how tired I was of the snot of my acquaintances, the girls who endlessly reproach me: “Of course, what can I say, you are so lucky.” That is, at first horror-horror, and then - "you are so lucky, you would be silent." This is how we are arranged: for others, the grass is green from God, from a happy accident, but only not from the fact that he looked after this grass all night long, and watered every leaf with his own sweat for days. Have you ever wondered why envy is considered a bad feeling? Because envy arises when it seems to us that it fell from the sky to people. And when you understand that a person fought for what he has, it’s not envy that arises in you at all. You gain confidence that you can do it too.

Dedicated to women who chose life

THE ART OF BEING HAPPY

A bucket of ice cream and other stories of true happiness

Fate is changeable, so often ups in it are replaced by falls, joys - disappointments, laughter - tears. They are inevitable, and sooner or later we all face them. At such moments, it is necessary to understand what is really important for us, not to give up and move on. Just like the characters of Anna Kiryanova's deep, touching and inspiring stories do. Among them there will definitely be those that will resonate in your soul and help you overcome any difficulties.

Chicken broth for the soul. I decided I can! 101 stories about women for whom nothing is impossible

An amazing collection of inspiring stories about women. How they love and how they experience losses, how much they sacrifice for the sake of the family and how much joy they receive in return, how they grow old and face illnesses, and how beautiful and strong they are. Stacy was born not like everyone else, but she got everything she wanted from life. Joan experienced abuse as a child and began to "seize" the inner pain. Angela changed her life dramatically by learning to say no. Louise needed 1,716 letters to connect with her beloved... These and other 96 stories will touch your heart, make you laugh, cry and fall in love with life again.

Atlas of Happiness. Unique recipes for happiness from around the world

From Australia to Wales, from Spain to Japan, Helen Russell, best-selling author of The Danish Hygge, or Cozy Happiness, reveals the secrets of well-being and harmony in 33 countries. Thanks to the Atlas of Happiness, you will feel happy at any moment and anywhere in the world. Feeling lost? Turn to the Chinese concept of Xingfu and see how your life is filled with meaning. Are you worried about an interview? The Icelandic principle Tehta Reddust will allow you to realize that everything will get better soon. And loneliness is easily cured by Irish Creek.

Bella Figura, or the Italian Philosophy of Happiness. How I moved to Italy, felt the taste of life and fell in love

Kamin Mohammadi, a glossy magazine editor from London, decided on an incredible adventure and ended up in Florence. Her book is a manifesto of a beautiful and vibrant life, a guide to tranquility for the ever-busy people and a story about how to find love - for a man and for yourself.

Introduction

The rabbit was waiting for me on the same path as always. I moved to Frankfurt a month ago, and I was very lucky because there was a large jogging park across the street from my house. The rabbit twitched his ear slightly. I adjusted my cap and chuckled: for the past ten years, my home has been the "rabbit hole", and I went deeper and deeper into it. It seemed to me that it was easier to push further than to come back. The word is "back". Immediately a draft blew, you feel? Or is it just my attitude towards him?

Ten years ago, I got to the editorial office of the magazine, where I was assigned the heading real stories from life. I easily agreed and bought my first voice recorder. Once a week I had to find a person who would tell his story. A piece of life that determined the future fate of man. And that with photos and real names. I recklessly clung to taxi drivers, bartenders, acquaintances and acquaintances of acquaintances. Social media then they were just emerging in our country, and I was literally fed by my language and the ability to talk to strangers “from the first note”.

Of course, people were afraid to tell me about themselves, even if it was a pleasant story. As if their past is a hundred thousand dollars, which I offered them to give away just like that. Or part of an apartment. Or a family pendant from the times of a great-great-grandmother. I mean, they treated their past as something absolutely material, influencing their condition right now. It is as if you tell aloud about your past - and everything in the present will collapse. Therefore, it was very difficult: people were silent, as they took water in their mouths. It also happened that they agreed to an interview, and they began to be silent from the moment I turned on the recorder. My young Georgian blood was hotly angry, and I began to tell them about myself. It almost always worked: it’s easier to trust an open person. Everything is like in childhood, when my mother smeared her hand with brilliant green and said: “You see, it doesn’t hurt at all, now give it to you.” The interview imperceptibly turned into a heart-to-heart talk. True, then I had no idea how I dived into the “rabbit hole”.

After three years of working in the magazine, I told strangers about myself more than they told me. It became a habit and started to amuse me. I recalled such episodes from my own past, which, probably, no psychic could get to the bottom of. Now it became clear where I got most of my beliefs and stereotypes. But why did I forget about such important events in my life? Why do we remember something and forget something? Why do some situations affect us, changing the course of history, while others do not? Hey rabbit, lead me on.

No one knows how things would have turned out in the future if I had not broken. When I left the editorial office and moved to another publication, I had a great chance to jump out of the “hole” and stop digging into people (and myself). But, God, now it's hard for me to say why I unfastened my seat belt at the moment when I decided to increase the speed to the limit. Let's write off on youthful maximalism and desire to shock. How was I then to know what I would encounter and how, because of this collision, I would be cured through the windshield.

I decided to write a book about men and take two hundred intimate interviews with guys I didn't know. I needed the most personal stories, even if they were negative. It is clear that in these conversations my own shortcomings began to emerge, from which it stinged unpleasantly in my eyes. Instead of self-confidence, new complexes appeared. I became nervous. Some interview meetings were so hard in their frankness that I just lay on the bed for several hours in a row and could not utter a word.

When conversations with women began, it became even harder. Because they did not just talk about their past, they literally lived it again. They mourned him, ridiculed him, beat him, forgave him. And I did it all with them. My "million lives in three realities" began, as I call it now: on the one hand, I managed to become a participant in other people's stories (each time different). On the other hand, I simultaneously re-lived my past, encountering long-forgotten memories in the “halls of memory”. And on the third, I still had a real life with utility bills, bad mood of the boss and seasonal colds. It was almost impossible to explain what was going on inside me at that moment. Partly because I myself did not notice how I ceased to stand firmly with two legs in one reality and live the life familiar to most people. I realized this a few years later when I looked back.

Of course, I have changed a lot. And my relationship with people is the same.

Every person in life had a story (or several) that turned his life in a different direction. Everyone has it. With no exceptions. I was so imbued with this idea that my focus now belonged only to her. I walked the streets of Kiev and tried to find the same story in the faces I met by chance. I sat in a cafe with friends and saw around me not people, but solid stories. I crumbled into hundreds of pieces. I made up these stories.

Women after the interview called and wrote to me. Some were afraid that they had said too much, while others, on the contrary, recalled new details. Some asked to change their outfit to a more feminine one in the book, some asked not to use their story at all (“it was a mistake, I’m sorry I took your time”).

God knows how, but I interviewed a hundred women and wrote this book. When I held it in my hands, standing in one of the bookstores, I thought: "Now you can rest, it's done." But. But no. If.

The dam broke, and a flood of letters rushed towards me. Women (at first only from Ukraine) did not hesitate to trust me with the most intimate. They talked about how they were raped, beaten, insulted, abandoned. How they realized their sexuality and attitude towards men. Girls I knew came to me with a coming-out about their sexual orientation.

I suddenly realized how many people suffer from the fact that they simply have no one to talk to. Someone to really tell their story. Not just shake it up and get advice on duty, but to tell.

I understood these people (I think so), but I could not help any of them (I think so). So I hung on myself another complex: my texts (and, therefore, actions-efforts) are meaningless, because I can’t help anyone. You may think this is funny, but it really depressed me. Instead of stopping, I decided that I needed to go down the "rabbit hole" even deeper.

I moved to Germany. And I began to communicate here not just with women, but with women of different nationalities, creeds and cultural codes. Many of them did not speak English, and our conversations were built literally in sign language. Another form of communication has been added to my forms of communication: body language. What did not tell (besides words) their words and touches of hands!

Colombia, Vietnam, Albania, Kazakhstan, Germany, France, Spain, Morocco, Syria and Afghanistan. They alarmed another part of my personal history, because two blood flows in me at once - Ukrainian and Georgian. Which one is closer to me and why? What cultural code is mine really?

Probably, I became difficult for close people, because I had too many questions. They just didn't end. Where did they even come from?

- When will all this end? I once asked my Afghan friend Karim.

- What is it"?

– My questions and these stories. Aliens and own.

Karim hesitated, looked at the sky, rubbed his large dark palms, and then looked at me:

“At least you understand that you are a researcher. Or a traveler. Call it what you want. And people, people are the subject of your research.

So you don't think this will ever end?

“I think it will end when your life is over. Well, or when you change profession.

“But I can't do anything else.

“Then keep asking questions and looking for answers.

- It could go on forever!

- Then congratulations: you got a magnificent life that will endlessly have continuation and meaning.

- This is just a snag. What's the point if I'm only talking and writing, but not specifically helping anyone?

- That's the point. You give people infinity.

I chuckled. Then. Now it doesn't seem so funny to me.

There are people who study motors, cancer cells, financial structures, tissue properties, social nationalism and tomato breeding, and I (for some reason) study people and their stories. And if so, maybe I just need to stop taking it too seriously? Maybe we should all take things in life easier? ..

I've listened to hundreds (thousands?) of different stories, and they all contradict each other. In one of them, ambition became the main condition for all achievements, in the other, it destroyed everything to the ground. In one, early marriage was the right decision, in the other, it killed the opportunity to achieve something more intellectually and personally. Everything always happens differently. You never know if you're sacrificing or making a knight's move. Because of this, it is so difficult to make even tiny decisions. God doesn't email us ahead of time about what's going to happen. He cannot do this, because it is not he who decides, but the person himself.

And here's the thing. All the stories that ended well had something in common: the people themselves directed the further course of events. They chose how any situation affects them, even bad ones. Perhaps not immediately, but as soon as the emotions became barely audible, almost inactive. But they used this moment of calm and turned in the direction where it would be more convenient for them. I mean, they themselves made the decision how to react to the situation: to fall into the rivers of despair, to throw stones of hatred, or to pick up and move on, using this experience.

Of course, we are not insured. Everything can always happen on the sly and from anyone. You can be two hundred percent confident in your person (for example, your brother), but your brother can change, and then it will be another person in whom you are no longer so sure. Insurance? There is only one insurance: learn to react in order to turn where you need to.

So all the same: was there any sense in my conversations and texts?

For a while, I naively consoled myself with the fact that someone felt better when the person spoke out. But how long did this effect last? Hour? Day? The situation did not change a single gram if people came home and continued their usual lives.

The creepiest of stories were those in which people confessed to me that they were lying. Where they confessed: “I don’t say the words that I really want, because to say what I really think is embarrassing / scary / stupid / irrational / unethical”, etc. When they told me: “ My relatives don’t even imagine what is really going on in my soul” \ “People think of me not at all what they really are” \ “People around me see only one side of my life, because I don’t show them the other.”

I'm lying too, of course.

For example, I once wrote that communication with people is my buzz and my delight. Yes, it was all very interesting, and some meetings and conversations inspired me a lot. But sometimes it happened differently: I came home and just lay silently for two days in a row. I held the hands of women who had lost children. I looked into the eyes of people who have experienced or committed violence. I cried with those who hate their bodies, their parents, their lives. I listened to people talk about their mistakes and shortcomings. I received letters from people in which they said that if I did not help them (how? with what?), they would commit suicide.

Probably, for psychologists and psychotherapists, this is a normal practice, and they know how to react. But I am not a psychologist or a psychotherapist. I am an ordinary person who also lies and hates. In general, everything was not as rosy as I described. But I deliberately hid this side of my research: because success (so it seemed to me) belongs to optimists, because people follow only strong, positive personalities who know how to react wisely to everything. This was only part of the story. Because there are no people capable of only a positive reaction.

I realized two very important things:

1. There is a beautiful theory, but there is a practical life. A beautiful theory is all in the style of “people are our reflection”, “a man behaves with a woman the way she allows him to”, “accept yourself - and the world will accept you”, etc. It all sounds amazingly true and logical , but it doesn't really exist. People are ready to pay crazy sums to become wiser, find a balance and learn "Zen". But wisdom (if there is any) is very situational, very temporary. At some points in life we manage to maintain balance, but at others we do not. We are all relatively wise before the first betrayal, the death of a child, violence or an accident. And this is absolutely normal. It is quite easy to learn wisdom in a deserted cave or on top of a mountain in a monastery, but in the circle of ordinary things and events, with millions of other participants and conditions, it is almost impossible. There is no golden mean. Balance is when you are sad today and happy again tomorrow. And not a calm wise contemplation from the outside. We all make mistakes, hate, lie and fight. Because if we can react calmly to annoying events, we will learn to also calmly, almost indifferently, react to the birth of a child and his first drawing. You can’t learn to be calm only about negative things.

2. As for the truth. If we were sure that we would not be ridiculed, rejected, insulted or humiliated, we would speak the truth much more often. We would say what we want to say. Other people would be much better at understanding how we feel and what we really need.

But there is also a downside here.

I remember sitting in Dusseldorf in a tearoom with my friend. Needless to say, she has an amazing story - with escapes, military, ambiguous diagnoses. In T-shirts and jeans, after a summer rain, there was nothing in us that betrayed the seriousness of the conversation. I shared my problems with her. She furrowed her fine brows and asked:

“I’m sorry, but I don’t quite understand what the difficulty is?

I don't think people understand me correctly.

She chuckled.

Why do you need people to understand you? It's impossible. People still perceive everything through their experience, not yours.

I was taken aback by the paradoxical simplicity of this thought. Why had it never occurred to me before? For so many years I tried to understand others and convey other people's stories, but this, it turns out, is simply impossible. Due to the difference in experience and perception of reality.

And they are all within us.

The rabbit continued to look at me with interest.

- Well, finally, a woman! It's almost dark.

– Only seven in the evening, August. Do not exaggerate.

- I'm not exaggerating, I'm talking a little ahead. Hug me quickly, I miss you, - Ravshana actively gesticulated and spoke very loudly. People at the adjacent tables immediately turned to look at us. I tightly wrapped my arms around her, pressed her to me and kissed her cheek several times. “I ordered a Riesling for you. Sit down.

She was wearing a blue summer dress and sandals. The coast of the Main was calm. Our table was located in the center of the terrace on the second floor. I also wore blue.

“I don’t quite understand how I can help you, but I really want to. You know you can always count on me. However, I do not quite understand why me? - Ravshana chattered.

I laughed. I rarely get to hear her voice so open and emotional. I realized that I missed him. Many of my friends believe that Ravshany is too much. She is active, she has her own opinion about everything, she can laugh even when she is almost asleep. I always liked her. Ravshana seemed to bring me home. She was swarthy, dark-haired, with high cheekbones, a sharp chin and thin brushes. At the age of eighteen, she left her native Tashkent to study in St. Petersburg. At twenty-seven she moved to Germany, where she has lived for almost ten years. She easily moved around the cities and met new people. I saw myself in her like in a mirror.

A ship with the inscription "Sonntag" slowly sailed along the Main. We were sitting in my favorite cafe.

– I asked you specifically, because today, for example, you are also in blue.

I thought we were going to have a serious conversation. Still, for a book.

“Don’t you see how similar we are to you?”

Ravshana smiled broadly and ran her hand over the low wooden table. How many cities did we have to visit, how many people of different nationalities did we have to talk to in order to meet here? What brings people together in general? How are "their" people? How do you find yourself?

After a decade of walking down the rabbit hole and two books, I finally knew the answer to this question. Ravshana was my answer.

- Similar? Yes, we are one. I wonder only: did I become you or you - me? she winked at me.

“Could we have been each other before?”

- Ruled out. Then we would have met much earlier. People change endlessly throughout their lives. To one day in one of the points of the world to intersect with his copy. This is like a sign that before that you did everything right.

Do you also believe that like attracts like?

“I don’t know what to call it, but we met.

“Ravshana, I have a version,” I looked around the terrace. We were surrounded by people speaking different languages- mostly in German and English, but sometimes words in Italian, Turkish and Korean were heard. This amazing atmosphere is what made me love Frankfurt so much. “But what if you meet a person like yourself at the moment when you find yourself?”

A seagull flew by. I thought of the women I talked to in order to write this book. I remembered all the women that brought me to where I am right now. Now I would write this book very differently. I would ask very different questions. I would write not so artistically, not so categorically, but closer to life. Now…

But if I hadn't walked this path, I wouldn't be here now.

* in this book you will not find any appeals, no propaganda, no advice of any kind. These are just a few personal stories and food for thought. All names have been changed.

Tamriko Sholi Inside a woman. Candid stories about women's destinies, desires and feelings

Tamriko Sholi Inside a woman

Chapter 1 Daughter

THE ART OF BEING HAPPY

Introduction

Tamriko Sholi
Inside a woman

Chapter 1
Daughter