By Andrea Scarpino
“In the many thousand daily choices we make, we create ourselves and the voice with which we speak and work.” ~Carolyn Forché
Last week, Angel posted a piece about taking up space, and I’ve been thinking about her writing ever since, about what it means to take up space, about whose space is privileged, whose space obscured.
As a child and teenager with a physical disability, I often felt I was taking up too much space. My crutches took up space, were always falling over in a racket or balanced awkwardly against a wall. I took up too much family space—too much family life was organized around my doctors’ appointments, trips to the hospital. I often felt like a burden, like my mere presence overwhelmed everything.
And then there was my loud voice, laughter, my wild hair. I spent years trying to mimic how other young women spoke and looked and moved. Years blow-drying straight my hair, repeating in my head my mother’s mantra to “lower your voice.” And then in college, I started watching men. How they sit with their legs wide apart, how they take lengthy strides when they walk. How they assume their presence is wanted, is warranted. How they enter a room and expect to be seen. Now this is, of course, a generalization—not all men are adamant space-taker-uppers. But reading feminism, watching men move through the world, taught me that I deserved to take up some space, to make room for myself. That I was doing myself a disservice by self-silencing.
So I cut my hair super short so I wouldn’t worry about its wildness. I decided not to be embarrassed when I noticed people in restaurants turning to stare at my loud talking. When someone said they could hear me from across the street, from down an elevator shaft, they could hear my voice echoing through a building, I decided to take that as a compliment. Slowly, I realized it’s more fun to take up space, that it’s a drag to constantly apologize.
I was at a conference two weeks ago and was “shushed” four different times by four different women who thought I was speaking too loudly. Each time, I smiled. Waved my hand politely. And continued speaking just the same. I felt grateful I have a voice. Grateful to take up space. Grateful I didn’t dissolve in shame over someone else’s idea of how much space I deserve. Grateful to finally feel brazen with my life.
Andrea Scarpino is a poet and essayist and a frequent contributor to POTB. You can visit her at: http://www.andreascarpino.com
Planet of the Blind 
Taking up space is definitely a power issue, and noise boundaries are definitely a space issue. In any given situation, I will ask myself, how much space do I need, and how much am I entitled to. I rent a 2-bedroom apartment. I consider it to be adquate space for my needs. Out of rmutual respect, my partner and I keep our respective noises at levels that do not disturb the other person’s enjoyment of their activities when we are in residence at the same time. Out of mutual respect for our neighbors, we establish noise levels that, the vast majority of the time, do not disturb their enjoyment of their activities. (Everybody in the building knows that it’s OK to have a party that creates noise boundary invasions, as long as it’s not too often, and neighbors are warned so they can skee-daddle if they want.)
This all depends on mutual and fair understandings. Our building is not a “party” building. In some buildings it is understood that people can crank up their music, their dogs can bark all night and ongoing parties are “de rigueuer”. People who like noise, should get into these environments; people who prefer more peaceful environs should not. But people who look for peaceful people to be around so they can make noise, and not listen to other people’s noise: That’s rude.
This discussion reminds me of a very matter-of-fact Scots bus driver’s announcement at the beginning of YART trip out of Yosemite. He said that he’d appreciate it if anybody who used their cell phone on the trip would limit their calls to short, necessary conversations because, “…none of your fellow travelers appreciate listening to your fatuous, one-way conversations.”
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