Safe in the steep cliffs
28 Feb
Driving home this morning, this song came on my iPod’s shuffle. I don’t remember downloading it or ever having heard it before, but it was perfect for riding in a car by myself. I felt like I was in a movie; there was a wordless soundtrack in the background to perfectly ‘narrate’ my trip home, anxiously chewing on my own lips and thinking about all the big things I’m worrying about in the coming months. Do you ever experience that? Those perfect twenty minutes where there’s music on, even if only in your head, and it’s like a perfect movie scene where you just watch the main character going through the motions without experiencing anything? They happen to me all the time, and I’ve been a bit swept up by them lately.
Sorry I’ve been a bad blogger, I just feel like maybe rambling isn’t attractive outside of blogs like Hipstercrite. You want stories, and I feel like the ones I have left have to be mine for a while. I’ve found myself dabbling in creative writing again after an especially long hiatus, but to be real with you (yes, the proverbial “you” since I never know who exactly is reading this) I’m starting to wonder if having a gift with words isn’t a bit cliche for someone my age. I even went so far as to start keeping a journal again… not the kind I lock up on the internet, either. In that Mead composition notebook I just let it all out–I’ve never really had a problem with allowing myself to do that on paper. Really, it’s the realization that most of what I complain about is petty and trivial in the scheme of things.
I’m not going to go on some long tirade about how there are starving children in Africa, forced teenage prostitutes in Austin, and natural disasters occurring with the regular frequency you can only associate with the coming summer months. You’ve heard it all before from a hundred liberal hippie friends that like to stand in front of the grocery store campaigning for equal rights for gays and money to support your local homeless shelters. I feel like maybe art isn’t saving me right now, and that’s a scary thought. Art and words and photos and thoughts are supposed to be freeing.
I don’t want a gift that I can’t share, and all the limitations I feel surrounded by right now are bumming me out. I’ll get over it, and not just because I know there’s people out there with “real” problems that would love to switch places with my whiny, overly-entitled and educated Caucasian self. These might just be the not-quite-spring blues, or a temporary side effect from realizing that some of the shit I’ve been working toward is finally, possibly, REALLY happening. You know, those things you want and then suddenly it seems feasible.
I am terrified, and in a sick way that is a refreshing sensation.
yeah when shit gets real its pretty creepy just hang in there and you should be okay :)
“…dabbling in creative writing again…” Those are words that truly are music to the ears, a worthy soundtrack to lift the veil of the mundane and and elevate hope to the great beyond.
Really, it’s the realization that most of what I complain about is petty and trivial in the scheme of things.
Any event can seem insignificant when judged at a higher level of organization. The suffering of one person in Haiti or Chile is insignificant next to the whole earthquake. The whole earthquake is insignificant next to the history of civilization. The history of civilization is insignificant in the history of the planet. And on and on.
All the things that are so easy to brush away as insignificant next to world history are significant at the level of organization at which they occur: our lives. The real suffering of someone in Haiti or the real/abstract legal situation of homosexual brides-to-be are framed as significant world-historical events, but they are largely trivial within your life… unless you happen to be in Haiti or wake up next week a lesbian who wants to get married.
John – We’ll see how long this lasts. Most of the time I get frustrated and quit trying as “real world” things are the only things I want to deal with the stress of.
And D, thank you. Perspective helps.