I have an extremely hard time walking the line between reality and love. There are so many people and things that I love and the boundary between them, with their vibrant colors and fantastical joy, disappears in the face of the cold and stark reality of everyday life. I have so many brilliant and talented people who sing, dance, play music and create amazing works of art with pen, paint and performance. I’ve such deep respect and adoration for these people whom I am lucky enough to call my friends.
The problem is that one of my biggest strengths is also my biggest weakness. I am an eternally hopeful, hopeless romantic. That capacity enables me to be a giver in the broadest sense of the word. I would give anything for my family and friends, especially if it was to help them achieve something they really believed in. It enables me to always see a silver lining. It enables me to always be on the lookout for the light at the end of the tunnel, even when I can’t see my hand in front of my face for the darkness. The flip side, however, is that if one of these people whom I love, has to pass on a gig because they can’t get the time off of work, or they have to shift their artistic style in order to land jobs that will actually pay the bills or they turn their passion into a job that takes them away from everyone who loves them, I get filled with so much irrational anger that I am sure they think I’m crazy.
Anger at the world for low-jacking them in an effort to ensure adherence to a predetermined flight path. Anger that the reality of doing your soul’s work most of the time is not as shiny and ephemeral as it could be. Anger at brilliance compromised.
But even that anger is romanticized I think. Because it goes from one extreme to the other. I think the real problem is not the world, or how artists exist in that world, but my attachment to a romantic vision which in and of itself places limits on love.
Showing posts with label romantic. Show all posts
Showing posts with label romantic. Show all posts
6/9/09
2/25/09
Star Light, Star Bright
I was standing out on the deck last night with the kiddos and we all looked up in the sky to see the first star of the evening. On reflex I said:
“Starlight, star bright first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might have the first wish I wish tonight…”
They both giggled a bit and I told them to make a wish, without saying it out loud, which they actually did. I made my wish. And we went inside. I’m sure they didn’t think anything else about it.
But I was suddenly awash with memories. I’ve been wishing on the first star of the night for as long as I can remember. I can vividly recall standing in the middle of the pasture where I boarded my first horse, Magnum, him butting against my arm looking for last minute treats and my head tilted upwards, eyes closed, deeply immersed in concocting my wish for that evening. It was a nightly routine. I almost always wished for the same thing, which I will not tell you for fear that it will not come true, and Magnum always got the last treat in my pocket.
I got attached to the tradition of it. Me making my nightly wish, wherever I happened to be. I always tried to go outside right at or just after dusk so that I could make sure to catch the first star. Occasionally I’d make it out there when there were already two. And I cheated. I still made my wish, but only on the first star I saw. I figured it would still count in some way or another. Maybe that’s why the same wish hasn’t yet completely come true. See kids? That’s what cheating will get you.
I think I grew to love this nightly event so much because it was a bit of magic thrown into my everyday life. And there was a romance to it. Standing outside night after night, a level of concentrated peace in my mind as I leveled all of my personal power upon convincing the universe that mine was the one wish, out of millions, that should be granted.
“Starlight, star bright first star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might have the first wish I wish tonight…”
They both giggled a bit and I told them to make a wish, without saying it out loud, which they actually did. I made my wish. And we went inside. I’m sure they didn’t think anything else about it.
But I was suddenly awash with memories. I’ve been wishing on the first star of the night for as long as I can remember. I can vividly recall standing in the middle of the pasture where I boarded my first horse, Magnum, him butting against my arm looking for last minute treats and my head tilted upwards, eyes closed, deeply immersed in concocting my wish for that evening. It was a nightly routine. I almost always wished for the same thing, which I will not tell you for fear that it will not come true, and Magnum always got the last treat in my pocket.
I got attached to the tradition of it. Me making my nightly wish, wherever I happened to be. I always tried to go outside right at or just after dusk so that I could make sure to catch the first star. Occasionally I’d make it out there when there were already two. And I cheated. I still made my wish, but only on the first star I saw. I figured it would still count in some way or another. Maybe that’s why the same wish hasn’t yet completely come true. See kids? That’s what cheating will get you.
I think I grew to love this nightly event so much because it was a bit of magic thrown into my everyday life. And there was a romance to it. Standing outside night after night, a level of concentrated peace in my mind as I leveled all of my personal power upon convincing the universe that mine was the one wish, out of millions, that should be granted.
2/5/09
Fantasies
We’re having our ducts cleaned today. When I called to set up the appointment, the man I spoke with was sweet and funny and called me ma’am. At the end of our 20 minute long conversation a fantasy started to build. You know, the man in uniform shows up at your door, all business but with a trace of a smile in his eyes. And the smile gravitates to the rest of his face when you open the door.
Now I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve not really ever been one for delivery or work man fantasies. I’ve never really been one for fantasies at all actually. But the ones I do have are generally very boring in that they never revolve around a specific person or scenario. My biggest fantasy is always that some stranger will be so taken with me that he can’t help but sweep me off my feet.
It’s almost embarrassingly simple. There’s no bending me over the Xerox machine or throwing me down in the back of his delivery truck. It’s just that some beautiful man will, upon seeing me, quite simply realize that he can’t live without me.
I don’t usually make it beyond that one detail. But that’s me though. When I was younger I didn’t really dream that much about the details that would make up the man of my dreams. I never dreamt about the details of my wedding. But I did think about how it would feel to walk up the aisle with his eyes seeing only me.
It must all sound terribly self-centered. But isn’t that how most fantasies are? We give ourselves permission to think only about how it would feel to be the most beautiful, the most successful, the best, the greatest.
I guess the flip side of that coin for me is that not only do I want to feel the most in my fantasies, but I also want my presence in his life to make him feel that way. I want to make someone else feel like he could conquer the world or fly to the moon simply because I’ve got his back.
I’m a hopeless fucking romantic.
Now I’ll be the first to admit that I’ve not really ever been one for delivery or work man fantasies. I’ve never really been one for fantasies at all actually. But the ones I do have are generally very boring in that they never revolve around a specific person or scenario. My biggest fantasy is always that some stranger will be so taken with me that he can’t help but sweep me off my feet.
It’s almost embarrassingly simple. There’s no bending me over the Xerox machine or throwing me down in the back of his delivery truck. It’s just that some beautiful man will, upon seeing me, quite simply realize that he can’t live without me.
I don’t usually make it beyond that one detail. But that’s me though. When I was younger I didn’t really dream that much about the details that would make up the man of my dreams. I never dreamt about the details of my wedding. But I did think about how it would feel to walk up the aisle with his eyes seeing only me.
It must all sound terribly self-centered. But isn’t that how most fantasies are? We give ourselves permission to think only about how it would feel to be the most beautiful, the most successful, the best, the greatest.
I guess the flip side of that coin for me is that not only do I want to feel the most in my fantasies, but I also want my presence in his life to make him feel that way. I want to make someone else feel like he could conquer the world or fly to the moon simply because I’ve got his back.
I’m a hopeless fucking romantic.