See there is this thing, where we look outside ourselves for validation, i do not know where it begins, perhaps with shame, perhaps with expecting good behavior. In some ways it becomes broken through the course of life. If you are deep down a good and kind child, and you are blamed for something, saying a word you don’t know is a curse word, writing in the dust of a car curse words, not little hearts and smiley faces of a little girl, throwing a ball on the roof and having it get stuck. Not a problem, a simple broomstick solution, but to beat the child who did not even really do it, for lying. No that causes deep deep damage. You cannot hold up a mirror and see good because when you do you see a person who should be punished. For nothing.
No blame here. Just an observation, a curiosity like walking through an antique shop and picking up a wing-wang off a shelf and saying huh, I had this when I was little, or this was the silverware my grandparents used, or this is the doll I played with until its eyes popped out and its pull string stopped working.
Do you love me? Why do you love me? What do you see in me? (That clearly I do not see in myself)
Am I pretty? As I look in the mirror at my alcohol fueled gut, the jowls on the side of my face, the wrinkles and scowl lines on my face. Am I pretty? Why ask someone else? What do you know, art expert? What do you know? I was pretty once, I have nice ears, I have big eyes, I have a nice smile. Okay, why ask someone else to affirm that? There is no need. i already know.
As I hit this hill of fifty I find myself seeking philosophical answers, you can ask on Facebook but really, lets face it, those answers are not philosophical, they are trite and superficial. I want to have deep conversations about these things. I want to dialogue on things that have meaning.
Instead I read and play a game on my computer and write stories in my head. I read someone else’s patterns instead of trying to design my own. It is easier somehow, to not have to try anymore. And this is where I look at myself and cringe. The not even bothering to try anymore. Who is it for anyway? No one buys my work. No one wants to spend time with me. No one wants to have deep conversations anymore, how is your daughter? How is your mother? How is your job? Never is there a how is your heart? What are you thinking about these days? What is your passion? Where does your heart go in nostalgic moments? What is feeding or draining your soul?
These are the conversations I want to have.
We have it all wrong, politics, and race and gender and social constructs.
Math and reading and computer coding.
We should be teaching art and drama, music, and dance, nature and nuture, physical and psychological exercises.
Use a program for the rest.
We have it all wrong.