Ranting always helps….well, it helps me. I was not a tantrum throwing child. If I ever threw a tantrum, I threw only one. My Momma put a swift end to that nonsense. But, more likely, I witnessed an older sister attempt the tantrum; it would have been swiftly aborted. At a keenly young age, I probably understood embarrassment for having observed such situations. But now, as an adult, I value the fit pitching. There is a cathartic and therapeutic effect, like cleaning out the fridge or sweeping off the top of a desk.
After ranting and whining about my blogs, writing and my passions in general a breakthrough occurred within hours. I suspect it would have happened more quickly if I were not also battling a tenacious cold. I actually laid down on the floor of my office yesterday, so ill I couldn’t raise my head. [That is another blog post]. Out of the whirling Tazmanian Devil funnel cloud on Monday, I caught my voice again. I drove into work – and if you have ever had the pleasure of driving east on SR 232 you will understand that particularly beautiful view when the sun is rising and the fog is settled over the rolling hillside farm – and I made the list for which I have great passion. I am passionate about BEAUTY, my children, my house, why I was so driven to build my house, gardening and food and cooking. I am passionate about passion and the sheer divine nature of feeling things deeply and being present in that feeling. Sometimes that feeling is BAD….really bad. It is sorrow and grief. It is loneliness and rejection. It is also accomplishment and pride. Whatever it is, good or bad, I am passionate about FEELING it and then usually THINKING about it. The great blessing, the greatest blessing is to have SOMEONE to TALK about it, to share my passion who will at least find interest is that which gets me jazzed.
And that was my lamentation Monday. The ever widening effect of this post modern world. The rush to singularity means people avoid their feelings, treat their feelings as something abnormal, even pathological. The social norm is to neutralize and homogenize, blend everything down into a median experience. Everyone gets a trophy, everyone gets a portion. That is what makes it FAIR. Except……I may be absolutely astounded and amazed at my portion, feeling like my portion is excessive or diminished. Making life’s experiences equitable does NOT make how life effects us EQUAL. It can’t homogenize my feelings, running them through some giant social equalizer.
I am an outlier. I FEEL things in a way that is obviously different than the majority of people. This was once called EMPATHY, now its called ‘being sensitive’. So, people feign stoicism so as to hide their feelings. They repress their anger. They cover joy with a bushel basket and they walk the center line accurately. Feelings are messy and complex and unpredictable. But when I think about some of the very best, most profound experiences of my life, they are the ones that HURT the most: falling out of a tree two stories high and knocking myself unconscious, playing co-ed full tackle, un-padded football in the winter mud at American University in college, giving birth to my first son (painful, terrifying and bloody). These experiences aren’t always physically painful, either. Sometimes they aren’t painful at all, but the joy of something truly wonderful can elicit an emotional response so intense it feels like pain. It is why an archival reprint of Gustave Courbet’s Mediterranean hangs beside my bed.
Let’s just all agree, that I have -or nearly have – gotten my MOJO back. Now I just need to get rid of this cold and its accompanying snot and cough. And, considering I left work ill yesterday and came home and slept for over 3 hours, I have unfinished work to to today, so I am not proofreading this post so excuse the typos and syntax errors.
P.S. I re-read it for typos and errors.