When this life feels like a hierarchy, I don’t like it. But what else can we be? How can we exist here and now in this heavily populated existence? We don’t live on farms, miles apart. We don’t grow our own food and ferment our own grapes. Generally we are entertained by popular musical artists and prime time television and mass-produced fiction words than our own pianos and imaginations. We drive one another around and serve one another dinner, hedging for more, curating our prettiest moments to share on a universal bulletin board.
We are tangled and torn. Our soft spots snagging on one another’s sharp edges. Scrambling up, falling down. Looking for a place to settle. Believing and disbelieving that our place in society says nothing about our worth as human beings. Learning, and breaking, and growing strong where we were once weak.
I love wearing red lipstick because it makes me brighter and louder even when I am feeling quiet and shadowy. I don’t have to look how I feel. I can be anything anyone anywhere I want to be. So long as I respect reasonable limits.
The truth is that I don’t always like myself. Sometimes I distinctly dislike myself. I’m sick of talking about myself. But my life and my thoughts are fodder for my art. Perhaps, if you can relate, this isn’t a bunch of narcissistic bullshit but rather a mirror that reveals something far more important than a flat image trapped beneath the looking glass.
Friends are like mirrors, too. My best friends know me so well. From my vices to my dreams to my privileges. When I sit across from them I am turned inside out and even though my insides are messy and scarred they show hints of something promising. I see my friends, too. Their talents as they discover and hone them and use them. We feel conscious of our imperfect selves and jealous of one another’s creativity but mostly just admiring. We see one another for what we are and we are beautiful. And hopeful.
I’m listening to the audiobook of Lena Dunham’s memoir. She’s brilliant and I love her. She exposes so much of herself, I don’t know how she does it. I also love her show, Girls. I love how she portrays modern youth, calling us out for our somewhat crazy spoiled reckless behavior, breaking hearts (our own and others) like a man with a loaded gun on a rampage. As a dear friend (not the one pictured below, however) recently said to me, “we’re all messed up, we’re all crazy. But we’re also beautiful and creative and amazing.” An ironic statement seeing that it came from a seemingly perfect mormon mother, the homecoming queen of my high school, an athlete and a cheerleader. Someone I’ve always admired, even in the moment she beat me out for senior class secretary.
Could it be our flaws that make us our most beautiful and cherished and powerful selves?
Hegarty says that fearlessness produces creativity.
So that’s why I’m wearing red lipstick and telling you about my insecurities. After all, I have no reason not to like myself, but sometimes I just don’t.
Maybe you understand.