From Aug 3, 2009

I’m sorry for your loss.  I truly am.  I wasn’t trying to make light of your pain.  Only trying to really wrap my own brain around the tragedy that happened.  Which is what it was, a tragedy.

I blog.  I have more than a thousand entries here in this domain.  Every ounce of every post in this is personal.  My thoughts, my dreams, my wishes, the stories I make up, and the observations I make in my daily life.   Yes, some people read what I write.  Most people do not.  Most people I know have no desire to read what I write– but this is my media.  Had I drawn a picture, painted a canvas, or taken a photograph, would it have been the same to you?  Not likely, but you might not see the written word as a platform for emotional expression the way that I do.

THIS is my art.  And the internet is a public place.  I understand now that I must change the names.  I understand that it’s too risky to use real names because it can be interpreted through a lens of emotion that might hurt those people I care about.  I took down what offended you.  I can’t say that I won’t change the names and re-post it, though.  That piece is as real to me as what happened to you, because it is mine, it is a part of my emotional experience.

Again, I’m sorry.  I wasn’t meaning to hurt you.

From Aug 3, 2009

Much of my past several weeks has my mind consumed by thoughts of what it is that I’m doing here.  Not necessarily of what I am doing here on this planet, in this small suburban city, but of what I’m doing here.  On this blog.

There’s a little internal tension within me for having so many of my real life acquaintances knowing personally the author of this blog, and there’s always a chance that I might (and probably will) say something that offends some of the people I care about.  For example, it’s difficult for me to write about my childhood, knowing that exposing some skeletons might hurt my mother.  In addition, if I write about things or people who are close to me, I might offend one of those folks.  I have and I’ve done it more than once, and have ended relationships over this very thing.  Obviously, my intention is never to offend.  However, sometimes in working out how I feel about certain things, I invariably do.  In some cases, I am perfectly okay with it.  In most cases, I am not because I certainly wouldn’t hurt someone in person– why would I come online and hurt people?  It just doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.

However, there are times when emotion wells up in me so deeply that I cannot contain it.  Words come out, and it isn’t until I have clicked the publish button, re-reading what it is that I’ve written, that I finally figure out how I felt, or why I was feeling that way.   The healthiest thing I ever did for myself was to write.  And write and write and write.  I credit my extreme psychological well-being to blogging.  It’s been a miraculous tool for self-enlightenment and evaluation of the difficult scenarios that dance inside my head.  And truly, I’ve not even scaled the surface.

Simultaneously while worrying about whether I am handling my version of the truth with just the right amount of gingerness, I have also created a semi-decent following of readers who come here because they want to know what I have to say.  I’d like to think that maybe even a few of them are excited about my writing capacity and/or care about my success in life.  To withhold any part of what I’ve been writing here would be to withhold a piece of myself from this blogger’s reality I have created.  I have gained some intense friendships with my fellow bloggers.  I delight in their joys and I cry through their losses.  I send healing energy when they or their children are sick, and send notes of encouragement when they are blue.  And you know, I’ve received back tenfold these lovely supports from all of you.

Clearly, what I write isn’t for those who are offended.  The fact is that what I write is for me.  And the support I get from what I write is for me.  It’s selfish, and I intend on keeping it that way.  My life has changed dramatically, and you all have been cheering me along the way.  I’m grateful.  Truly.

It’s too late to pull the anonymous card for those who know me in real life.  I have this blog attached to my Facebook, for cryin’ out loud.  And honestly, those of you who both know me from real life and  regularly read what I write are not those from whom I’d like to gain anonymity.  It’s those who do not read my work often enough to know where my soul is, from whom I’d like to protect myself.  Those who read my work regularly have a pretty solid idea of who I am, and where I’m coming from.  Those who do not can easily take anything I say out of context and will gladly decide that what I’m saying here was directly meant to bombard you personally, and that is probably only because you know me personally.  Very few folks that only know me from my written works have taken offense to something which I’ve written here.  And in fact, most folks who do not know me in person are capable of approaching me without fear of my reaction or of me not hearing your disagreement for the level which YOU are presenting it.

Why there is such a silly paradigm, I don’t know.  How it is that those who know me in real life really know very little of who I am deep down, somewhat baffles me.  Of course, in real life there’s usually a veil of professionalism, and often a prim and proper place that I use as a backdrop to my self presentation.  This is what I was taught– I can’t change this, but it certainly doesn’t mean that who I am in real life varies at all from who I am, presented here.  It’s just a limited version in real life.   People who have known me for years simply do not know me unless they have kept up with me here.  The growth, the changes, they’re all documented.  And I’ve willingly laid it all out for all to see: the painful and the beautiful, and everything in between.

I haven’t written much lately, and I’m sure you’ll all forgive me because you probably know exactly what I was up to in my intermittent shortened blog posts.  Alas, the degree is finished, and I am moving on to a place where suddenly I have significantly more time and attention to focus on my passions, one of which is writing.  My writers block was a self-induced distraction-eliminating hazard placed in my path of telling these stories simply so that I could prevent myself from wasting time when every single ounce of my focus needed to be education-focused.  I am excited to be back in business, and I’m motivated to tell these stories again.  I’m motivated by the desire to write something beautiful– to prove to myself that I can do it.  And to prove to you.

Not that you all need much convincing.  But if you don’t follow this normally, then perhaps you might.   And that is okay, too.  I just want you to know that if you don’t follow me here normally, that you’ll have to play a little catch up and leave judgment at the door.   I’m about to man the ship again, and a thought experiement is near formation.  Join me if you will, but consider this your disclaimer.

From Jun 27, 2009

Imagine you are a child, growing up with extraordinary talent, but never being given the opportunity to do normal child things.  You never have time to play in your imagination, never reach the normal milestones like discovering that you are a little boy, later going through the motions of learning what it’s like to have boy-girl interactions– or interactions with any other child your age, for that matter.  You never discover your role in the early or late adolescent pecking order, you never get to decide which clique you’ll hang out with– or that you don’t want to hang out in a clique at all.  You do not discover your sexuality nor your self image.  You are told who you are, and in what way you do it.  Imagine that you are pushed and prodded so completely that all of your time is spent honing in a musical talent that nothing– NOTHING in your life matters besides your ability to perform.

Sadly, I’m not talking about only MJ, here.  Every child celebrity goes through this same process, and I believe that it is not only incredibly damaging to a developing mind, but it’s a shame that we as a society endorse this sort of child exploitation.

Yes, I just went there.  Parents who allow their children… and especially those who push their children to become little child celebrities are exploiting their kids.  Children have an innate NEED to have alone time, to go through their awkward phases, to develop friendships naturally without the pressure of constantly identifying with a persona that the masses have created in their own minds about the themselves.   The key to self-esteem is a process of self-discovery, trial and error, and a desire to be comfortable with oneself, regardless of what other people think you ought to be.

I could give you ample examples of how we have wronged these children.  I can illustrate the patterns of exactly how growing up as a child star severely inhibits mental wellness in them as adults.  It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth, yet I realize that how we, the society, are socially may never be conducive for concern for future sacrificed children to grow up in a normal, wellness-inducing environment.  No, we are far too selfish to consider such things.  After all, if we had no child stars to worship, what on earth would we do with our extra time?

Back to MJ.  I believe that the whole child molesting accusation was a sham.  As far as I’m concerned, all that was was a ploy to get a wealthy, child-like man to part with his money.  Twenty million dollars worth of it, for that matter.  For several reasons, MJ was vulnerable.  Not only was he never allowed to develop, as he grew older, he found himself housed in a body that was afflicted with various illnesses that are difficult enough to deal with even if he had been given the opportunity to grow up in a healthy fashion.  He was one of our world’s first extremely famous black performers.  He grew up black before it was considered “acceptable” to be so.  In his early adulthood, even that was questionable, as his skin disease began to redefine his already undefined social understanding of self.  Who was he?  It’s quite certain that this question plagued him throughout his entire life.  He was an enigma, a rarity, a social outcast with popularity and fame surpassed by no one.  Even his family, filled with children who went through the same social training, were not like him.  As time continued, his self image continued to unravel, out of control.

It’s really no wonder the man was in a constant state of self crisis.  Surgery after surgery, treatment test studies that may or may not help him get a solid grasp on who he was to the world, and a constant push to maintain the image that the world held so dearly… it’s no wonder at all that the world had difficulty defining him without silently (or boisterously) declaring him a freak show.  How could he have any sense of self if nothing and no one could give him enough time to discover it for himself?

Early on in my education, I discovered the name of the illness that afflicts those of us who do not see ourselves in the mirror as we really are.  This disorder is called “Body Dismorphic Disorder.”  I don’t believe that anyone who has never experienced this illness first hand can truly begin to understand that when a person with this illness looks into the mirror, they do not see the same person YOU see.  In anorexics, a person can look in their mirror, and all they see is a fat person, even if what every one else sees is someone with skin and bones.  Similarly, I don’t believe that someone who has never been given the opportunity to discover themselves, who has been given the constant battle of identity crises, has any capacity to see themselves in the light that every other person may see them.  The distortion is inevitable, and while in the spasms of grasping for self definition, it becomes easy to see just how quickly a person’s body and mind can deteriorate.

Was he a freak show?  According to our standards, he was.  However, when you consider the extreme vulnerability he was robed with, and the extreme pressure that was forced upon him from early on in life, it’s not difficult to see that his life with us was a clear demonstration of what it looks like to crack within the public eye.  It’s no wonder that he behaved and appeared the way he did, especially in the last ten years.  This, my friends, is exactly what it looks like to deteriorate publicly, even if the last years of his life were spent in isolation.

Many of you may disagree.  If you will, that is fine.  However, I propose that he did not do this to himself.  I believe that WE did this to him.  Maybe not intentionally, maybe not maliciously, but it is the fault of all of us, of this society, for allowing it to happen.  He isn’t alone, either.  There are several other children who we are failing, and who will continue along this path, inevitably flailing to the point that they, too, will crack under the social pressures we’ve imposed upon them.  Our willingness to exploit them will only lead to their own future demise.

From Dec 19, 2008

It’s not about gifts.  It’s not about making sure you buy everyone something.

It’s about being with people you care about.  It’s about expressing love for the people you surround yourself with.

It’s about saying thank you and expressing gratitude.  It’s about family and friends.

It’s about my grandmother not having breast cancer.

It’s about health.

It’s about having a steady and reliable job and a car that gets you there.

It’s about having a roof over your head.  And heat coming from your furnace.  And lights and electricity so I can read and write.

It’s about getting through a semester and knowing you did exactly what you needed to do.

It’s about having food to eat and clean clothes to wear.

It’s about luxuries like showers and bubble baths.

It’s about free time to play the piano and the ability to learn Christmas songs.

It’s not about fighting the crowds in order to get the gifts you’re obligated to buy.

It’s not about making a list and checking it twice.

It’s not about the prettiest gift wrap or Christmas lights.

It’s about knowing that every day before you has hope to be the best day ever, and putting forth the effort to make that happen.

From Dec 17, 2008

Time is flying by so quickly that our calendar is still on September. *sigh*

Pretty soon it’ll be Christmas.  And then, the New Year.  Before I know it, the cold spell will be over and spring will elicit green sprouts on everything.