Conan O'Brian has a line up of commericals that advertise his show and American Express... and I love them. Not only is the Irish twig being as ridiculous as possible, he is doing it by being overly invested in the simplist aspects of his craft. I know that the commericals are in fact mocking those who are obsessed with their work, but they're also displaying something that is so, so rarely scene right now: passion.
I had a wonderful, giggle filled Christmas as per usual, but it was filled with little passion. It came in bursts, waves when I was able to be myself amidst the dulldrums of Delaware. I am passionate about so much, and I realize that relaxing is a valuable art and worth my attention. Thanks so Mr. Smith I've been relaxing a lot more lately, but not always in ways that make me feel relaxed in the long run. This break has started a reinvestment in walks and yoga, as well as taking time to zone out and give my brain a break. I think both are necessary! But neither diminishes my passion. Leaving DE is like waking up from a coma a bit, or when that first burst of caffeine hits your brain after a very long day: I come alive just a bit more. It isn't that DE kills my passion, but that my passion and DE are not good bedfellows. DC doesn't actually encourage my passion inherently, but it is not so out of place here. Obviously the people I grew up with are passionate, they helped me to find mine. But with increasing certainty I have realized they just don't care as much anymore and I find myself giving constant disclaimers or caveats to simple statements. I used to be one voice in a choir, now everything I say takes the form of a dramatic solo and we are all uncomfortable with it. The hectic, bright exchange of ideas is gone. We used to bump against one another in our hurry to share our thoughts and stories, now everyone is so careful it actually hurts more; everyone is so soft and yet impenetrable.
Not that we used to agree, far from it. I have always been the more radical, worldly one of my friends and we have often found each other's statements uncomfortable, or even at times unbelievable! But now opposition seems so harsh to them; every different way or option a threat. I don't exactly understand how it got this way, but my love of learning has led to increased curiosity, a desire to discuss and examine everything, to question my assumptions. Perhaps when I am away things do function like they used to; it seems more likely that I and my other 3 friends who have also moved away and come back are the problem than that everyone we know has simultaniously become so complacent. But enthusiasm now seems to be a sin! Passion for what I do is looked on as an illness I'm too lazy to cure. My openness has been treated like an act of war on the very people I fought to return to!
Which brings us back to Conan. Everyone else in the scene acts worried when he strokes his curtain (the Freudian implications will have to stand) or weeps at his applause sign, but I want to cheer right along with him. Why does it matter that Eustace rhymes with Useless, but isn't the same word? Because the beauty of the language game is manifested in that simple limerick! I know that to most people it is odd to be more moved my a sentence in Ulysses than by a baby, but I also think it is really odd to be moved by a baby. They can't talk. And they always are covered in goo. But hey, Ulyesses is my baby: it is absolutely covered in poop typos and the goop of authorial indescetions , and I just wanna hold it anyway. I guess I think that laughing too loudly at a funny line or having my breath taken away by the perfect word could be considered an act of violence against the dull, but the dull most certainly attacked first and has yet to let up.
My highlight of the weekend was a mile-ish walk through the snow at midnight to Wawa, in order to have coffee and force ourselves to wake up to the world around us. Dark contrast, blinding lights and billowing dark, familar roads covered in a brand new outfit of snow... the conversation with some of my favorite people varied from our memories to our dreams, our contrasting oppinions, and our oh so hopeful plans that we know are likely to fall short. We built castles out of snow in the sky, got some coffee, and did it again. On the way their we actually frollicked through the snow, dancing in a Narnian like celebrating of being halfway out of the dark of winter. And then on our return trip the walk blurred by as our conversation intensified to push our feet forward until all-to-soon we were home. But that was an hour or so. And though I would have loved to stay "in that house on the hill/ looking out for love/ big big love" it seems that such big love can only appear in bursts anymore. Unless you're ready for a trip to Elizabethtown... which I totally am...
No comments:
Post a Comment