the beauty of life is in those moments you cannot possibly share with another

the beauty of life is in its contradictions

When making art, we cannot judge ourselves.  The creative force is personal expression.  It is what it is.  When done with pure sincerity, it is what it wants to be–what it needs to be.  I’m not saying that critique never needs to happen.  If the art is being made for public consumption, than it is necessary to edit, refine, and improve the piece.  But during the moment of inspiration, and the creation that follows it, assessment and critique only hinder the initial process.  Art cannot come with judgment, just as vulnerability cannot come with force.  Art can come out of  judgment, however, in the way that freedom must always come from bondage.  Art, just as freedom, comes as a rebellion, as a defiance against the accepted.  It bursts out naturally, out of necessity.  There are no rules.  No walls.  It just appears.  It always does.

Inspiration cannot be planned or predicted.  It emerges in the middle of the night urging you to find your paper and pastels.  It reveals itself upon waking, when you illegibly scratch down the lyrics to a new song.  The perfect punchline becomes evident while stuck in traffic.  The poem surfaces while taking a shower.

Sometimes, after we have defined ourselves as “artists,” we expect the creativity.  We set aside time for it.  When it doesn’t happen, we disparage ourselves.  At times, we may try to create something backwards–starting with what we think would sell to the public (perhaps even trying to work back to what needs to be said).  Of course this doesn’t end well.  Even if the public likes it, we are left unfulfilled and dissatisfied with the art and ourselves.

A true artist is a steward of her/his art.  The chaperone that escorts the art from inspiration to reality.

Asking why artists create what they create is like asking a child, “Why do you play?”  Even when art touches us and delights us, there are still those who ask, “Why?”  The answer is, of course, “Because.”

Perhaps.

And yet, something’s off.  It just doesn’t feel quite right.  I should be rejoicing.  Isn’t the “Dreaded Chicago Winter” the only thing that makes this city not perfect?  Haven’t I declared time and time again that, “I don’t know how long I could live here–I just don’t know how many Chicago Winters I can survive” and so on?  Didn’t I write this?  And this?  I’ve never EVER talked highly of the winters here in Chicago.  Ever.  In fact, I’ve been downright insulting.  But how can something that beats down on my soul day after day deserve respect?  How can something that freezes the moisture on my eyeballs in one short trip from train station to apartment building door expect politeness?  Why would I pay courtesy to the annual event that transforms my home into something uninhabitable?

Could it be that I have begun to love this city, warts and all?  Am I donning that badge that every true Chicagoan wears?  The badge that reads, “I’m hardcore, ’cause I wait for the bus in January.”  Getting through a winter here is something to keep track of.  We all have our metaphorical notches in our boots.  I’ve got five myself.  Wow.  Five.

I haven’t made the sixth notch yet.  Because honestly, winter hasn’t happened here yet.  Not truly.  It’s already February and we haven’t even dipped below freezing.  (I can’t believe I’ve taken issue with this!  It’s insane.  Somebody stop me!  I don’t know who I’ve become!)  I haven’t worn my serious winter coat yet (the one that weighs ten pounds, the one that is insulated so well I feel like a super hero–except I don’t look like a super hero in it–I look like a huge dork).  For the sake of all that is good in the world, I still haven’t needed to wear three pairs of pants or two pairs of gloves!  Clearly, something is very, very wrong.

Frankly, we’re all just way too comfortable.  We’re not supposed to be comfortable right now.  We’re supposed to be paying our dues, ant-ing it up in the winter months so that we can really grasshopper it when summer comes.

If this continues for much longer, Chicago could face a serious identity crisis.  Think about it.  This city is defined by good theatre, deep dish pizza, crooked politics, questionable hot dog (or veggie dog–Woot!) toppings, and shitty, shitty winters. If they take this away from us, what’s next?  Full funding for our libraries?

When will the madness end?  What will become of us?  Road work is happening in February, for goodness sake!  If construction is happening now, buds on the trees are soon to follow.  You can see the poor workers out there in their hard-hats, wandering aimlessly, filling potholes, confused by how their hibernation was cut so short.  And if they’re out this early, you know they’re going to be mating by March!

Again, I don’t want to sound ungrateful for the absolutely delightful walking-weather.  Because it has been so very splendid.  I am thankful for having the odd sensation of feeling uplifted and lighter in the middle of winter.  But the Chicagoan in me knows that it’s wrong.  Call me a martyr, but it’s February, dammit.  We shouldn’t be this comfortable.

YOUR LIFE   

Special Care Instructions

The life you have is unique.  Because it is made of organic materials, natural variations in color may occur.   Any irregularities are not to be seen as defective.  Imperfections only increase your life’s natural beauty and individuality.  Please handle with care.  Turn life inside out before assuming you know everything.  Tumble high and low.  Do not use chlorine bleach.  Do not dry clean.

understand people more

take a cab–twice in one week

love my body completely (I truly thought I’d done this in my 20′s…..but not nearly as fully)

look forward to spending a Saturday night in

realize I’m not invincible

wish I still (thought I) was

be easier on myself

spend a ton of money on a really great mattress

say ‘no’ to something I don’t want (sans guilt)

I’m a huge fan of Ricola lozenges.  They are awesome.  But because of my congestion, I also got some Halls.  Halls are like my old standby.  They are comforting.  That’s what my parents used when I was growing up.  Ricola was something I found later–my coming of age cough drop.

Halls has done something new with their packaging.  Have any of you seen it?  On the outside of every drop’s wrapper, they have little sayings–”A Pep Talk In Every Drop!” they’re calling it.  Here are some of the phrases I’ve seen:

Go get it!

Dust off and get up.   

Get back in there.

Flex your “can do” muscle.

Impress yourself today.

Buckle down and push forth!

Now, I don’t know about you, dear reader.  But when I am the kind of sick where I can’t breathe through my nose, I’m headachey, and it’s exhausting just to make myself a bowl of oatmeal, I don’t want some pushy cough drop wrapper telling me to “push forth!’  Screw you, cough drop wrapper!  How can you come off all high and mighty?!  You don’t know how I feel!  Stop tellin’ me that all I need to do is just “get back in there!’  Geez.  The nerve.  Maybe my “can do” muscle needs a rest.  Did you ever stop to think about that?!  No?  I didn’t think so.

Maybe you should reconsider your campaign, Halls.  And I’ll help you.  (Contact me via the email address on this website to find out where you can send my check.)  Here are the types of things that should be written on cough drop packages:

Be easy on yourself.

Don’t feel well?  Stay home and watch a movie!

Take a break.

You look really cute under that blanket.

Close your eyes and relax.

Embrace your bed!

See, Halls?  It’s not that difficult.  Less judgement, more validation.  That’s what we all want–especially when we’re not feeling well.

Me Again:  Maybe it’s because we’re talking to each other.

It happened!  I’m feeling better!  Wooty-woot-woot!  It’s funny, how when you’re feeling better, you just KNOW it.  But when you’re not feeling better, you don’t even remember what feeling-better feels like.

Yesterday

Me:  Am I feeling better today?

Me Again:  Maybe.  I think so.

Me:  Yeah, me too.  I mean, it feels like when I’m walking around, I don’t want to go right back to sleep.

Me Again:  Yeah.  Well, like maybe we can go back to sleep in a little bit, but we don’t have to right now.

Me:  Exactly.

Me Again:  But we will go back to sleep?

Me:  Yeah….I think I might be getting better today……

Me Again:  I’m tired.

Today

Me Again:  Oh my god!  I feel better!

Me:  You’re right!

All of Me:  WOOOOT!

I just took you, so you’ll pardon the formality of this letter, since we’re already more intimate than I make us out to be.  But I wanted to ask you a favor.  The begging of favors requires politeness and politeness requires a nice letter.  You know how it is.

I’m not much of a drug person.  (Sorry.  No offense.  But I should be honest.  I almost didn’t take you home with me today.  Goodness, this is no way to get on your good side, is it?  Well, please bear with me a moment more…)  You see, a little goes a long way (with drug-type things, that is), so I don’t often need much.

However, this awful cold I have has been torturing me for the last few days.  Last night, I tossed and turned and got barely enough sleep to get me through the day.  So, of course, I turned to you.

Your generic label, your “mixed berry” flavoring, your anti-histamine prowess, your promises of sound sleeps and cough respites……  Well, what girl couldn’t resist!  You had me at “marked drowsiness may occur.”  Ah, the sweet song of the siren!  When I got you home and ripped off your protective seal, I noticed a little something on your back that I hadn’t seen at the drugstore.  There it was, in black and white:

May cause excitability–especially in children.

Oh, no!  Dreadful warning!  I’ve been down that road before, handsome stranger.  And it wasn’t pretty.  So this brings us to that favor I was mentioning earlier on.  Oh, sweet prince, please be gracious and merciful and grant me drowsiness with absolutely no excitability whatsoever!  I beseech thee!

It is getting late, so I shall spare you any more of my verbosity.  Besides, it’s been an hour since I had you and frankly, this laptop is starting to behave like heavy machinery.

I’d like to thank you in advance for being kind.

Sincerely,

Amanda

PS:  Don’t take this the wrong way, but you didn’t taste anything like mixed berries.  I hope this was your one and only deception.

Ah, the internet…where just anyone can post their thoughts—whether they be mindful or misdirected—and have the whole world bear witness.  I read this article recently.  My first thought was to simply ignore the drivel—it was posted on Fox News, after all.  It’s obviously a sensationalist piece.  After reading it, it was still obviously a sensationalist piece, however, there was a part of me that feared that some might actually take it seriously.  Or worse, that the person writing it actually believed some of what they were writing.  The article is incompetently written, by the by.  Each section’s title is poorly (if at all) backed up by that section’s text.  But I’ll get more into that later.

In an effort to track down the author of said article, I went to askmen.com—apparently the source of this article.  If you don’t know about this website, suffice it to say that in mere clicking distance from one another you can find literary gems such as, “10 Reasons Why You Should Never Get Married” and “Top 10:  More Reasons You’ve Been Single Too Long”  …Not to mention, “How to Date on Facebook” and “How to Approach Women.”  Let me give you men out there a tip for the last two:  Don’t do it with this article.

Speaking of the obtuse article, let’s take a look at it, shall we?  Let’s start by listing the “Five Feminist Demands She Wants You to Ignore”:

I can carry my own bag!

Don’t objectify me!

I’ll pay my share.

I can think for myself!

I won’t be shackled into a marriage.

Oh, boy.  Where does one begin?  Let’s start with “demands” #1 and #3.  And just to be generous, I’ll add a #6:  Don’t open doors for me!  These all go into the same pot, as far as I’m concerned.  The problem with these is that it pigeonholes a man to choose between being either a selfish, impolite asshole or an asshole who opens doors for women only because he thinks they are the weaker sex.  Really?  These are the two choices?  Give me a break.  People are people.  If you’re not carrying any bags and someone is burdened with bags, you offer to help.  This is a no-brainer.  I can’t believe we’re still talking about this in 2012.

#2 is absolutely infuriating.  The thought that there is anyone who would say, “Don’t objectify me” and not mean it, is ludicrous.  Thankfully, because of this poorly written article, it’s clear that the author didn’t know what they were talking about.  Let me be unambiguous, oh anonymous bad writer:  Telling the woman you love that she looks really good in her outfit is not objectifying her.  My last statement is bound to insult everyone’s intelligence but yours, Askmen.com Essayist.  If I needed an actual example of objectification of women, I’m sure I need look no further than your website.

Alright, #4.  Again, simply reading it—juxtaposed with the title of the piece–it is an outrage.  But that’s what one expects from sensationalism.  (I wouldn’t even be typing this right now if I hadn’t been home sick for the last few days, otherwise, I’d have better things to do than to spend more than a minute dealing with this ridiculous article.  However, I’ve already watched a ton of movies online and spent way too much time playing Scrabble on facebook, so here I am.)  This section of the article unsuccessfully attempts to equate being thoughtful, courteous, and attentive to one’s partner with not letting them think for themselves.  What a moronic concept.

Last but not least, we have #5, which again, is a sensationalistic-header with a slight-attempt-to-placate-reality text.  The header boldly proclaims, in one fell swoop that ALL women say they don’t want to be married, when in fact, ALL women secretly want to be married.  It’s like a twelve year-old boy wrote this.  Wait.  That is unfair to twelve year-old boys.  The text beneath it goes on to state—with a slight hat tip to “exceptions to the rule”—that most women want marriage.  Well, here’s a new rule for you:  Women are people.  Men are people.  Some people want marriage.  Some people don’t want marriage.  Some people think they want marriage, but change their minds, and vise versa.

But that’s not all.  This anonymous columnist ends this piece declaring, “…women are a complete contradiction in terms.”  I’m not going to waste the reader’s time pointing out the author’s pronounced misuse of this common idiom.  So I will skip right to addressing what the author is trying to say—that women say one thing but mean something else all the time.  (Insert exasperated sigh here.)  Women are people.  People are different.  Not all women are the same.  Not all men are the same.  You can generalize until your head explodes, but you’re not going to get any closer to a healthy relationship with anyone in your life in doing so.  You also won’t improve your writing ability.

Sincerely,

Amanda Rountree