Sunday, March 6

Death and Taxes and Rainbows

People don't change. It is the idiom that no one wants to believe. You always want to believe that everyone exists in the same mental reality that you do. In the sense that they think about the things they do, their actions, the effects of those actions, and they always want to do better by them-for themselves and for everyone in their lives. But it's not true.
Most people only exist for what is the better for them. It is just the sad truth. And so when people tell you "he'll never change", "she'll never change", it's not because they are being cynical, and you want so much to believe that they: JUST DON'T GET IT. They: JUST DON'T UNDERSTAND THIS PERSON THE WAY YOU DO. But the truth is . . . that they do. Maybe they don't understand that particular person, and so they have no emotional attachment to cloud their views. But they at least understand human nature, in a way that dreamers and artists rarely do. We are optimistic! Visionary! We see potential where others see blank canvas and maybe just a lump of misshapen clay. Where they see chaos or fear-inducing uncertainty, or so much potential, that it just stops them dead in their tracks without even trying-we often see hope and a vision. And who is right?
I guess it depends on whether it is life or art, or life imitating art-which is usually the mind of the artist. We can't let go of the reality of failure. A failure is just an opportunity that we might not have seen with our eyes glued to perfection and our original vision. So who is right?
I don't know. It depends I guess on what you view as right or successful. Safety? Peace? Predictablility? Everything going according to the great happy plan? And maybe you thrive on chaos. Maybe you thrive on drama. Maybe you thrive on the anxiety and intensity of it all. Or maybe it rips you to shreds, as you realize, that no matter how optimistic you are, no matter how many colors of paint that you layer, over layer, over layer, you still can't let go of the work. You can't just step away and go: done. I should stop now. And so you keep on swirling that brush around and around; blues, greens, yellows, reds . . . but it doesn't matter. You just end up with a murky, greyish- brown. It is one thing, other then death and taxes that is certain. You can layer all the colors you want, and mix them fervently with all the hope you have, but you will never end up with a rainbow.
They might be right.