We read others love letters.
We read others love letters, the works of great writers, finally as just people, whose connection fueled their works but could ultimately not be reconciled with it. We worry that this is us, that our work and our love will never work together, let alone apart or at all. We worry that we will die just as they died. We worry, too, that this is all over-hyped, part of the machine of commerce, convincing us of the impossible love affair as a concept, a model for our lives, and if we take weekend trips and buy more souvenirs we will feel whole, connect with that indefinable, unique and irreplaceable something — you too can have all this! We worry, too, that our cynicism on this subject belies a certain resistance to opening up to any legitimate chance at just such an experience, that possibly we are already having these experiences, that these giant moments we have been waiting for need to be acknowledged in the moments we are having, that they are self-contained. We try to realize the choices are not so binary, that we do not have to have or be the greatest or nothing at all. We can live a life of meaning for ourselves alone and we do not require witness. Plenty of people have normal lives all the time.
We must learn not to presume we deserve more for ourselves. Having been raised on gifted education and white American privilege, this proves difficult. Having been reminded of said gifted education and white American privilege on a regular basis, it becomes even more difficult to presume we deserve anything we have or have worked for. The reverse effect leaves us too humble, too guilty to enjoy ourselves or make the most of an opportunity, constantly worrying that maybe we are not as good as we want to think that we are.
We dream of sitting on decks in the morning sun — preferably somewhere by the ocean or a mountain stream — and writing down big ideas. When we find this deck, the one of our imagined greatness, it turns out to be too hot to write in the sun, our coffee adds insult to sweaty computer screen glare injury, and we can wring nothing out. We become restless when we enact; we have not learned how to get what we want. We have only learned how to want it.
We must learn not to presume we deserve more for ourselves. Having been raised on gifted education and white American privilege, this proves difficult. Having been reminded of said gifted education and white American privilege on a regular basis, it becomes even more difficult to presume we deserve anything we have or have worked for. The reverse effect leaves us too humble, too guilty to enjoy ourselves or make the most of an opportunity, constantly worrying that maybe we are not as good as we want to think that we are.
We dream of sitting on decks in the morning sun — preferably somewhere by the ocean or a mountain stream — and writing down big ideas. When we find this deck, the one of our imagined greatness, it turns out to be too hot to write in the sun, our coffee adds insult to sweaty computer screen glare injury, and we can wring nothing out. We become restless when we enact; we have not learned how to get what we want. We have only learned how to want it.