the virtue of the excited.
My roller coaster relationship with my blog is directly connected to my insecurities about writing/the things I have to say/being a young millennial with a blog/hating lots of other blogs/etc. So, thank you to all of you who really care by also not caring about my moments of drought/shielding my eyes to any inspiration at all. But here I am, above water for now. And man, I have missed you.
I think that when we love something, I mean like really love it, there is this element of excitement that sort of organically becomes a part of it. We buy t-shirts, we have a sort of innocent and constant willingness to talk about it, and we believe in it— we accept it as something true in our lives— and we don’t care who knows it. It is unashamed, and unembarrassed.
There is this weird culture that exists now that seems to me like a bunch of people that love stuff but find more value in pretending that they don’t love it “too much.” There is an expectation of being unamused and unexpressive. This lack of excitement or enjoyment seems to be a epidemic that creeps its way into our lives so slowly that we barely recognize it. The band shirts we bought when we were younger have become something that we have apologize for, we can’t scream or yell at concerts (or in my case cry our eyes out), we shorten our conversations, and we make ourselves less articulate about what we really love, almost unnaturally. Even in the context of art —a place in which people are supposed to find a kindred solace- a place to rest- to find truth- to find others- has somehow become an environment filled with egg-shell faux pas of what we are allowed to love, and how we are allowed to love it. We have somehow, along the way, taken expressiveness and married it to ignorance. And the scary thing to me is that this attitude might start manifesting itself in the way in which we love people.
A friend of mine, that I met six years ago at a teeny bible school in England, is the perfect glow bug of an example here. He is one of the most excited people I have ever met and is beauty’s number one fan boy. I like to think of him as a permanent tourist. Thirsty for the new, thirsty for everything he has never known, and thirsty for human experience. With a camera around his neck, and love in his heart, he runs at the world from across a field of flowers like a lover being reunited with his one and only after coming home from the war. He is untainted by the sexiness of indifference, and I swear you can see his brightness from a thousand miles away.
Now, please understand that I am not making a case for optimism (something that has never been quite accessible to me), or even a case for not being sad when sad things happen, that is not what I am talking about at all.
I am talking about granting ourselves the freedom to be excited, of letting ourselves connect our minds with our bodies and aggressively sprinting towards the things we love.
And let’s start buying band shirts again, yeah?