Loneliness. A phenomenon known the world over. It’s inescapable and prevalent. Like a disease. A disease of disconnect. Though we have all the modes of communication available to us (apparently) now in the 21st Century of being switched on 24/7 people, me, still suffer from loneliness. Feelings of inadequacy, being a ‘loner’, not fitting in. ‘Who is everyone having brunch with on the weekends and why am I not invited?’. Maybe I should invite someone?
It’s as if we cant have our cake and eat it too. It’s just too much. Can’t have the glass half full either, because we always seem to want what we don’t have and then when we have it we don’t want it anymore. Bloody humans. Ridiculous, isn’t it? Never satisfied. Satiated. Always longing for more, bigger, better, bolder, smaller, quieter, louder. Oath. Murphy’s Law. When it’s quiet you want to party, when people want to party you want it to be quiet. Why is life a dichotomy of events? A colour pallet smeared across the pavement. ‘You missed the canvas dear’.
I don’t like weekends. People always have other people to spend time with and then I feel lonely. Moving to a new city is hard. I know people, but I don’t particularly want to spend time with them on the weekends, you know? I need a weekend crew. Hmm. First world problems. Need to be more social. Find ‘my people’. Actually I did last week and I found one ‘people’ so you know, that’s a start, slowly building the tribe.
I’ve never been a huge social butterfly. I go to things every once in a while. But it’s not ‘happy fun times’ all around. Maybe I’m just a work-a-holic. But I love my ‘work’. I find parties boring sometimes because the music’s too loud to have a decent conversation with anybody, or everyone’s too trashed to talk to and if I’m drinking, well, then I’m too drunk to have a very serious conversation with – but then I dance and everyone looks at me like ‘who the hell is that mad, really drunk women’. Meanwhile I’ve had one wine. I just don’t give that much of a damn. But that only happens maybe once a year. If that. I like dancing. But I don’t like clubs.
I still think I’m a good person. I care. But when I look at some of the things I’ve done, it makes me question that. I’ve not killed anyone, but still. I’m no vanilla slice. I think it’s good to see ourselves for what we are though. Accept ourselves, warts and all. It’s good to really look in the mirror, without any glossy light and notice all the crevices, the wrinkles, the fine lines in our beings. It’s what makes us human. We are faulty beings. No perfection here thank you. But that’s what binds us all together as well. Our humanity, our mistakes. It’s core to being human. Along with a lot of other things of course, but often we overlook our secrets, the time you did something not so nice, the time you acted really awfully to someone you loved. Cheated, betrayed, lied, manipulated, tested, bullied, coerced someone into doing something you’re too chicken shit to do. That kind of thing. To see ourselves in all our glory and disgust. That’s truth. That’s honest. That’s guts.
As an artist I need to see that part of myself. I need to acknowledge it. And then I can use it. I can use it to make art. How wonderful and crazy is that?At least I can use all the negative things I’ve done and make something meaningful, beautiful even, out of it. Not everyone can say that. Not everyone can look into their souls and see all of themselves (or at least try to) and then put that out into the world to do good. It’s a blessing and a privilege to be able to do that, to be an artist. It’s something the world needs. My VOICE. Your VOICE. Be heard.
‘You are living someone else’s dream’
“Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?”
Mary Oliver, The Summer Day