People love bite-sized pieces of things, donʻt they? Look at all the candy. Itʻs not that people necessarily want smaller bits of delicious chocolate, they just want greater convenience in the form of cleaner hands and the perfect mouthful.
We arenʻt like that, though, people.
I mean, some folks are, but I donʻt know a lot of them.
I think what lands up happening is we squish ourselves into bite-sized pieces that are more easily digestible by the greater public. Our coworkers, colleagues, family, and friends. The strangers we strike up a conversation with in line at the market. The mail carrier. The pizza delivery person.
We do this so that we can be kind and friendly. Make new friends and maintain acquaintances. We extend community this way. We do this also as protection.
But Iʻm curious about what real engagement looks like.
What if we agreed, you and me, that we wouldnʻt dumb it down. That when I ask you, "How are you today?" you gave me a sincere answer instead of some version of, "Iʻm fine." Saying anything other than "Iʻm fine" doesnʻt mean it has to be full of drama. Just full of you.
Itʻs hard to put yourself out there. To be vulnerable. To put yourself at someone elseʻs mercy, even if you trust that person. Weʻre afraid of being judged or rejected. Maybe weʻre afraid of confronting the very thing that haunts us or excites us.
And itʻs a big, scary proposition to trust someone else with our deepest desires, greatest fears, and even the simplest wishes. "I need me time," comes difficult for some. Heck, farting in front of someone can be scary (though not so much for me. Pooping my pants is by far the scarier scenario there).
Iʻm at a place in life where pretending is exhausting. Pretending to be fine, to not feel anything too deeply, to not be disappointed or pleased. Sometimes because Iʻm afraid, but usually because Iʻm following social norms.
Louis Ginsberg, in a letter to his poet son Allen, says "art is inescapably artifice." A poet himself, Louis seems to be excited by this idea because then writers can use the sentence and have "varied it and given it such flexibility that in their own unique way they seem free and yet communicate." If art is "arrangement," then writers are free to arrange. As a writer, Iʻm also excited by this.
However, the other side also intrigues me. Stay with me here as I break it down. If art imitates life, and life imitates art, and if art is artifice, then life is artifice. And that can be exciting as well. Because if, as Louis celebrates, "limitations in art provide opportunities for exciting adventures in expression," then we have that freedom of expression in our every day lives. We can be as creative as we choose to be, we can be as free as we choose to be, not just in art, but in all we do.
Which also means we can be as deceptive as we choose to be in our interactions with one another. We can mislead, shame, and hurt others. We can fool ourselves and each other. We can render our interactions meaningless.
But what if it means we can also be liberated from the expectations of the reader, who in this case, is simply the other. What if it means that by acknowledging the condition-- that life is artifice and people are faking it-- we can transcend the condition? Subvert it? With vulnerability and sincerity.
And while being vulnerable can be scary, it can also be fun. No, for real! Greater vulnerability can mean greater engagement and deeper connections. It can mean more satisfying interactions. More joy. More pleasure. Because we can trust each other with our deepest desires. We can tell each other what we need. We donʻt have to hide who we are, at least not always (we all need a private life, donʻt we?).
When I used to work in the hearing impaired classroom, there was always food. We would slice a loaf of banana bread the short way, and then once down the middle the long way. Portion control, you know? If the slices were smaller, weʻd eat a smaller serving. It never worked. Weʻd always land up eating both sides of the slice and maybe even another half (because it was only half, after all).
Obviously, Iʻm trying to say bite-sized pieces donʻt always work out for me. Iʻm tired of starving myself. Iʻm greedy (no judgement!). Iʻm hungry. I want more than the perfect mouthful. Thereʻs no such thing as perfect. Lorde sings, "What the fuck are perfect places anyway?"
Feed me.
And if youʻre interested, the Louis Ginsberg quote comes from one of my favorite books, Family Business: Selected Letters Between a Father and Son, which contains correspondence between the two men. These letters reveal a beautiful relationship between a father and son who donʻt always agree with each other. The love and respect, though, are evident. You donʻt need to have read a poem by either Ginsberg or have a general interest in poetry to enjoy the book (but neither hurts). Hereʻs a photo of my copy, which Iʻd be more than happy to lend out.
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